//------------------------------// // Sonata becomes a metal head of the literal variety. // Story: Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam // by Daniel-Gleebits //------------------------------// Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam Sonata Dusk In bygone days, when Sonata’s spirits had been high, and her heart free to flow, she’d sometimes sunk into the throws of minor unhappiness. Being such a whimsical and exuberant individual, she had been told how even these small steps towards misery had a remarkable effect upon her demeanour, and made it plain to all of her friends that something was evidently wrong. But in those days she had had her friends to help her, she’d had her painting to submerge herself into, Sunset to empty her heart out to, and none of her lesser moods had been able to survive longer than it took for Sunset to pull her into a warm hug. But that was then. And now... well, now she was shut in a dungeon beneath a changeling-built castle in a land languishing under a perpetual night, with all of her friends in another world and her marefriend too terrified of her – and rightly so – to speak to or even see her. With every avenue cut off, her spirits had no outlet to drain away the bitterness and pain, and so swelled into a dank and brooding mass deep in her wounded soul, like a canker on a tree trunk. Only once before had she ever succumbed to this kind of dead-end despair, and it had only been Sunset’s intervention that’d prevented a likely fatal outcome. Somehow Sonata didn’t imagine the same miracle happening a second time. Languishing in this dismal state of mind, Sonata soon fell away from thinking of things to make her cheerful, allowing harsh and resentful thoughts to seep in to replace them. Script, with his unguarded tongue and obnoxious personality. Moonborne, for her callous and malicious goading merely for the pleasure of making Sonata suffer. And most of all, this mystery, Machiavellian conspiracy schemer, the one who had apparently thrown Equestria into a dystopian future, and ruined a seemingly infinite chain of lives for whatever damn purpose Sonata did not know. What she did know was that whoever it was, it was they who was most responsible for this, for everything that had happened, for why Sunset had abandoned her! No pony entered the dungeon anymore, save for one pony. Loyal Stride, imperturbable as ever, had maintained his post in front of her cell, ignoring her cold death-glares and maintaining a slow succession of hobbies to pass the time. That was, until one day, when Sonata had woken up from her position a foot away from her bed, and found that the chair he usually occupied was empty. She’d intended to give him a particularly charged look of scorn and malignancy, given an extra little kick by the bags under her eyes from too little sleep, when she noticed that she was completely alone. For a moment, she felt a surge of hopefulness. Then it petered out, and began to sink into a feeling of disappointment. Almost abandonment. Then she clamped it down and shoved it deep down in her gut with the rest of her unnecessary feelings. She scowled, but when she stood up to stretch out her sleep cramp, she heard the sure sound of hooves on stonework, and Loyal Stride slid into view. “We’re going,” he said. Sonata rubbed her eyes. “That’s nice,” she mumbled. “You and I,” Loyal Stride specified. “Are going.” “No,” Sonata said simply. “This isn’t up for debate,” Loyal Stride said tersely. “You’re right,” Sonata replied with a mirthless laugh. “You’re coming with me to the Badlands.” Against her will, this pronouncement actually raised Sonata’s interest. She lifted her head and looked around at him. “What?” she said rather stupidly. “We’re going to the Badlands. We need to go now, since you need to pay Script a visit.” Sonata’s bad mood reasserted itself as he mentioned the name. She sat down and turned away from him, pretending to be interested in a slight fold in her unused bed. “And why would I go to the Badlands?” she asked, unable to suppress her incurable sense of curiosity. “To try and fix things,” Loyal Stride said vaguely. Sonata’s limited patience fizzled out. “Not interested.” For a second, there was silence, except for a slight scratching sound. Probably a mouse somewhere trying to dig into the walls. But then she heard a metal groan, suspiciously like a cell door with too little oil in its hinges being opened. “Come on,” Loyal Stride said, right next to her. “Go see Script.” “Get away,” Sonata moaned, shying away from his outstretched hoof. “I told you, I’m not going.” “Yes, you are. I’ll explain on the way.” “I don’t care about your stupid explanation!” “Just get up and –“ “NO!” She hadn’t meant to do it. Even as it happened, she sensed the oppressive weight of the dungeon’s magic struggling to cancel out her own. As it was, the concussive force of her scream was mostly counteracted, only strong enough to blow Loyal Stride’s short mane out of true. He stumbled back a little, one hoof to his ear as he struggled to regain balance against the whine in his ear. For a second, Sonata sensed a burgeoning lump of regret rising in her throat. She swallowed and looked away as Loyal Stride gave his head an experimental shake. Sonata half wondered whether the noise would attract guards, but oddly enough, none came. “I understand,” Loyal Stride began slowly, “that you’re upset.” “No, you don’t understand, then,” Sonata grunted. “I’m not upset. I’m being serious.” Loyal Stride gave her a curious look. Looking at the little blue earth pony in front of him, he found it a little strange for her to be anything approaching serious. “What are you being serious about?” he asked. “Why do you want to stay in here rather than do something?” “Because every time I do, things just go wrong!” she erupted, smacking the floor with her hoof. “It’s just getting worse.” “And so staying here whilst it does is going to help?” Loyal Stride asked coldly. “What else is there to do?” Sonata grumbled, putting her head on her forelegs. “Script already said there’s no way to get rid of this thing.” She tapped the red stone resting at the end of its black chord in front of her in a morose sort of way. “I leave here, it gets worse. I don’t remember exactly what I was like when I had it before, but I know it wasn’t good.” “What about Sunset?” Loyal Stride asked quietly. “She’s safer away from me,” Sonata replied, pressing her eyes tight shut. “So you wouldn’t leave to help her?” “How would me leaving help her?” “I can’t say for definite that it will,” Loyal Stride admitted. “Then no,” Sonata mumbled. Loyal Stride was silent for a long moment. Then he said something that made Sonata’s ears tingle, and the hair in her mane stand on end. “I can’t guarantee that you’ll be able to help Sunset,” he reiterated. “But if Script and I are right, then you will be able to be rid of your curse. And,” he added, a subtle shift in his voice. “Also bring justice to the one who placed it back onto you.” Sonata’s oppressive lethargy and ill disposition shifted, allowing actual interest to rise like a hidden thing from amongst desert sands. Conscious of her tendency for impulsive action, she bit back the reply that sprang to her lips, and tried to think hard on what had just been said. Bring justice to the one who placed it back onto you. Sonata felt her gut churn a little, and oddly enough, her mouth begin to salivate, as though she’d just scented a meal she’d loved as a child. She blinked slowly, and looked around. “Script knows who it is,” Loyal Stride said. “Or, suspects. He’s convinced me of it.” “Who is it?” Sonata asked, trying to keep her voice noncommittal. Loyal Stride’s immutable expression made it hard to know what he was thinking, but he must have sensed duplicity, or else already decided not to say. “Not here,” he said. “If you’re interested in being rid of that stone, and stopping the one who put it back on you, then go see Script, now.” “Where are you going?” Sonata asked, raising her head. Loyal Stride didn’t look back as he trotted back out of the cell. “I’ll be there shortly, I simply need to appropriate that ridiculous vehicle. I’ll explain more of what we’re doing on the way.” Sonata’s mouth seemed to jam as she watched him leave. She wanted to ask more, but her mind lingered on what had already been said. It wasn’t until she heard, echoing back to her, the last thing Loyal Stride said, that she stirred. “Script’s on the fourth floor. Corridor on the left, third door.” Sonata made her way through the castle with the edgy disposition of a prison escapee. Which, technically, she was. She wasn’t entirely sure about what her status was in regards to access to the castle, since she had personally requested herself to be imprisoned. So if she let herself out, did that mean she was allowed out? Somehow, she doubted it. This puzzling conundrum set her nerves on edge, and her teeth to clenching as she passed each corner. Curiously however, she didn’t come across any guards. None at all. That wasn’t to say that there wasn’t anypony around. She saw several official looking individuals with scrolls and clipboards, and cleaning staff complacently dusting the hallways. Several changelings also zoomed by, mostly flying, but one of them – for whatever reason – had taken to walking casually along the ceiling, humming to itself. Sonata dodged them all, and found herself at the fourth level of the grand staircase before she noticed something else. Loyal Stride need not have told her where Script was. Whether it was a result of the event in Dodge City, or simply that she was paying more attention to the wretched rock clinging to her neck, she found that she could feel where he was. Or more specifically, she could sense his moodiness. His trademark sense of annoyance and impatience. This, intermingled with something she thought might be fear, and loathing, seeped out through the castle like ribbons of interlacing threads leading through and formed out of the green mist of negativity. What intrigued her most, however, was another of these emotional ribbons. It hung twisted and sinewy in the air amongst the sparkling green, glimmering with a complex array of emotions that Sonata found it difficult to assess. Script can wait, she thought vaguely, her legs carrying her upstairs where the ribbon trailed. Sonata almost felt like turning back when she came to see the highest of the accessible floors. It was dark, or perhaps it was better to say, ill-lit. Dim blue flames cast a dismally ethereal glow upon windowless walls, which intermingling with the thickening green mist Sonata could see, gave the hallways the distinct appearance of an underwater ship-wreck, or a haunted house coated in ghostly ectoplasm. But close as she was now, she thought that she could tell precisely who this ribbon belonged to. Justice Sonata thought, smirking. She advanced into the gloom, her magenta eyes glimmering red as Moonborne’s smug face blossomed into her mind. And maybe, I’ll make her tell me what she thought sending that messenger was supposed to do. Sonata’s teeth clenched together as she felt prickly rage tingle over her skin and over her scalp. If it hadn’t been for her listening to that changeling... At the centre of a long stretch of featureless purple wall stood a tall set of imposing double doors, each one inlayed with a stylised image of a pony and a changeling circling one another. One of the doors was ajar, allowing a pulsing green radiance to come spilling out into the hallway. Sonata crept closer, hoping to catch Moonborne unawares, if for no other reason than scaring the bejeebus out of her before the interrogation. Upon reaching the doorframe however, she paused, hearing low voices from within the room. “—st as you feared.” “Even the stores we discovered from the old hive are no longer enough to sustain us.” Sonata crept up to the space in the door, and peered surreptitiously inside. Within was a large, spacious room with a high ceiling. Dominating the chamber was a tall, obelisk-like crystal that sent a jolt of recognition through Sonata. This crystal was certainly what was giving off the strange green light; it hummed slightly, releasing small wisps of greenish energy. Or is that the negative energy? Sonata thought. Concentrating for a moment, she forced her vision back to normal, ignoring the enticing wafts of negative energy as the stone at her throat drew it in like water to a plughole. Without the additional layer of glittering green gas, Sonata saw that the crystal was giving off a much feebler light than she’d thought, as though it needed a change of batteries. The light was pulsing at a sickly rate, reminiscent of a dying man’s cardiograph readout. Bathed in this unhealthy light were three figures. The first, tall and thin, her knife-like horn glowing purple, was Moonborne, facing the crystal and looking worried. The other two were a pair of other changelings, their great blue eyes glowing and their black carapaces shining green. “What can we do, my Queen?” one of the changelings asked fearfully. “If the supply should run out—“ “We must keep searching,” Moonborne said in a quiet yet firm voice. “Equestria has always been a stronghold of love. There must be reserves to tap. We simply have to keep looking. There has to be somewhere that isn’t tainted.” “We’ve scoured the land, my Queen,” the second said in a lower, female voice. “All of Equestria is the same. Save for perhaps the Empire.” “Reaching beyond the Nightlands is already defying the Over Queen’s will,” the first said, trembling. “The Empire cannot be touched,” Moonborne sighed, scowling. She stepped up to the crystal. “Its defences are too complete; we would be discovered instantly.” “But surely the Over Queen will understand if we—“ “The subject is closed!” Moonborne snapped. “Feed the hatchery with my private reserves. There will be no divisions now. If all else fails, the next generation must come first. Now be gone.” “But, my Queen,” the second said with a small sense of urgency. “You have no heirs. There are none to take you—“ The two changelings took half-steps back as Moonborne fixed them with a piercing purple eye. Even Sonata felt a resentful, faint twinge of fear deep in the cockles of her heart at the ferocity in the look. Glancing at each other, the two changelings turned towards the door. Sonata stepped nimbly sideways as the doors swung open, and kept silent as the changelings trod down the dark hall to the stairs, muttering to each other and shaking their lowered heads. Waiting until their clip-clopping steps disappeared into the gloom, Sonata circumnavigated the door, and slipped inside. A heady sense of hungry malice began to bubble inside her once again as she crossed the threshold, until she caught sight of what Moonborne was doing, and what she saw made her pause in uncertainty. “Hush now,” Moonborne said tenderly, her horn still glowing. “I’m sorry I yelled. It’s alright now. Here you go, drink as much as you like.” Sonata stared in open-mouthed surprise as she saw a small bundle hovering before the crystal. From the depths of what Sonata took at first to be a cloth, but which upon closer inspection proved to be a curious sort of purplish gauze, sprouted a small, round, black something. It squirmed fitfully, making tiny noises like a newborn bird. Seemingly in response to the thing in the bundle, the crystal hummed and glowed a little brighter. From every defined side of the obelisk came an almost imperceptible hissing, as though of escaping gas. A thick tendril of sickly green tinged with an unhealthy pink converged on the bundle, seemingly being sucked greedily into it. Moonborne shushed the bundle quietly as the magical essence spiralled down and away, and set it down on a large four-poster bed. It was only then that she noticed Sonata standing in the doorway. Her face went a virulent shade of purple as her eyes widened. “You!” she hissed. “How dare you—“ “Shh,” Sonata said, eying the bundle on the bed. Moonborne’s expression soured. “What do you think you’re doing here?” she snarled in a venomous whisper. “How did you escape—“ Sonata had no patience whatsoever for Moonborne’s voice. Her own melodic tones drowned out the queen, not with volume, but with a deeply perceptible gravity, as though the sound were travelling through more than just air. Instantly Moonborne’s face relaxed into a look of polite bemusement, her mouth slowly closing as whatever mental impulses drove her to speech seeped inexorably from her mind. Sonata regarded her with palpable malevolence. She was of the opinion that what she felt for the changeling right now wasn’t enough, not virulent nor malicious enough for what the creature deserved. To her chagrin, she found that her attempts to build up a bit of rancour were not having much effect. A sound from the direction of the bed diverted her attention for a moment, and she turned irritably to see what it was that was distracting her. She scowled as she stared into the purple gauze, unsure of what she was seeing. Then the thing yawned, and Sonata took an involuntary step backwards, her pinched scowl vanishing. The small changeling baby blinked at her with its enormous bug-eyes. It regarded her with a sort of bright curiosity, and chirruped squeakily. Sonata’s expression turned stony at the sound, an angry glint in her eye as she continued to look at the thing. Her mouth worked as though grinding something between her teeth, the crease in her brow deepening. Abruptly she turned away from the infant and turned her full attention back onto the mother. “How did you know we were here?” Sonata asked sharply. Moonborne looked blank. Sonata made an impatient noise and rolled her eyes. “When we arrived in Ponyville. How did you know?” “I did not,” Moonborne replied absently. “Yes you did,” Sonata spat. “You sent changelings to attack us. In the tunnels under Ponyville. They attacked us and—“ She stopped. Moonborne’s slightly puzzled expression was really throwing her off her line of questioning. Being under Sonata’s spell, the queen should not be able to lie to her, so if she wasn’t answering the question, then perhaps the magic simply wasn’t strong enough, or the question specific enough. Sonata drew deeply on her power, forging a spike of precision within her, within the pendant, and let out another ensnaring note. It rang, eerie and echoing, as if in an underwater cave, rising and then falling in an enticing melody. Although it wasn’t loud, the very air thrummed with it, eliciting a mesmerised coo from the baby changeling, even though it was not the target. Moonborne’s expression did not change. “Tell me why you ordered changelings to attack me and my friends near Ponyville,” Sonata said, slowly and clearly. “I issued no such order,” Moonborne replied, even more distant than before. “Yes you did!” Sonata snarled through her teeth. “Stop lying to me!” Moonborne made no response, but continued to look vaguely confused. Sonata let out a growl of frustration and anger. She seized hold of Moonborne’s head and held her at eyelevel. “Tell. Me. The. Truth!” To Sonata’s awful displeasure, the baby became upset at the angry tones and raising volume, and began to sniffle. Before Sonata knew it, the baby erupted into tears, bawling as loudly as its small but impressive lungs allowed. Sonata felt her frustration increase. She needed answers; why was Moonborne not giving them to her? She shouldn’t be able to resist her questions when under her will... She glared into Moonborne’s blank, deep-purple eyes, but noticed that the queen herself seemed unable to focus back. They flicked sideways with every scream of the wailing child, her brows twitching and her mouth opened slightly. With a groan of frustration, Sonata ordered Moonborne to tend to the child, and spent several moments pacing and seething. She didn’t have time or patience for this; she needed the answers before Script wondered where she was. She didn’t much care if she inconvenienced him, but she frankly wanted to avoid him asking her anything about where she’d been. She looked back at Moonborne, who was by this point rocking the baby in a purplish aura, whispering small supplications to the child. If she wouldn’t tell Sonata why she ordered the changelings to attack, even under magical enchantment, then the only logical recourse was that she didn’t give any such order. Or didn’t remember doing it. But that can’t be true, Sonata thought bitterly. They have that hive-thing. Who else could have sent them if not her? The changelings back then had said, openly, that they were there on behalf of the Over-queen, and that was Luna. Sonata had assumed that this had meant that Moonborne had sent the changelings, and that the changelings had surmised that it was on Luna’s orders. But if Moonborne had no recollection of sending any such order, then either someone had erased the memory, or... “It’s obvious,” Script scoffed impatiently. “Of course Moonborne didn’t send those changelings after us.” “You knew?” Sonata demanded. “All along,” Script said smugly. Loyal Stride gave him a dig in the foreleg. “Ugh, fine. I figured it out later,” he admitted, rubbing the area Loyal Stride had struck. “Not that much later though.” “So, what does it mean?” Sonata asked impatiently. “That somepony else has access to the changeling’s hive link,” Script said grimly, making objects appear in mid-air and squinting at them before making them disappear again. “No. No. Ooh, mint. No. No. No.” “The pony that Script believes is behind all of this.” “Don’t make it sound so melodramatic,” Script chided distractedly. “They’re only responsible for some of what’s going on. The entire thing, on the other hand: The initial invasion of Equestria, the madness of the previous dynasty, what happened to you, my sister, and I. All of that, of course, is because of... another party.” “Who?” Sonata demanded. “Who’s doing this?” “I am not at liberty to tell you that,” Script said, poofing a wooden box and giving a grunt of success. “Also, I don’t want to. As moody as you’ve gotten, you’re still dumb.” Sonata felt the complex knot of feeling deep inside of her pulse angrily. “And you’re still a smart mouth. How’re those ribs healing up?” Script actually smiled. “Very well, thank you. How’s your heart doing?” He gave her pendant a casual flick of his hoof, sending it spinning on its necklace. “Just as I thought. Broken.” Sonata gave a shriek of fury and leapt at him, only to be intercepted by a muscular embrace. “Calm down,” Loyal Stride said firmly. He looked over her shoulder at Script. “Both of you settle down. None of this is helpful.” Sonata remained ridged, and was still breathing hard, but she turned with a noise of disgust, and paced her side of the room. Script sneered at Loyal Stride, and then turned his attention back to the box. “Now, usually of course,” he said, lifting a sinister looking object from the box, “you’d be under an anaesthetic.” Sonata looked at the thing warily. It looked to her like a short metal stake, or perhaps a large nail, encased within two lighter metals like a shell. “That’s supposed to stop me doing magic?” Sonata asked sceptically. “You sure it’s not just meant to kill me? It looks like an iron nail.” “It is an iron nail,” Script confirmed. “Imbued with the traditional magics that make it a prophylactic against magical use. Iron naturally resists magical affects, and this quality can – oddly enough – be magically reinforced by the simple application of an augmentation spell. The spell boosts the nails ability to dull magic, which in turn dulls the spell upon it. The weakened spell triggers automatically as its energy is diminished, and so therefore a cycle occurs until the nail is strong enough to dim the spell entirely. Should the effect weaken, the spell comes back into effect and reinforces the metal’s strength again. But this balance is extremely difficult to maintain, and can be thrown off by things like weather, physical trauma, and a host of other things, which is why the object is generally inserted into the subject’s body to protect it. And prevent removal. Depending on the strength of the magic, the nail can be made to have a stronger—“ “Just get on with it,” Sonata grumbled, tired already of Script’s monologuing. “Do you need a hammer or something?” Script’s lips pursed, as they always did when he was interrupted. “Because you don’t have a horn,” Script said icily, “your procedure is going to have to be a little more complicated. Made even more so by the fact that the pendant’s magic will force your body to adapt to any outside intrusion. In short, if I jab this into your head, your head will spit it out. But the nail needs to be about where a unicorn horn would be, since that’s still above the part of the brain that consciously controls magic, even in none-unicorns.” “Are you sure it’s the same with her?” Loyal Stride asked. “No,” Script replied casually. “But that shouldn’t matter.” He gave a somewhat twisted smile. “What I’m going to have to do is fuse the nail into your skull. Essentially replace a part of your bone-structure with the metal. Before you ask,” he said in a slightly raised voice, “yes, it has been done before. It’s just a lot harder to do, and a lot more permanent than simply putting in and taking out an iron spike.” “Permanent?” Sonata said uncertainly. “Oh, don’t worry, this is still a temporary measure,” Script explained breezily. “One way or another, your curse will detect the presence of the nail and reject it eventually. I kind of want to see what that’ll be like to be honest,” he said musingly. “I imagine it’ll be exceptionally painful.” “Can you just get on with it?” Sonata growled. “Before this thing starts making it seem like a good idea to throw you out of the window.” Script gave a long-suffering sigh. “Alas, thoughts for another day. Now, hold still whilst I apply the anaesthetic.” “I don’t need any stupid anaesthetic,” Sonata snapped angrily. “Just put the thing in.” Script turned back slowly to her, and regarded her with a cold look of incredulity. He looked at Loyal Stride, and then back to Sonata, the iron spike still floating in the sky-blue aura between them. Script’s horn flared slightly, and the nail zipped like a bullet right into Sonata’s cranium. Sonata let out a shriek of pain that was muffled by a dense blue light covering her mouth, and she fell back in shock and agony. Before she’d hit the floor, the pendant gave an angry pulse, and sent the nail spinning in an arc to land on the floor, leaving a trail of small red droplets as it pinged across the solid floor. “How did that feel?” Script asked with cold fury, pulling Sonata roughly to her feet and giving her a cursory shove towards the table where the box he’d summoned lay. “Did it feel good? Still don’t want anaesthetic? Now sit down and stop brooding like a damn foal for two seconds whilst I melt this thing into your head. And think next time before saying anything so utterly stupid.” Sonata was too shocked, and still reeling from the sudden lancing pain in her head, to make any answer. Effectively cowed, she remained quiet whilst Script extracted a small bottle from the box. Cylindrical, and wider than it was tall, the contents were an ominous purple colour, thick and glutinous. “Now hold still,” Script said in a less aggressive tone. “This’ll take a few seconds to work, and then given the dose, should last for several hours. However,” he said pointedly, frowning a little. “Given your status, it might not last very long at all.” Explaining succinctly that if Sonata felt the iron being grafted, her body might react to it, it was therefore necessary to have everything done whilst she could not feel it. Sonata watched as, in the strong glow of Script’s magic, the nail began to morph, becoming misshapen and warped, eventually breaking down into a shiny liquid. Sonata wondered vaguely how exactly Script intended to proceed, and felt a trickle of trepidation at how rough he was going to be. His expression did nothing to ease her misgivings, since his sharp green eyes were narrowed in intense concentration. The little bottle of pain reliever, and the liquid metal hovered either side of her head, like a pair of mismatched predatory eyes. “Hey Strider,” Script said suddenly. “Is the door locked?” Sonata looked around instinctively towards the door, and before she knew what was happening, she felt her fringe being magically pulled back, and a splash of a cold, jam-like substance splattering across her forehead. She let out a squeak of surprise, and then almost instantly began to feel a numbness pass across her entire head. “Ew!” Script exclaimed. “What’s happening to your eye?” “What?” Sonata asked, alarmed. “What’s wrong with it?” “Stop getting distracted,” Loyal Stride grunted. “Oh, right,” Script said. “But seriously. That’s just distracting.” Sonata tried to glare at him, but found that her left eye seemed no longer to be under her control, and was listing inwards so that all it could see was her nose. She thought of saying something scathing, but then her still good eye saw a gleam of shiny black metal grow larger before her, and then— The sound was not one she had expected. Expecting a splat, she was surprised to hear instead a sound like a slab of meat hitting a chopping board. “Hold still,” Script grunted, his horn flaring brightly. Sonata remained as still as she could, trying her best to feel the metal, but had to admit that she could not. The most that she could have said was that she felt a sort of pressure on the opposite side of her head, as the muscles there strained to push back against the force pressing them back. It was as though he was simply trying to push the metal into her head. The only thing that made her think that there was more to it was the bluish force before her eyes, slowly becoming smaller, and dimmer as Script strained. With a grunt of exhaustion, Script let his magic wink out, and sat down breathing heavily. “There,” he wheezed. “Easy as snail pie.” Sonata scowled, feeling her forehead. She thought it very strange to touch her forehead, but not feel it at all. She rubbed her hoof across it, and felt nothing but a cool greasiness, which she supposed must have been the pain-relieving goo. “So...” Sonata said uncertainly, tapping her pendant experimentally. “No magic now?” “I put as powerful an augmentation spell on that iron as I could. It should stop any attempt to actively use your magic,” he explained, wiping his forehead with a nearby cloth. “As to when you use it accidentally, well,” he shrugged. “That may be more complex. It’ll certainly slow it down,” he went on quickly, seeing the look in her face. “But know that this is meant to be a temporary measure. As the curse grows to full strength, it’ll eventually reject the dampening metal. Again, something I’d like to see happen. Your entire head my explode and then reform. Or maybe it won’t.” He made a considering sort of noise. “You’ll have to relate the details to me if you survive.” “That’s enough,” Loyal Stride interceded. “We may not have much time.” Sonata bit her lip. She supposed he was right. Deep down, a small part of her, the part closest to her fragile and bruised heart, she wanted to say goodbye to Sunset. But that was impossible now... “So why are we going to the Badlands?” ”So that you’ll be safely out from beneath the eye of the pony responsible. If we’re right about who it is, you should be safe under the general’s protection.” “Oh,” Sonata said in surprise. “So, am I like, seeking asylum or something?” Loyal Stride didn’t immediately reply to this. Trees and bushes rushed by them as they neared the border between twilight and day, between the Nightlands and Equestria. Several times they’d seen small airships flying in formation over towns, or heading south, which Loyal Stride had said was an indication that war had begun; if not in deed, then certainly in expectation. “Not exactly,” Loyal Stride said evasively. Sonata eyed him shrewdly. “I’m going to be a prisoner, aren’t I?” she asked flatly. “More-or-less. Believe me, there’s a reason. I need the general to listen to me about the coming invasion, and the best way I can do that is by bringing him proof.” “And I’m proof? Of what?” “That he’s not being told what’s happening,” Loyal Stride said darkly. “And that we’re all being set up in this war. If nothing else, you’re the creature that destroyed a part of the invading fleet, and the senate will naturally conclude that you’re some kind of Equestrian super weapon. Capturing you will at the least make them listen.” “Can we stop it? The war, I mean,” Sonata asked, feeling a clench in her chest as she uttered the question. “I sincerely doubt it,” Loyal Stride replied gravely. “The truth won’t come out until everything is in motion. I just hope that we uncover it before too much damage is done. And hopefully we can delay its beginning. But the Princeps himself is leading the campaign. There is no stopping it now.” Sonata thought about this. She’d been on the cusp of global disasters before now, some of which she had been partly responsible for, and she knew the signs of impending doom when they darkened the horizon. She knew that there were no guarantees, no certainties. She and Sunset seemed now to be just two tiny paper kites blown apart by the penultimate winds of an oncoming tornado, powerless before such primordial might. Perhaps they simply weren’t fated to be together in the end. But Sonata had no other reason to go on other than the hope that maybe they could be again. - To be Continued