Sawblade trudged on in silence next to Crescent.

The read-haired Stalker looked defeated, done and spent, with his head hanging low and his body language almost breathing failure. Sawblade himself on the other hoof, was tense and worried. In all the years he’d known Crescent, he’d never seen the stallion look so terrible. Not even after he’d been tortured by the Bleakers did he look so destroyed. While the torture might’ve broken him down physically, not emotionally.

Despite the goggles Crescent had found earlier covering up his eyes and his scarf covering his chin, Sawblade could still see some kind of shadow that had crept over Crescent’s face. He didn’t like it one bit. It made him feel wrong, somehow. It was wrong to see his closest friend so demolished without being able to do anything about it.

He sure did try, over and over, but nothing helped.

Three days had passed since they found Lyra in the ice, and after Crescent’s initial outburst, he hadn’t said another word. Not a single sound, not even the faintest whisper. He refused to eat, despite Sawblade’s attempts to make him, and he barely slept. Sawblade had tried to reason with him, yell at him, he tried to force the food down his throat, but Crescent remained silent and just stared at him. What food that Sawblade managed to push into him was either spat out or forced up.

Sawblade didn’t want to think about it, but a fear had begun to grow within him. A deep fear as fierce as the fires of Tartarus. That Crescent had finally lost it. That something had been irreversibly broken within him. It was a terrifying thought that chilled him even more than the cold snow that surrounded them, but still a thought that he might have to accept as the truth.

“We’re going to need weapons.” Sawblade said, more to himself now than to Crescent. “We won’t make it far in the wilderness, otherwise. We could check out some of the old guardhouses, if we’re lucky thee might still be something relatively sharp and usable.”

His words were left unanswered.

“Or maybe a smithy. Shit, I’ll take a pointed stick just as much as a sword. Maybe a frozen cod.”

Crescent remained quiet, and Sawblade opted to do the same, but still be on the lookout. He wondered how many days had passed since the ambush in the woods. Probably weeks, so by now his claymore would be rusting, lost somewhere deep in the murky waters of the river.

As night started to fall once again, they took shelter in an old carriage that had toppled over and now lay buried hallway in deep snow. It was a good place to rest, but Sawblade couldn’t relax. He woke up over and over by what he thought was the sound of hooves in the snow just outside the carriage, but every time he peeked outside, he saw nothing but the empty street.

On the fourth morning, Sawblade estimated he’d gotten maybe three hours at sleep, and while it wasn’t nearly enough, it would at least make him feel a little better. When he turned around and saw Crescent sitting straight up, still awake and with big bags under his eyes, he began to tire of it all.

The following day went along just as the previous ones; slow and tense. Crescent seemed to drag his hooves more every day, and the slow pace made Sawblade unnerved. They were like two immensely slow targets, drifting down the streets. Not sitting ducks; crawling ducks. He could’ve sworn he started to see movements in the corner of his eyes more and more often, and shadows that seemed to shape and shift in the empty windows and doorframes.

A few hours into the day, when the sun stood high in the otherwise clear sky, the two Stalkers walked over the remnants of a small wall, long since destroyed, and suddenly found themselves standing on the outskirts of a cemetery. Snow coated the grave stones and almost buried some of them. They pressed on, with a nervous Sawblade in the front and the indifferent Crescent behind him. More than once did Sawblade stub his hoof on stones that lay underneath the snow that had fallen over, probably before the snow fell.

In front of them on the other side of the graveyard, he could see the ruins of an old church.

“Wanna take a look?” Sawblade asked, not expecting a response. True to his expectations, Crescent said nothing. “Fine. I’ll take that as a yes.” Sawblade added.

He walked towards the church with Crescent in tow, passing by more graves as they went. He read a few names where he could, but most had either withered away from age, or lay partly buried in the snow. Still, he didn’t see any name he recognized. Not that he expected to, but he still wanted to read the names of those who rested around him. It gave a little bit of respite, knowing that others had come before him, and more would when he himself was gone.

No matter what happened, the world kept moving, and time never stopped. Everything changed over time, and no matter the perils the ponies that came before him had faced, they made it through. It gave him some hope that they would one day do the same, and walk out of this terrible winter. Halfway through the dark, he told himself.

Sawblade stopped just in front of the entrance into the church. One of the big oaken doors hung ajar and moved a few centimeters back and forth in the wind, while the other had fallen to the ground and a thin layer of white powder coated it. It probably happened not too long ago, otherwise it would’ve been completely buried, just like the graves.

On the side of the tower, Sawblade spotted a big, rusted heap on the ground. A few crows had gathered on top of it, now fully occupied with cawing and bickering with each other. Upon closer inspection, he saw that the heap was in fact the bell of the church. It’s once clear chiming long since silenced and dead, as it slowly froze into the ground.

When he came to close to them, the crows screeched in fright and took to the skies in one swift motion. He followed them as they sailed in circles for a while, before diving down and settling themselves at the top of the church tower.

The Stalker walked up to the door that lead into the building and tried to get a glimpse of the inside, but all he saw was darkness. Deep and foreboding, a veritable abyss that opened up before him. Sawblade simply scoffed and headed on inside. Darkness had never affected him the same way it would other ponies. He often told himself he had no fear. Even though he knew deep down that it was in fact a lie, it still made him more capable to handle certain situations.

After a few seconds, Sawblade hit a full stop. A wall hindered his path, but he was not the type of pony to give up so easily. Instead, he stood on his hind legs and touched the wall with his fore hooves. Eventually, he found a door handle, tilted it downwards and pushed.

The wall, which had proven to be a door, slowly but surely opened, its hinges creaking and cracking as rust tore off and broke. After a few seconds of pushing and grunting, Sawblade emerged into the main hall, where light shone through the tall windows. He could clearly see particles of dust hover through the dim light.

Row after row of benches lined the hall, just like he’d expect from any church, most seats still intact, though some broken and splintered. The carpet leading from the door to the altar had been covered in a thick layer of dust; making it almost invisible, save from its obvious edges.

The altar itself was nothing special, just an ordinary stone slab, partially covered by veil. It was heavily discoloured, but from what he saw, Sawblade guessed it had once been white or perhaps golden. A rusted figurine laid on the floor next to the altar, and it was still intact, displaying a golden sun with a crescent moon encased within. The symbol of the old sisters that once ruled Equestria.

He took a quick look around, and spotted a low shelf off to the side where a bunch of old candles still stood, next to a dusty lantern. He pulled off his saddle bag and dug into it until he found what he was looking for; flint and steel.

After some frustration, he managed to get the lantern going, and it instantly spread a golden glow around it. Sawblade put the saddle bag back on, and then grabbed the ring at the top of the lantern in his mouth.

When he spun around, he spotted the silhouette of a pony, sitting in one of the benches. His heart skipped a beat and his body tensed up, but he quickly realized that it was just Crescent, staring out the window from where he was sitting.

“Are you going to stay here?” He asked once he’d place the lantern on the floor. “I thought I’d take a look through the tower.”

Naturally, Crescent said nothing.

Sawblade frowned, grabbed the lantern yet again, and hurried down the hall. The dark room that he had previously passed through now became visible in the light of the candle, but it was completely empty except a small staircase on the side.

It took him up into the room above, and it almost seemed even darker than the bottom floor. Yet again, his luck struck out; that room was empty too.

On the third floor, he was stopped by another door, this one locked. He put down the lantern on the step next to him, and examined the door closely. It looked rather weak, not to mention old and frail, probably not able to withstand any serious amount of damage.

He knocked on it first, just to be sure. When no response came, he spun around, tucked in his back legs and then kicked out backwards into the door as hard as it could. It shattered almost instantly, and he landed another kick on it. This time, to door came from off its hinges, and with a loud bang, it fell to the floor.

Instantly, a foul smell reached his nostrils. A thick, pungent smell. Decay. The smell of death. Who knows how long it had been there, unmoving in the stagnant air of the sealed room. He took a few steps forward, hoping that whatever gave off that smell wouldn’t be too bad.

Dead bodies rarely disgusted him or frightened him. He could remember only a few times when he’d reacted to them; the very first body he ever saw, when he was merely twenty-four years old, and a recruit in the Royal Guard.

He still remembered it clearly, the red sunrise in the east on that cold December morning. It was the second year of the Griffin wars, and he’d been sent out together with the rest of his squad to investigate a war camp that had lost contact with the others.

Everything had been red, not just the sky. The snow ran red with blood, and the stench had been almost unbearable. Every single soldier had been slaughtered in what they later learned was a coordinated assault in the dead of night. The enemy had shown no mercy.

One stallion, confirmed as officer some time later, had been mutilated almost beyond recognition, and his many limbs had been skewered separately on spikes just outside the camp. That was the first dead pony Sawblade ever saw, a sight he would never forget, and one that would flash before his eyes when he couldn’t control his temper.

His commander Shining Armor, along with Stardust, Octavia and himself stood in shock and disgust at the scene, no pony able or wanting to be the first one to speak.

Many battles followed in the next four years, and by the end, Sawblade had lost track of a lot more than just how many bodies he’d seen, how much blood that had flowed over his hooves.

Sawblade suddenly felt his hoof hit something on the floor, and it rolled over the floor with a metallic clinking sound. An empty can of food. It rolled away from the light of the lantern and disappeared into the shadows just beyond his vision, before it hit something with a muffled thud and stopped. He had some ideas of what it could be.

A few steps forward and his thoughts proved right. Just in front of him, huddled into a corner, was a pony. It wasn’t moving, and it was obvious that it had been there for a while. The empty can had bumped into one of its hind legs.

He moved forward a bit to get a closer look, but almost instantly he wished that he hadn’t. The Stalker turned away from the body and took a look at the rest of the room. For just a moment as the light spread across the pony’s face, he saw that it was a mare, her hooves tightly wrapped around a tiny figure, wrapped in blankets. The moment he noticed the small, drying mane jutting out from underneath the blankets, he couldn’t stand it.

On the other side of the room he encountered a second door, but unlike the previous ones it wasn’t locked, but instead stood slightly ajar, almost invitingly so. For a second, he thought that whatever was in there would be better than the dead ponies behind him.

Just as he was about to open the door, a sound made his ears perk. A faint rumbling or tapping noise. As if somepony was knocking on a wall. And it came from the other side of the door.

Slowly, he pushed the door open, and the strange sounds stopped instantly, replaced by the screeching of the hinges. He stepped through. The first thing he saw was a chair, toppled over on the floor. A thick layer of dust coated it. And above it, casting long shadows across the floorboard, hung the body of a stallion. The thin noose around his neck had cut into his flesh, and spiders had begun to spin their webs across it.

It was a regular Earth Pony, its body a filthy white hue and its mane and tail had probably once been blonde. His eyes were wide open, bloodshot, as if they could burst out of the stallion’s skull any moment. There was nothing else out of the ordinary with the body, he wore a tattered beige jacket with a hood hanging loosely on his back, a dusty old gas mask hung in a sling around his neck, and a saddle bag around his hip.

Sawblade wondered if the stallion had once been a Stalker. He sure looked the part.

No signs of any pony else being in the room for a long time, and his imagination started to run wild over what could’ve made the sounds. He eventually settled on his mind playing him tricks, and satisfied with that conclusion.

Sawblade walked around the body, careful not to disturb it. Some respect for the dead had to be given. He took one look at the wall behind the pony, and came to the conclusion that the stallion had gone through a lot of pain and grief before the end.

The entire wall was covered in writing, most of it illegible but some of it still readable, and it wasn’t hard to make out what it said.

A few bits of charcoal rested on the floor, which had probably been used to write the words, as well as the final message, almost at the bottom of the wall.

It didn’t seem too far-fetched that the dead mare in the other room was this M, whatever that meant.

Then suddenly, the tapping sound was heard again. He spun around, almost expecting the dead body to be moving, but all was still and calm. Now, the sound came from the other room, the one he’d just been in.

“Cres?” Sawblade called out. “Is that you?”

No response came, just more tapping.

Carefully, Sawblade moved around the hanging pony and towards the door, but didn’t get far before a second noise startled him. He turned around, and saw that the sound had been that of the saddle bag of the dead pony falling to the floor. It had opened, and something had rolled out of it.

Sawblade instantly knew what the brown stick rolling across the floor was, quickly picked it up and stuffed it down his own bag. You’d never know when a stick of dynamite could be of use. Trying to shut out the tapping sound, he took a quick look through the rest of the dusty old bag, but found nothing else of use besides standard Stalker gear.

So the dead stallion had been one of them, after all. A Stalker that eventually gave up hope. He made a mental note to remember to ask about the stallion when they reached The Heart, in case anypony knew and missed him.

He stood up, and realized that the tapping sound had finally stopped. He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. It really went on his nerves, and he was glad that complete silence had returned. With nothing more to gain in the room, Sawblade made his way back through the door, and did his best to avert his eyes from the dead mare and the tiny bundle of rags in her lap.

And then the lantern suddenly went out.

“Ah, damn it!” Sawblade cursed through the handle in his mouth, before carefully placing the lantern on the floor. “Fucking, ancient candle, damn you, you ass…”

He was about to open his saddle bag, when something caught his attention.

The metallic clinking of a can. Rolling across the floor boards.

“C-Crescent?”

He felt the can hit his hoof, and the instantly withdrew it from the cold metal.

A voice whispered into his ear, and his blood turned to ice in his veins. A female voice whispered his name. His actual, real name. He could feel her breath on his face.

No more than a second later, he threw himself into the darkness, found the door and ran down the stairs as quickly as he possible could. When he emerged back into the main hall, and sat down and leaned his side against the wall, panting heavily.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the sounds of hoof steps approaching, but looking up, he realized that it was just Crescent. His catatonic friend stopped in front of him, looked at him with hollow eyes, before sitting down right next to him on the cold stone floor.

Sawblade couldn’t help it, it just happened. He felt so very tired, and his eyelids suddenly felt like lead. His whole body felt numb, and he hardly noticed that he rested his head against Crescent’s shoulder. He felt spent, used and exhausted, despite his body going on high gear just a minute earlier. Slowly he fell to sleep, while a tiny voice in the back of his head yelled at him that something wasn’t right.

A few days had passed since the incident in the library, and Anton had barely seen Lilly since. The few times he did, she’d either looked away or ignored him, even turning the other way when she saw him. He had no idea if her behaviour came from anger or perhaps shame over what she had done.

Instead, Anton spent his time either wandering the many levels of the hospital, or spending time with the only ponies who wanted to talk to him, Willow and Holly. Despite the insanity packaged within that tiny pony, he couldn’t help but enjoy her company, even if she sometimes drove him half mad.

The day after his awakening, she entertained herself by pointing out that he had a funny accent. Over and over and over, all day long as soon as he opened his mouth and reminded her. He wondered if she was so hyped up on coffee that it messed up her attention span or memory. Or perhaps she was just mad as a cow, as Willow so delicately put it.

Still, he found it hard to be mad or feel hurt by what she said. It was just an accident, and as long as he could make himself understood, it didn’t matter to him in the slightest.

Nothing else of interest had happened in the previous days, apart from something that had happened on the night before. Some time in the night, Anton had been woken up by the sound of his door opening. He yawned and rolled around to see who it was, but had only time to see something disappear back out through the door.

He’d gotten up and took a look through the corridor, but found no one else besides himself awake, and quickly hurried back into his room.

The morning after the accent-day, the third since he woke up, he took another walk, this time exploring the lower level of the building. Most of the ponies had gotten used to him by then, and instead of looking at him sideways, some of them would even greet him as they passed by each other, and he’d learned a lot of names in the past few days.

He passed by numerous rooms like the one he slept in, most of them occupied by other ponies, and judging from the number of ponies of varying age he saw, he guessed that this floor housed whole families, unlike some of the others.

When he passed by one particular room, he looked through the doorway and happened to catch the eyes of a pink little foal, sitting at a table with a plate of food in front of it. The moment it saw him, the foal smiled and even waved at him, its face beaming and its eyes glistening like sunshine.

Anton felt his heart melt, and slowed his pace just so that he had enough time to smile and wave back at the kid, before continuing down the hallway. Willow was right; this really did seem like a place worthy of staying in, even though he knew that he probably couldn’t.

Some time after seeing the foal, Anton came to a T-shaped cross in the hallways, with a bulletin-like board on the wall in front of him. He stopped to read it for a little while, pondering how the ponies could write so well without hands. He guessed that Unicorns like Lilly could use magic, but since his arrival, he’d seen very few of them. He’d asked Holly why that was, but whenever he did she would change the subject. Usually to something coffee-related.

A number of signs adorned the wall on each side of the board, directing to different areas of the hospital, such as the main lobby, extra stairwells, the kitchen and infirmary. But one sign caught his attention in particular, one that read “garden”.

He’d already seen the other places that the signs pointed to, most recently the kitchens, which had been much bigger than he expected, with numerous ponies working on preparing meals before packing them in plastic bags. It looked not only oddly industrial, but almost unbelievable, considering the world outside the hospital’s walls.

Amidst the working ponies, he had caught a glimpse of a certain red Pegasus with rainbow mane confined within a hairnet in the back, busy doing the dishes. He tried to wave at him, but Willow didn’t notice him, and Anton had decided to leave.

With nowhere else to go, Anton took the corridor to his right, following the signs that pointed him towards the apparent garden, and after a short walk, he found himself in the strangest place he’d seen since he woke up in the snow-covered streets of the city.

He’d expected an empty little courtyard, dead trees and fallen snow. What he got however, was truly a garden. Beautiful, serene and absolutely green. Rich grass covered the ground, and trees of varying sizes sprouted towards the ceiling, some of the even bearing fruit like apples, pears and even plums.

Tables dotted the courtyard, which was shaped like a perfect circle, much like the rest of the building. For all intents of purposes, Dust Memorial Hospital was shaped as a giant ring, with this perfect Garden of Eden housed within.

Ponies scurried about the place, occupied with their work; some picking fruits from the trees, others tending to vegetables growing in boxed-in squares, everything from carrots to lettuce to potatoes.

But the thing that took all of his attention and left him gaping in awe, was what he saw in the air above the garden. The hospital was tall in itself, ten floors, and at the top, what looked like a massive tarp or sheet had been placed, strung between the walls with wires and ropes, keeping out the outside snow.

And in the middle of the strange contraption, seemingly hovering or floating, was an orb of pure light, as bright as the sun itself.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Anton tore his eyes away from the ceiling, and looked in the direction that the voice came. At first he stood dumbfounded, still taken aback by the glowing orb, and just stared at the pony smiling at him. Then he cleared his throat quickly and spoke.

“Oh, yeah, it’s… It’s definitively something. What… What is it?”

The pony walked up to him, and from the voice and its feminine physique, it wasn’t too hard for Anton to guess that it was a mare. Her orange coat seemed to almost shimmer in the bright light as she walked towards him. Anton could’ve sworn she even swayed her hips in almost seductive fashion.

“Why, it’s the sun of course.” She said. “Not the real one, naturally, but just as warm and bright. You’re Ash, I take it? My name’s Topaz.”

“Oh, so you’re Topaz? Holly told me about you, that you’re the… I don’t know, the mayor or whatever she said.”

Topaz smiled and laughed heartily. “Mayor. I prefer something a little more humble. Let me tell you, that Holly… she’s a bit loopy, but she has a heart of-“

“Of caffeine?” Anton added with a smirk.

Topaz laughed once more. “I was going to say gold. But yes, she’s right; I have the highest authority here, but I’m not some dictator that demands every pony to do what I say. Everyone is free to come and go and do as they please, as long as they follow our rules.”

“Rules?” Anton asked.

“Oh you know the usual stuff; don’t fight or hurt any pony, don’t steal, don’t threaten anyone and just generally don’t be an asshole.”

“I can’t imagine anyone here breaking those rules.” Anton said. “Everyone seems so happy.”

“Of course they’re happy.” Topaz said with another warm smile. “They’re safe and well-fed. Most importantly, they still have hope. Most of them didn’t before they came here, but just look at them now. It’s hard to even imagine that they lived out there once.”

“Yeah, I guess. No offence, but you’re taking this, me, really well. So did Holly, actually. I thought you ponies had never seen a human before? I honestly thought more ponies would be afraid of me.”

“Well, in Holly’s case, I can’t really say anything other than ‘she’s Holly, don’t question it’. Me, I still remember the old king. I was a young mare when he ruled, naïve and, admittedly even childish, but I grew up in Canterlot and saw king Dust Eclipse many times.”

“Dust Eclipse.” Anton whispered to himself. “Yeah, that sounds just like a name Mattias would take.” He cleared his throat again. “So, uh… you never told me how all of this works.” He gestured towards the garden. “Willow told me that nothing grows anymore in Equinestria, so how’s this possible?”

“It’s pronounced Equestria, dear.” Topaz said. “It’s complicated, and I won’t bore you with all the details, but this may very well be the last patch of grass in the country. Do you know what Stalkers are?”

Anton nodded. “Yeah, I had the luck of meeting a few when I first came here. If not for them, I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Alright.” Topaz continued. “A few of them stop by here from time to time, and a couple of years ago a group of them came back with what they claimed to be an object possessed with dark magic, a black orb of unknown material. They showed it to me, and told me that one of the Stalkers had touched it and it burst into blinding light. The Stalker just so happened to be a Unicorn.”

She looked up at the mini sun above them. “So after a long discussion, we decided to let another Unicorn touch it, and the same thing happened. We took it into the courtyard for experiments, and every Unicorn in the hospital gathered to help. All of them used the magic they could muster, and the orb grew in size and emitted a glow bright and hot as fire. It grew so strong that we could hardly contain it, so we confined it to the roof, suspended in several thick wires. And as you can see, it has helped us tremendously.”

“Amazing.” Anton said. “I never thought such magic existed. Hell, I never though magic existed at all!”

Topaz pursed her mouth. “It’s a dying art, I’m afraid. Too few Unicorns left to control it. Equestrian magic is slowly withering away, right before our eyes and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

They stood silent for a while, both observing the garden and the ponies working it.

“Ash?” Topaz asked sternly. “I realize I may be out of my bounds here, so to speak, since we’ve just met, but could I ask you something?”

Anton looked at her cautiously. “Uh, sure.”

“What will you do now?” Topaz asked. “I doubt you want to stay here for the rest of your life, you must be wanting to go back home.”

Anton looked for an answer for a while, not really sure what to answer. “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t even know if I can get back, if this is the same world or a different universe or… I don’t know. I’ve tried not to think about it too much. Frankly, it scares me, not knowing.”

Topaz gave him another warm smile. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be alright.”

Suddenly, Anton heard someone calling from within the garden, and both him and Topaz looked up to see a blue pony waving at them and calling out to them.

“Looks like I’m needed.” Topaz said. “I better go and see what they want. “It was good speaking to you, Ash.”

“Yeah, you too.” Anton said. “I’m getting tired anyway, might be time to head back to my room.”

The pony gave him a nod and a smile, and then they both parted in different directions.

Just as Anton grabbed the handle of the glass doors leading out of the garden, he heard Topaz call out his name, and turned to look at her.

“You look just like him, you know.” She said. “And you have his demeanor.”

“He was my brother.” Anton said, and then he opened the door and left the garden and Topaz behind.

At first he thought that he could stop by the kitchens and see if Willow was done, but when he looked through the windows and saw the setting sun, he thought it best to try and get some sleep.

On his way back to his room, he didn’t meet any pony he knew, and didn’t see any trace of either Willow or Holly. Lilly was still nowhere to be found, and he started to get worried about her. Still, there was nothing he could do to help when he couldn’t even find her.

When he emerged into the lobby, his gaze landed on the main doors, where a pony had just entered and was busy talking with a mare that looked like a nurse. The newly-arrived pony looked pretty odd, pushing about a big bag and dressed in a tattered grey cloak and some strange mask covering its entire head, a pair of grey ears sticking out of the top of the mask. Several small bags and pouches had been strapped around the pony’s legs.

Anton guessed it was another Stalker, and paid it little attention. He walked through the lobby, nodded at a pony that waved at him as he passed, then made his way up the stairs to the second floor.

Once back in his room, he quickly shut the door, threw his cloak on the floor and crawled into bed. It didn’t take long for sleep to pull him into the land of dreams.

Some time later, Anton awoke from his dreams, disturbed by a familiar sound. The sound of his door opening, just like the night before. Unlike last time, he decided to remain still this time, and wait for whoever it was to make themselves known. He didn’t want to scare them off again.

He could hear the faint sound of hooves carefully sneaking across the floor towards his bed, and then just as it seemed to be right beside him, it stopped.

“… I’m sorry.”

A voice whispered, next to his bed. He knew instantly who it was, and slowly turned around in bed.

Lilly sat next to his bed, looking at him through the darkness. He could see something on her cheeks, and he understood that she’d been crying recently.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” She said meekly. “I just… I’m sorry.”

Anton propped himself up on his elbows to look at her better. “Don’t worry; you don’t have to be sorry. You’ve gone through a lot; it’s okay to be upset.”

She hesitated for a while, and stared into the floor as she spoke. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” Anton asked quietly.

Lilly failed to hold back a sob. “E-everything. I don’t even know what I’m doing here and I miss Duskshine so much, and I-“Her voice broke and she started to cry again. “I’m sorry; I’m such a stupid filly, I… I told myself that if I could save you, then-“

“Hey, Lilly, don’t cry, please, it-it’s okay.”

“I just-I thought…”

After a little while, she calmed down, but remained quiet for a good while. So quiet in fact, that Anton almost thought she’d fallen asleep. It wouldn’t surprise him, since Willow said she’d barely slept the past few days.

“Can I…” Lilly whispered, her voice very careful and cautious. “Can I sleep in here tonight? I-I don’t want to be alone…”

“Of course.” Anton said before scooting to the side of the bed. “You can take the blankets, I’ll just use my cloak, okay?”

“Okay.” Lilly responded, and then crawled into the bed.

The said nothing else, and after a while, both had fallen asleep, feeling safer in the company of each other.

Sawblade slowly opened his eyes and held back a yawn. His body felt cold, and his entire left side ached terribly. It took him a few seconds to orient himself, realizing that he was laying on his side on cold stone. He groaned and pushed himself back up, remember where he was. The church, now much darker and with rays of orange light shining through the large windows.

He stood up, and spotted Crescent on the other side of the hall, looking intently through a window. Sawblade clumsily limped towards him, feeling the numbness in his side slowly subside.

“How long was I out?” He muttered under his breath when he came up to the window, and set eyes upon the setting sun. “You should’ve woken me up. If I hadn’t slept this long, we could’ve been out of town by now.”

Crescent slowly shook his head.

“What?” Sawblade asked.

He shook his head again, quicker this time, before going back to stare out the window.

“I-I can’t understand you, Cres.” Sawblade said. “Say something instead.”

No response.

“Fine, whatever. Just do your thing, alright?” Sawblade took another peak outside. “It’s going to be dark real soon. We should probably stay here for the night, keep going in the morning.”

Crescent shook his head again, much faster, almost frantically. Then without making a single noise, the Stalker turned around and left Sawblade by the window.

“Hey, where are you going?” He called. “You’re not… you’re not going outside, are you?”

As an answer to his question, Crescent hurried towards the exit.

“Cres, come on!” Sawblade yelled and ran after him. “Stop it, you can’t go out there. It’s too dangerous at night, even if you’d been feeling well!”

But Crescent didn’t listen and simply kept on through the doorway and into the dark tower entrance. Sawblade groaned and did his best to keep up with his friend.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” He asked into the darkness. “Listen, I know you’re hurting, but there’s no point in being suicidal!

He emerged from the shadows and into the slowly darkening graveyard. Crescent stood A little ways off to the right, looking at the ground with intent.

“There you are.” Sawblade said as he walked up to him. “What are you doing…. Here…”

Sawblade stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what Crescent was looking at. Hoof prints in the snow. Nothing more than simple tracks left in the snow, no big deal. Except that he could distinctly make out more than just the prints of two ponies. Several, in fact.

“… We’re being followed.” Sawblade whispered. “That’s why you want to leave. Because they might be close by.”

Crescent gave a single nod, before yet again setting off. This time, he set his course through the graveyard, quickly trotting towards an old iron gate, and Sawblade couldn’t do anything but follow suit.

“I know I’m going to regret this…” He hurried up and kept even pace next to Crescent. “If you get us both killed out here, I’ll fucking haunt you in the afterlife.”

As expected, Crescent didn’t say a thing, and so once again, the couple hurried down the empty streets of Manehattan.

The sun was setting quickly, and it was getting increasingly difficult to see anything at all, but it didn’t seem to affect Crescent at all. Instead, he seemed to run a perfect track, a line he was attached to and couldn’t avert from. It started to make Sawblade nervous, the way Crescent seemed to know exactly where they had to go.

From time to time he would stop and listen, but otherwise he trotted on, his strange determination clashing completely with his shattered visage and sad demeanor.

An hour of darkness passed, and Crescent came to a momentary halt. He stopped in an intersection and looked back and forth, as if he was waiting for something. Or someone.

“Cres, you’re starting to scare me.” Sawblade said to his friend. “Where are we going?”

Suddenly, Crescent’s ears perked up, and listened intently to the side. Sawblade reacted too, and felt his own body tense as he heard the distinct sound of something behind them. What it was, however, he couldn’t make out. Just a lot of noise, like whispers.

Crescent took off yet again, and it took Sawblade a moment to notice it, and even longer to catch up to him, now that he had kicked into running speed.

After some time running, they both stopped and listened. The sounds from earlier had disappeared, but they still pressed on with high pace. Some time later, Crescent turned from the street and moved towards a building just to the right.

Sawblade followed, hurried after his friend up the few steps that lead to the entrance, which consisted of a set of glass doors, one broken and shattered. Once inside, he instantly recognized the building as a train station, but something was very clearly wrong about the place. He couldn’t see Crescent, and slowly walked further into the building.

The inside of the building was simple, plain and almost empty. A bench lay splintered in the floor, coated in dust. Cobwebs littered the corners and ceiling, and some had been woven like a thin veil across the pale green walls.

Shards of glass covered the floor, and wind howled through the broken windows

He rounder a corner, and caught sight of Crescent a little ways in front of him. He was down on the railroad tracks, peaking out through the opening that lead to one of the many bridges connecting the city to the mainland.

The Stalker moved closer, but froze instantly when he noticed something on the floor on front of him. A broken row of benches ran through the middle of the floor, much as it would in any train station, but it wasn’t the benches that caught his attention, but rather, something on the other side of them.

On the floor, partially hidden behind them, he could see a pair of legs.

When he came closer, he first saw the blood coating the floor, then the rest of the body, and it made him flinch just slightly. It had been torn apart, and the rest of it rested a few meters away from the severed legs. Images of the officer he’d seen in the war came back to him, and he started to feel a little light headed.

The body looked like that of a Bleaker, pale as ice, yet the blood was fresh. Whatever had happened here, it happened recently.

“I really don’t like the look of this…” Sawblade said as he moved away from the body and towards Crescent. “Something isn’t right.”

Crescent didn’t respond.

“Let’s just get out of here, quickly.” Sawblade said, and walked past Crescent unto the railroad.

Just a few meters forward, the ground ended abruptly, dropping down into the ocean. They headed forward, stepping out on the bridge that would take them out of town. It was thick in order to house trains, and several ponies could easily have been able to walk in a line across it.

For the first time since the church, Sawblade was in the front, and Crescent came right after him. Both started to shiver after a while, as the wind from the sea that couldn’t reach into the streets now bombarded them. It was cold, bitingly so, and Sawblade pulled the hood of his parka over his head.

About halfway across the bridge, Sawblade felt the urge to stop.

“Listen, Crescent…” He said. “We-I need to say something.” He paused for a moment before speaking again. “I get it. Okay? I understand. I’m a cold, heartless asshole, sure, but you’re still my best friend. What happened with your sister was awful, I get that, and I understand that you’re suffering, but… I hate it. I hate seeing you this way.”

He turned around to face Crescent.

“You need to get a grip. You can’t be quiet for the rest of your life; it’s not going to change anything. Do you think Lyra would’ve wanted this?”

No response, not even a change in Crescent’s face.

Sawblade sighed. “Just say something. Anything. Please.”

Nothing.

“Come on, say something! Don’t just stand there, you-! Ponies die all the time, no matter what! Sure it hurts, it hurts like fucking hell, but you know what? Being sad is not going to bring anypony back! You can blubber and sob your shriveled little heart out, but it won’t change anything and you know it! I’m sorry, but you need to accept that she’s gone, and get over it! You can keep your mouth shut for the rest of your life, Crescent, but it won’t bring her back!”

No answer.

“Speak, damn you!” Sawblade yelled, his anger serving as a shield against his own growing worry and fear. “You know what? Fine, don’t say a word! What if I jump off this bridge right here, right now, huh? You’re not gonna say a word to stop me? No you wouldn’t, and do you know why? Because you’re weak, Crescent, and always have been! You always let your emotions get in the way, and others suffer and die because of it!”

Silence.

“Lyra died because of you, because you couldn’t save her!”

Suddenly, Crescent launched at Sawblade and pushed him to the ground. He rolled around and was about to get up, but Crescent was on him in a matter of seconds and pushed him down, his hoof hovering above his face, ready to strike.

“Do it!” Sawblade yelled. “Do it, you pathetic colt!”

Crescent’s hoof bashed his face, and Sawblade’s head jerked to the side from the impact. Instantly, he felt the taste of blood in his mouth. He barely had time to spit it out before Crescent hit him again.

“Come on!” Sawblade shouted between punches. “Show your anger, show your rage!” Another punch cut him off. “Let it all out, shout it out!”

But Crescent remained completely quiet as he kept on beating Sawblade. Without warning, Crescent suddenly pressed his hooves against Sawblade’s throat.

He tried to speak, but the pressure on his throat was too much, and he only managed to wheeze as he stared into Crescent’s darkening eyes.

Then just as sudden as it had started, Crescent removed his hooves from his throat, then rolled off of him like a ragdoll. He rolled over on his back in the snow next to Sawblade, and even though he couldn’t see Crescent’s face since he was still staring up into the sky, trying to catch his breath, he heard that the Stalker had begun sobbing.

Panting heavily and rubbing his sore throat, Sawblade stood up. Crescent was a heap on the ground, legs sprawled out around him, his face contorted as he cried and hyperventilated.

“Crescent, I…” Sawblade began, trying to regain his calm. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have…”

Sawblade sighed before extending a hoof towards his friend. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

After a few moments of doubt, Crescent took his hoof and slowly lumbered to his hooves.

“There, good.” Sawblade said, brushing off the snow that had gathered on Crescent’s coat. “I’m sorry, I’m just wor-… Just do what you have to do, but don’t give up on me, okay? Do your mourning, but don’t…”

Sawblade looked into his eyes. “Don’t lose sight of yourself, please.”

Crescent looked like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth. Realization struck Sawblade like a ton of bricks; maybe it wasn’t his own choice to be quiet. Perhaps he couldn’t control it.

He was about to turn around and continue the walk across the bridge, when something behind Crescent caught his eye. Something far away, yet close enough to notice. Shapes, figures approaching on the bridge from where they came.

Sawblade pointed to them, and Crescent turned around to look. They approached fast, and it took Sawblade a moment to recognize the steadily growing shapes.

“Bleakers!” He said. “Damn it, they followed us!”

Crescent looked at him with an almost pleading eyes.

“Is this why you wanted to move quickly?” Sawblade asked. “Did you see them back at the church?”

His friend nodded.

“Right. Let’s move then, run!”

He didn’t have to tell Crescent twice, and they both ran down the bridge as fast as they could, suddenly hearing the shouting and yelling of their pursuers.

“Wait, I have an idea!” Sawblade yelled before skidding to a halt. He quickly threw up his saddle bags and started digging through them. He pulled out the flint and steel he’d used earlier, and then the dynamite.

He looked up, and saw that the pale ponies had gotten much closer, and would soon be on them.

“Get ready to run like hell!” He said as he tried to light fuse. “This is gonna be big!”

The Bleakers where now so close that he could see their faces clearly, full of hatred and madness.

The fuse caught fire with a flash.

“Go, run!”

Sawblade chucked the stick of dynamite at the horde of ponies. It touched down just a few meters in front of them, but they didn’t stop. Sawblade grabbed his saddle bag in his mouth and hightailed it.

A massive explosion shook the bridge, sending Sawblade hurdling to the ground. He fell face first into the snow, and grunted in pain through the handle in his mouth. His ears rang, and he could hear shouting, distant and distorted, as if he’d fallen into water.

He pushed himself back up, and didn’t even turn to look at the destruction. With a spinning head and double vision, he ran as quickly as he could without falling over. He could see the distorted silhouette of Crescent in front of him, and he focused his eyes on him in an attempt to regain himself.

Suddenly and without knowing how, the ground beneath his hooves changed. His whole body ached and the ringing in his ears tore through his skull, but through the haze, he saw that they had exited the bridge unto the mainland, and he could see Crescent waving a hoof at him on the distance.

With a final push, he ran towards Crescent and collapsed in the snow by his side. His vision started tp become black, and he felt somepony frantically push him to keep him awake. It seemed to do the job, and Sawblade managed to roll around in the snow and push himself up.

His hearing had almost returned to normal, and he could still hear the shouting from the bridge. The Stalker spun around and almost fell on his side in the process, but managed to prop himself against a tree for support.

The last part of the bridge was gone, swallowed by the ice waters beneath. Thick smoke still hung in the air, and debris and rubble fell into the ocean.

Sawblades heart sank when he spotted the pale ponies through the haze, some that had survived the explosion. They rushed across the final meters of the bridge and would soon be upon them. He couldn’t do anything in his condition, he was too disoriented to fight, and the odds were against them.

He made a move to run, but only tripped in the deep snow. The next second, their pursuers reached them.

Two of them threw themselves over Crescent and tackled him to the ground, while the remaining two approached Sawblade. He tried to crawl away, but somehow found himself back up into a tree.

With Crescent’s screams ringing in his head, he shut his eyes and got ready for the end. He had given up, too weak to stand up and defend himself.

Sawblade took a deep breath, and steeled himself for what was to come.

He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of screaming.

Anton woke up from his sleep, sweating and panting. He sat up in bed, trying to catch his breath. He ran a hand across his face, wiping away the beads of sweat covering his skin. He let the hand brush through his hair before rubbing his neck carefully.

Slowly he turned his head to the side and looked down at Lilly. She was fast asleep, snoring into the pillow, just as she’d done when he found her in the library the other day. He didn’t want to wake her, but felt a strong urge to move his limbs, so as carefully as he could, he snuck out of bed and stood up. He wrapped the cloak around himself and walked over to the window.

He couldn’t see a thing beyond the glass. Nothing but compact darkness, as if the world outside had been erased from existence.

With a sigh he removed himself from the window, and snuck back to the bed to try and get some sleep once again. That was when he heard it. A faint mumbling, coming from outside the hospital. Anton hurried back to the window to see if he could hear it better, but all he heard was mumbling. At least he could hear two distinct voices, one darker and deeper than the other.

Then, he heard a distorted screech that sounded like a wounded animal, a loud bang, and then silence.

“What was that?”

Lilly sat up in bed, probably awoken by the sound outside. She pulled the blanket around herself for warmth.

“I don’t know.” Anton whispered. “But I think it’s best if we take a look, just in case.”

“But I want to sleep…”

Anton ignored her, threw the cloak over his shoulders and grabbed the lantern hanging on the wall next to the door. He listened at the door for a little while just to be sure, and then opened it carefully.

“Wait, I’m coming to!” Lilly said as she tumbled out of bed and clumsily buttoned her own cloak. “I don’t want to all alone here.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Anton said, and pushed the door open.
The hallway was empty and quiet, and completely dark except his lantern. They crept down the corridor in silence, every fibre of their bodies tense.

When they started to get close to the main lobby, a sound reached their ears.

“There it is again.” Anton said. “Mumbling. I think someone is talking downstairs.”

“Maybe it’s just Stalkers?” Lilly whispered.

“I hope so.”

A few moments later, they emerged into the lobby, and from their high spot on the first floor, they had a clear view of the entire hall.

What they saw made them both stop dead in their tracks and their blood turned to ice in their veins.

The floor below was lit up in bright light emanating from two figures on the other side of the room. One was a pony sitting down on the floor, looking up with big eyes at a figure dressed completely in black…

“Mattias!” Anton hissed between his teeth.

He didn’t say anything else, didn’t move when he saw his own brother reach out and put his hand on the forehead of the pony. It started to squirm, but Mattias dug his fingers into its skin, and the next second, Anton felt his whole world and life shatter as he witnessed what happened.

The eyes of the pony caught fire. It screamed in agony, a terrible, heart-breaking screech of pure terror, and the pony’s body writhed in futile attempts to get out of the man’s grip. The screaming quickly reached a horrendous crescendo, and then the pony fell to the floor. Its limbs twitched as the flames continued to dig its way into its eye sockets.

Suddenly, the lobby filled with voices and screams, and several sources of light appeared throughout the room as ponies came running with both lanterns and candles and magic orbs of light. Anton and Lilly crept closer to get a better look, and Anton couldn’t take his eyes away from his brother.

He heard the ponies scream and yell at Mattias, but he couldn’t make out what they said. He saw them form a half-circle around him, trying to keep him cornered to the main doors. And to his horror, he could see Willow being part of the circle, and next to him, a familiar pony in trench coat. Holly.

Next to them stood Topaz, and besides her was the strange pony he’d seen earlier, still wearing the cloak and mask.

Anton’s world had stopped moving, he couldn’t think or breathe or function. All he saw was his brother who had just killed a pony in cold blood, and his friends risking the same fate. He wanted to call out and run down to them, but he couldn’t move or open his mouth. As if he was frozen in time and space.

Suddenly, Topaz approached the man. Anton registered that she was saying something, but he couldn’t process what it was. He saw Mattias slowly turn his attention towards the mare, and saw something hanging around his neck, something giving off a faint light.

The following second, Mattias reached his hand out towards Topaz, and a deep red aura began to glow around his fingers. Topaz lifted from the floor, and Anton could just about make out her scream before Mattias made a throwing motion, and Topaz sailed through the air like a ragdoll, slamming into the wall with tremendous force. She fell to the floor and remained still.

“No!”

Lilly’s yell filled his ears, and for just a moment he had time to think “Run Lilly, run!” before he felt the eyes of his brother latch unto him. His entire body suddenly felt like it was on fire, and he couldn’t do anything but scream as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor.

Lilly’s scream filled his ears again, and he managed to roll around enough to see her float away from the floor. His own screaming mixed with hers, and he tried to reach out to her but couldn’t reach her.

Her head suddenly spun around violently, and a terrible cracking noise tore through Anton’s ears. He screamed and cried as Lilly fell to the floor, lifeless. More screams filled the air, and he understood that his brother was attacking the others.

But he could care less. He could kill the entire world for all he cared; the only thing that mattered was to reach Lilly. With tears streaming down his face and his body still hurting like fire, he crawled on his arms across the floor and with a final push, he managed to grab hold of Lilly and roll her around. Her entire body felt limp as he dragged her into his arms.

With the screams of his friend ringing through his ears, Anton pushed himself to his knees, and then had to support himself on the railing of the stairs to stand up, and then bore witness to the utter chaos below him.

Several ponies had fallen to the floor, their necks twisted or eyes burnt out of their skulls. Anton screamed in fear as he saw Willow get thrown through the air and then slam into one of the glass doors on the side of the room, shattering it in a thousand pieces. The Pegasus disappeared behind the door, and Anton couldn’t see him come back out.

He screamed Holly’s name when he saw the shards of glass shoot through the air in a red aura and pierce through her stomach.

“Mattias! Sluta! Snälla, sluta, döda dom inte! Mattias!”

His brother looked straight at him, and opened his mouth, revealing nothing but a gaping black hole, an abyss, yet words flowed out of it.

“A new order shall rise; a tidal wave of pure supremacy will wash away the sin of Equestria! The serpents shall blot out the sun and your skin will burn in anguish! The world will darken and all shall despair the rising sun and the black dawn!”

“NO!” Anton yelled, his throat burning like coals. The last of his powers failed him, and he stumbled to his knees.

“They will return to reclaim what is theirs by right, the wolves shall tear the world asunder and the crows will dance across the shattered earth!”

Anton cried and pressed Lilly close to his chest, her limbs dangling from his grip. He grabbed the back of her head and pressed his face against hers and screamed in agony.

“You’re not my brother!”

Pain once again tore through his body like fire and he fell backwards, still clutching Lilly as tight as he could, hoping that he wouldn’t lose her.

The pain became unbearable, and his vision blackened as he fell, and time seemed to slow down. He felt Lilly’s soft fur against his hands, and her white mane brushing against the skin on his chin. He could no longer hear the screaming, nor feel the pain.

He felt Lilly close to him.

And then…

Everything faded.

Author's Notes:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LwVk-BF4tjo

And so the first chapter in The Song of The Unbroken comes to a close..

Sequel here!