//------------------------------// // Act II: Winter in Hazelnight, part 3 // Story: The World is Filled with Monsters // by Cold in Gardez //------------------------------// The six of them left Hazelnight at dawn. The snow that had fallen overnight was already beginning to decompose, melting and freezing at the same time, turning the powdery layer into a crust of ice and slush. It crunched beneath their hooves as they made their way through the still-empty streets. Contrary to her earlier promise, Luna hadn’t appeared to him that night. Instead his dreams were plagued by a chaotic melange of images and sounds, half-remembered, half-dreaded, that sent him tossing and turning under the covers. The others grumbled and complained in their sleep, pushing him with their hooves and shoulders. At one point Zephyr even bit him with her sharp teeth, startling him into a delirious, shocked alertness that only slowly faded back into slumber. They were all tired and grouchy in the morning. Except for Stratolathe, who’d slept in his own room. He was fine. Strato’s limp was better, too. After their meeting with Graymoor, Rose had kidnapped him to perform a complete medical check, despite the stallion’s protests. His leg was now bandaged, and the pressure of the wrappings seemed to be helping his limp. He kept up with with the party without any difficulty. A few other spots on his coat had been shaved clean and bandaged, the remains of tiny wounds that Vermilion hadn’t noticed during their casual encounters. The camps outside the town were still asleep when they passed. A few banked campfires still trickled wisps of white smoke into the still air and stung Vermilion’s nose with their acrid scent. They weren’t burning wood, but rather some black mineral – coal, Quicklime called it, a byproduct of the extensive mines around the city. It stank of sulfur. Eventually they passed beyond the camps and into the open moors beyond the city. Purple clover decorated the grasses and moss that blanketed the gentle hills. Heath and gorse dotted the low, wet spots, and Vermilion paused by the side of the path to nibble on some early flowers. They had an acidic taste, tarter than he was used to, but pleasantly so. He could imagine them as an enlivening garnish but not a main course. It wasn’t long before they crossed paths with the first ponies heading north to Hazelnight. A stallion came into view over the crest of a hill. An earth pony, of course, with a coat the color of wet gravel and a mane not much different. He was yoked to a wagon that he dragged behind, and above the wood boards Vermilion saw two small heads poking out, their manes bobbing in the light morning wind. They ducked back into the wagon when they saw Vermilion, and the stallion stuttered to a clumsy stop. After a moment’s consideration he pulled the wagon to the side of the path and reached back to uncouple his harness from the tracers – ready to run or fight. Nervous. Afraid, even. Vermilion was careful to walk slowly as they neared, though he couldn’t imagine he looked all that frightening – small for an earth pony, and laden with all his team’s gear. Their packs wobbled on his back with each step. By the time they approached hailing distance, Vermilion had to reconsider his assessment of the stallion. His ribs showed through his coat, and his mane was starting to fall out in clumps. Sunken, red eyes watched them warily. The foals in the wagon looked a bit more well fed, but they bore about them a sense of hunger, of nervous wanting that had too long been denied. “Morning, friend,” Vermilion said. “Heading to Hazelnight?” The stallion pawed at the frozen ground with his hoof. “So what if I am?” “Well, then you’re close. Few more hours and you’ll be at the camps.” The stallion blinked, and an uncomfortable silence stretched out. “Camps?” Stratolathe spoke up. “There’s no space in town, with all the refugees. If you’re heading to Hazelnight, you’ll need to stay in the camps outside, unless you have coin for an inn.” The stallion swallowed and looked back at his foals. “Ain’t got no coin. Nothing to barter, neither.” “Then it’s the camps.” Stratolathe nosed through his saddlebags and pulled out a brass drachma, which he flipped toward the wagon. One of the foals, a colt who looked little older than a toddler, managed to snag it out of the air with his teeth. “Lord Graymoor has pledged the town to care for any refugees who may come calling, however. You’ll have food and shelter, at least, for as long as it takes to reclaim our lands.” “Reclaim our lands?” The stallion barked out a weak, humorless laugh and started to strap himself back into the traces. “Ain’t no army what can do that, friend. I’ll thank you for your coin, though, and your lord’s promise.” “Wait.” Vermilion stepped in his path before the stallion could begin hauling the wagon away. “Are you from Cirrane?” “Nah, Cirrane’s been lost for weeks. Only ghosts there now. Ghosts and worse. We’re from Cavewatch, and there ain’t many ponies left there. Ain’t much of anything.” He started walking forward, and Vermilion had no choice but to move or be struck by the wagon. “Nice gentlestallion,” Rose said, once he’d passed out of hearing. “He has priorities,” Stratolathe said. “The roads are dangerous, too dangerous to sit and chat. Especially with little foals like that.” The morning ground on into early afternoon, and they made a quick camp for lunch at the crest of another hill. The land flattened to the south, and as they drew further away from the mountains more trees began to appear. Small things at first, little more than shrubs that huddled together in coposes in natural depressions, shielded from the wind. But now, able to see for miles around, Vermilion could spy a green line along the horizon ahead of them. The edge of a forest that extended hundreds of miles to Equestria’s border. They made small talk. Vermilion’s friends were comfortable enough with each other to abide in silence, but the addition of Stratolathe to their party had once again made silences awkward, and each of them did their best to fill it with conversation. For his part, Strato seemed indifferent to their attempts, as happy to be speaking, listening or neither. Finally, though, Rose’s turn came. She finished the last of her honey-wrap, a local staple made of boiled barley compressed into a tight ball, seasoned with salt and honey, then wrapped with dried sheets of seaweed. The honey made them sticky treats, and she wiped her muzzle before turning to Stratolathe. “How well do you know Lord Graymoor?” Stratolathe sighed and nipped a feather from his left wing before responding. “We gotta talk about this now?” “Do you think we’ll be less busy later?” “You don’t like ‘im, do you? Don’t even know ‘im, but you’ve already made up your mind.” Vermilion scooted a bit closer. “It’s fine, you don’t have to explain—” “He’s dangerous,” Rose said, riding right over Vermilion like he hadn’t spoken. “You know what happens to ponies who practice blood magic?” “I’m sure you’re about t’ tell me.” Rose scowled at him. With one eye it was a rather intimidating look, even on a unicorn. “They die. Every single one of them dies. They mess up a spell, or they get it right but the spell runs away from them. Or maybe they sacrifice too much for a spell and just bleed to death on their carpet. Every single one. That’s why Equestria banned it.” “Last I checked, Graymoor was still alive, and—” “For now,” Rose interrupted. “And we ain’t in Equestria, so none of your damn laws matter.” Okay, things were getting too heated. Vermilion stood and moved between them. “Both of you, calm down. We’re all adults, we can talk without arguing or yelling.” “It’s fine, son. Prolly best we get all this out now, I guess.” Stratolathe gently nosed Vermilion out from between him and Rose. “You asked how well I know Lord Graymoor? As well as any pony not of my own blood. I know he’s a good lord, who cares about his city and the ponies in his care. I was with ‘im when he put his son in the ground and it t’was my shoulder he cried on that night. T’was he alone who opened his home to me, a clanless pegasus with no trade or skills but soldiering. Over the years I’ve spent more nights with him than any pony since his wife passed. So yes, my highborn sister, I think I know him well.” Rose stiffened as Stratolathe spoke, her face settling into an impassive mask, her lips drawn into a thin line. She looked ready to lace into their new friend when Zephyr stepped into the line of fire. “As much as I enjoy watching a good fight, maybe we should try to get further out from town than our first lunch break before killing each other?” she said. “Like, there’s other things we can shout about. The things we’re going to be fighting, maybe?” Rose’s muzzle wrinkled at the distraction, and her tongue flashed out to clean the last of the honey from her lips before she turned away with a sniff. So, that wound still needed lancing. They’d hear more about blood magic before reaching Cirrane, Vermilion would bet. Stratolathe stared at the unicorn for a few more seconds before addressing Zephyr. “Beasts, grown to monstrous size. Wolves as big as you or I. Will-o-wisps and—” “Will-o-whats?” Cloudy asked. He’d been hiding from the argument with Quicklime, but now rejoined the group. A few barley seeds clung to his honey-sticky muzzle. “Don’t sound very dangerous.” “Will-o-wisps,” Strato said. “Some sort o’ spirit or monster, or maybe a ghost. They appear as glowing lights at night, and if you see ‘em out over the moorland you might think to yourself, ‘Why, those lights look interesting, I shall go investigate them,’ and as you walk off the path and grow closer and closer to ‘em, they start to bob and weave as if they’re excited you’ve come to join ‘em, and it’s not until you’ve walked a ways that you notice they don’t seem to be growing much closer. But by that point you’re well off the path and your hooves are muddy and your coat is wet with dew, and just when you think of turning around to head back to your camp or home or whatever the wisps start to bounce with an excited energy, as if you’re on the precipice of some great discovery, and you decide t’ trek out a few steps more, and more, and more, and always more, until you realize you’ve quite forgotten how many steps its been or which way the path was or even why you’re walking in the moors at night by yourself in the first place, and if you’re lucky that’s enough to shock you to your senses and you realize the wisps are nothing like lights at all, but rather little fluttering things with wings and eyes and teeth, and you’re able to make your escape. But if you’re one of the unlucky ones, the unfortunate few who are easily charmed by bobbing, shining things, you never come to that realization, and the next day or a few days later your family finds your cold corpse leaning against a log, missing most of its meat. So yes, brother, you’re correct; they don’t sound dangerous. But don't make the mistake of assuming they aren’t.” Everypony was quiet as Strato spoke, and their silence extended past his tale. Cloud Fire leaned back. Quicklime scooted forward. Her eyes were wide. “What else?” “Shadows that don’t do as shadow’s should,” he said. A forehoof reached back to brush the bandages binding his flank. He didn’t seem to notice the motion. “Shadows not born of light’s obstruction, but given their own life and hunger by some dark power. They move and they eat.” “How do we fight shadows?” Zephyr mused. “Shadows don’t bleed.” “We have magic,” Vermilion reminded her. “We have everything we need, between us. As long as we stay strong, we have nothing to fear.” He must’ve been getting better at injecting small bits of inspiration at the right time, for his friends all relaxed at his words. Even Rose thawed a bit, the tight lines around her eye easing. Eventually Quicklime finished her honey-wrap, and Vermilion shouldered the group’s supplies again, and they resumed their path south through the rolling moors. * * * They made camp in Cavewatch. It had been a small village, little more than a cluster of homes and farms centered on the intersection of their path and a narrow, meandering river that snaked its way between low bluffs. The stream bore not enough flow for boats, but enough to power a small water wheel and grinding mill. The town was abandoned now, empty, its doors and windows broken and laying in pieces in the road. Quiet, animal sounds echoed within the hollow spaces, and Vermilion’s company set a fire outside. They trusted their tents more than the ruins. Vermilion had the first watch. With six ponies to take shifts, they were each only responsible for two hours of the night. Now, at the height of summer and so far north in the world, the sun was still above the mountains to the west when the pegasi tucked in for sleep. Quicklime lasted a bit longer, but eventually she too retreated to their tent. That left him sharing the fire with Rose. He smiled at her. “You can turn in. I’ll be fine.” She settled down beside him, close enough that their coats brushed with each breath. “It’s fine. I’m not tired, and my watch is next. I’ll just stay up.” “Hm.” That never would’ve flown in the company – Canopy and her sergeants were ruthless about enforcing sleep and shifts. But unicorns, especially as they matured into adulthood, required less sleep than many ponies, often staying up well into the heart of night. And he was no Canopy, to force her to bed. “Very well, then. Do you mind if I read?” “As long as I can read over your shoulder.” That was just fine, it turned out. Vermilion set Canopy’s journal on his folded hooves, and Rose leaned in beside him, her chin resting on his shoulder. And he probably read too slow for her, taking his time with each page – Canopy’s mouthwriting was not the neatest, and her style sometimes bordered on the archaic. But Rose never complained, even as he spent most of his shift going over the same two pages, tucked between a report on the weather and a plan for training the company in forest survival skills. Major Corinthium called me into her office today. She asked me to close the door and sit down. There is something unsettling about being asked to close the door. It almost always portends bad news. A reprimand the major doesn’t want to deliver in front of the troops, or notice of some hard duty to come. Even if the hammer is not about to fall on my head, it is somepony else we must discuss, and how they have failed and must be corrected. Nothing good has ever been said behind closed doors. It was the same today. I will not be promoted to captain. I will not become her new deputy. Instead Lieutenant Electrum has been selected for that honor. He will be promoted next week, and I will go from his equal to something less. We will be master and servant. I would like to say, journal, that I took this news well. That I was glad for Electrum. That I told the major how wise her choice was. But that would be a lie, of course, and if I cannot be honest with you, journal, then I can be honest nowhere. Instead I raged, I shouted. I tossed the chair and told the major she was a fool. What is Electrum? A paper-pusher, a bureaucrat. He is no warrior; in our sparring he is clumsy and weak. His magic, his tribe’s sole saving grace, is negligible. I demanded the major let me fight for the position. I would crush him and show her my worth. I was a fool, in other words. Blinded by emotion, driven to wrath by jealousy, and over what? An extra bar on my shoulders? Is that worth so much that I should casually burn all my friendships into ash? The major would have been within her rights to reprimand me harshly, or even punish me for my outburst. But she simply waited while I ranted, waited until I ran out of words and spite, and fell back onto my haunches with tears running down my cheeks. My face burned, and I have never felt so humiliated. Humiliated to be passed over, to have been judged and found wanting, and further to have responded like a child, not an officer of the crown. It is lucky, journal, that ponies cannot die of shame, or I would now be resting on my pyre. And Corinthium then spoke. Ah, Corinthium. I wish sometimes that we… but no. I cannot torture myself with impossible thoughts. Not even with you, journal. Some paths are closed in life, and to contemplate them only invites pain. Corinthium, you asked me why I was angry, and in my misery I spilled out my heart. It was unfair; I was being cheated. I deserved to lead by your side. I was destined for greatness, and to be stalled now, stuck as a mere lieutenant with a meagre few dozen ponies under my command, was the end of my dream. I babbled and I blubbered, and you listened patiently all the while. Even as the sun went down and the company went to night watch, you listened. And when I was done, you finally spoke. Anger does not make us strong, you said. It poisons our minds. It weakens us. And if we allow events outside our control to anger us, we become slaves. Our will is not our own, but others’. Your choice not to promote me was not in my control; to allow your choice to drive me to anger is to become a slave to your will, not mine. Rather, accept what we cannot control. For if we cannot accept it, we can never be happy with our lives. True happiness can only come from our own actions; from how we respond. When I understand that, you said, I will be ready to take Electrum’s place. I told you I understood. I thanked you for your wisdom. But still my heart hurts. I cannot keep from returning to this loss, this insult, in my thoughts. It is like a wound in my mouth that I must keep probing with my tongue. Give me strength, Luna. Huh. Vermilion read over the last few paragraphs several times, trying to compare them with the mare he knew. They seemed to have little in common. “She never seemed angry to me,” Rose said. He voice was low, in deference to their sleeping friends. “She must’ve been a much different mare when she was younger.” He shook his head. “I never suspected. Maybe she just learned to hide it better? Is it still anger if you feel it, but don’t show it?” Rose nibbled at her fetlock, then returned her head to his shoulder. “You shouldn’t do that. It’s not healthy to suppress your emotions.” Lots of things weren’t healthy. Leading ponies into battle wasn’t, and going off to fight invincible, immortal living evils certainly wasn’t. Perhaps Canopy wasn’t the best role model for a healthy lifestyle. He would have to think about that. * * * Later, Vermilion opened his eyes, and found himself alone in a vast, empty stretch of the moors. Cavewatch was gone; the river was gone; the hills they had walked through were gone, leaving only flat, gravelly heath for miles in every direction. The wind stirred the leaves and teased him with the faint acidic scent of the soil. It was night, though bright enough to confuse for day. A full moon loomed over him, filling a quarter of the sky and bathing the world in sharp silver gleam. He tilted his head up to it, eyes closed, and basked in it like a cat in the sun. A flutter of feathers beside him signaled Luna’s arrival. Since this was a dream, he figured it wouldn’t matter if she waited a bit. So they sat together while he absorbed the silence and the darkness of the night. Eventually it was enough. He opened his eyes. “Luna.” “My Vermilion.” She dragged her muzzle through his mane, taking his scent. A smile graced her lips. “Hm. How is Rose Quartz?” “Good. Now, I mean. She was angry before.” He frowned. “You didn’t visit me last night.” Luna’s shoulders stiffened, and her tail lashed behind her in agitation. “Yes, and after I promised you that I would. I apologize, my Vermilion, it is not my nature to abandon my servants. But the truth is my vision failed me. Something enshrouds Haselnacht, blocking the dreams of its ponies the way clouds block the moon. It drifts away, and I see. It returns, and I am blind.” Vermilion looked up at the sky. The moon was so bright it watered his eyes. “The same creature? This… nightmare, you called it?” “Yes.” She licked her muzzle, exposing a flash of needle teeth. “I can sense it, sometimes. It feels so familiar, like I should recognize it, yet never have I known another creature to intrude so brazenly in my realm. It troubles me, my Vermilion.” The only other thing Vermilion knew that troubled Luna was her sister, and he’d already lived through that experience with no intent to repeat it. He almost felt pity for this night-borne creature, whatever it was. The night was Luna’s realm, and she was a jealous master. “We met the lord in Hazelnight,” he said. “He’s seen it too, and has been fighting it as best he can. But the town is besieged and choking with refugees from the outer villages. If we cannot stop this force, I fear Hazelnight will collapse.” “Mhm.” Luna looked around the desolate moorland. “You are not in the town. Where is this?” “South. Toward Cirrane. It is said they have a shrine there, dedicated to you. Have you heard of this?” “A shrine, to me?” Luna leaned down, peering at him with a galvanic intensity that set his coat on end. “I was not aware of this. These ponies worshiped me?” “So Graymoor said. But Cirrane has been overrun, lost to the new darkness.” He relayed to her briefly Stratolathe’s tale of Cirrane, and Graymoor’s plan to retrieve the ocean sapphire from the shrine to complete his spell. Luna listened in silence throughout, still as a statue except for her ever-waving mane. “Blood magic,” she finally said when he was finished. Her muzzle wrinkled. “That is dangerous, my Vermilion. It tempts ponies with its power, and rare is the practitioner able to resist its quiet entreaties. My sister detests it thoroughly.” Vermilion blinked. Rose’s lecture had made it sound like both princesses were responsible for its banning in Equestria. “And you?” Luna hummed quietly, and took her time before answering. “It is complex. Blood is tied inextricably with the moon. I am the princess of the night, of course, but many other things are my domain. I am princess of the tides, and passion, and art, and violence. Blood belongs to me, my Vermilion. The sweet water flowing through your veins sings to me. Blood magic is dangerous, yes, and so I humor my sister’s edicts against it. But it is not evil, Vermilion. It is simply a tool.” “Rose hates it,” he said. “She raged against it. I think she came close to revolting against Graymoor’s plan. Tartarus, she still might, for all I know. I’ve never seen her so angry. And… Graymoor cast a spell, Luna. He used blood magic in front of us. I haven’t felt such terror since Hollow Shades.” He was shivering, he realized. A cold sweat poured down his barrel. The memory of Graymoor’s mirror lodged itself in his mind like a splinter, and he couldn’t banish it no matter how hard he tried. The fabric of the dream around him began to darken, twisting on itself and fraying like old cloth. A high, piercing keen began to ring in his ears, growing louder with every beat of his heart until it drowned out everything else, and the moon began to fade away like fog, and— “Shh, shh.” Luna wrapped a wing around his shoulders, and the sudden panic vanished. The moors returned with a sudden clarity, shining like a lamp in the night. The quiet sounds of insects and the wind in the heath soothed his ears. “Calm, Vermilion. This is my realm, and you are my servant. Nothing can harm you here but you allow it.” He hadn’t breathed in too long. He gasped for air and sat in Luna’s embrace, panting, desperate not to pass out. Could one even faint in a dream? Would he then wake? He focused on that thought, and his breathing, until his heart climbed down out of his throat and he could think straight again. “Sorry.” He swallowed. “I just… It was troubling to witness.” She patted him on the shoulder. “So is foaling. Bloody, too. But don’t think it’s evil for that.” “Rose thought it was evil.” “Rose Quartz is a healer. Her relation with blood is special in a different way. She is a wise pony, but perhaps not unbiased in this instance.” Maybe not. But it was possible to be biased and still be right. “She said every practitioner of blood magic died. It consumes them all in the end.” Luna sighed. “Not all, but many, yes. Blood magic is not like unicorn magic, Vermilion. Unicorn magic is bounded – it is restrained by the skill and strength of the pony using it. Unicorn mages can train and improve their skills, but eventually they will all reach the limit of their abilities. Blood magic is unbounded. It is limited only by the sacrifice its master is willing to make. It can accomplish great things, but only at great cost. For many ponies, this limitlessness becomes its own source of temptation. They sacrifice more and more and more, until one day they sacrifice too much, and that is the end of their story.” Sacrifice. The word stuck in Vermilion’s mind. He saw again Graymoor holding his wounded hoof over the silver bowl, dripping blood into it. How much blood was there in a pony’s body? How much was in a city? The thought struck him from out of the empty sky like a meteor. “What…” He licked his dry lips. “Can blood mages sacrifice other ponies instead of themselves?” Luna froze for a moment. Even her mane ceased to flow. Then she shook herself and frowned. “That is dark magic, Vermilion. Worse by far than blood magic. None have practiced it in Equestria since my sister and I unified the tribes. We put an end to it.” “But it’s possible?” She let out a quiet breath. “Yes. If you witness that, Vermilion, I have a new charge for you. Destroy the mage who wields it. Not even saving Haselnacht justifies dark magic. I expect you to die rather than suffer it to exist.” Her words hit him like a cold shock. They sat in silence while he struggled to understand. In time, he realized he was alone again. Such were dreams. * * * He didn’t share his dreams with the others. They might not understand his special connection with Luna, with the exception of Cloud Fire. But Vermilion was starting to think that Cloudy’s dreams with Luna were very different from his. For one, Cloudy always seemed to wake with a smile. That was suspicious in and of itself. Pegasi never woke with smiles. The next day passed like one of their campaign marches from the company. A day full of walking through slowly shifting terrain. The flat moors began to roll, the earth beneath them rising into hills and crests. The shrubs grew taller and taller as they moved south, until real trees began to dominate the vast expanses. Pines, mostly, but quaking aspens and cedars as well, the latter filling the air with pollen that set his eyes itching. Quicklime began to sneeze as soon as they entered the forest. For the first time since leaving Hazelnight, the sound of birds filled the air. Vermilion hadn’t realized how much he missed it. The path winding through the forest was far different from the one the company had walked through the Creeping Gloom, the endless, spider-haunted forest leading to Hollow Shades. There were no webs here, nor fog nor, as best he could tell, monsters of any kind. But as soon as they stepped between the trees, Stratolathe changed. His breathing quickened, his feathers stood on end, and his ears turned manically in every direction, startling at every snapping twig or rustling leaf. Cloudy laid a wing on Strato’s withers and whispered something in his ear. The older pegasus nodded jerkily and followed with several slow, deep breaths. Rose waited until he’d calmed before speaking. “Memories?” “Too many. I feel like their ghosts are waiting for me ahead in the town.” “Your friends died fighting for a cause they believed in,” Zephyr said. She reached behind her and began unbinding the straps holding her spear in place. “They must be at peace.” “And yet, I fear I will see them again soon,” Strato said. He took another breath, then set his shoulders as though ready to charge forward. “There’s nothing for it, though. The town is not far ahead, and we’ll reach it by nightfall.” “So are we, like, staying in the town?” Quicklime asked. “I thought you said it was overrun?” “The path through the forest is too long to reach the town and return before dark, even if we left at dawn,” Strato said. “The town is dangerous, yes, but the forest at night worries me more. We have to keep moving until we’re through it. I don’t know how much safety the town still offers, but it is our only option.” “We could fly there,” Cloudy said. “We can get there faster than walking, get the stone, and fly back. Just a few hours, probably.” Strato shook his head. “No, brother. There are other things in the air besides birds. And if we encountered them, we would be separated from everypony else. I can think of no easier way to die.” “Ray of sunshine,” Rose mumbled, too quiet for anypony but Vermilion to hear. “Okay, we’ll take it slow.” Vermilion unlatched the retaining strap on his saber. “Cloudy, Zephyr, do your thing. I’ll lead down here. Strato, can you take the rear?” “I reckon I can.” The pegasus had a set of wingblades out, and slipped them around the base of his outside primaries. They didn’t look dangerous, little more than metallic feathers themselves, but Vermilion had seen the damage they could cause. And Stratolathe looked like a pony who knew how to find the spaces between the bones for them to slide. Cloudy and Zephyr jumped into the air, wings beating. Branches rattled and more pollen fell onto the path as they muscled through the cedar fronds. Quicklime sneezed again. “It’s past noon already,” Rose said. It was hard to see the sun between the leaves overhead, but the dappled shadows had already started to lengthen since they entered the forest. “Are you sure slow is a good idea?” No, actually. Vermilion wasn’t sure about any decisions he’d made since becoming their de facto leader, but that hadn’t stopped him yet and it wouldn’t stop him now. “I’d rather not stumble into a situation we could’ve avoided by being careful. As long as we get to Cirrane before dark, we’ll be fine.” “Fine? Really?” Quicklime asked. “Well, uh.” He was silent for a few paces. “As fine as things can be.” “Reassuring,” Rose said. She nickered quietly and stepped a bit faster, forcing Vermilion to keep up. They kept a good pace through the forest. The branches above occasionally rustled as the pegasi alighted upon them. Vermilion glanced up from time to time when a shadow caught his eye, and once or twice he saw Zephyr’s silhouette perched upon a bough, her spear held loosely in her hooves. It dangled below her like a wasp’s stinger. Spread out, they had less use for conversation, and something about the forest compelled them to silence. Alert, always on edge, always watching the path ahead and the spaces between the pillars of the forest around them, they had little energy to spare for idle chatter. Even Quicklime rarely spoke, only occasionally mumbling to herself as she scribbled notes on some curious plant or rock she’d found along their path. Stratolathe finally broke the silence. He trotted up beside Vermilion. “Getting colder. Can you feel it?” “Uh.” Vermilion tilted his muzzle up to catch the wind. “A bit. Maybe. The sun’s going down, though.” “Yeah. Gettin’ cold faster than it should, though.” Strato shivered, though he couldn’t have been cold – pegasi could roll around in the snow without feeling a bit of discomfort. “Keep your eyes open.” “Right.” No plans to close them here. Not that there was much to see. Aside from the cedar and aspen trunks extending off into the distance, the forest floor was relatively open. The few shrubs and crawling plants kept close to the path, where a bit more sun broke through the canopy. Beyond their foliage, the brown, needle-and-leaf covered earth concealed little. But something had Stratolathe spooked. Vermilion tested his saber, sliding it an inch out of the scabbard before letting it fall back into place with a quiet click. Rose watched their exchange, and her eye followed Strato as he slipped back into the rear guard spot. “Expecting trouble?” He considered the empty, idyllic forest before answering. “Yeah. Shouldn’t I be?” “Probably.” She let out a slow breath. The spirals in her horn lit with with a soft green glow for a moment as she channeled a bit of nervous power through it. “Just making sure I’m not the only one.” * * * They found the wagon an hour before sunset. It was smashed to pieces, half on the path, half spread out over Luna knew how much of the forest beyond. Wild animals had been at it – big ones, to judge from the marks on the wood. What looked like a pony’s belongings were strewn out behind the shattered tailgate, blankets and clothes and pots and bags of barley. A stitched cloth doll of Luna with black button eyes lay jammed beneath a broken wheel. It was torn open, the rags within spilled out into the mud like entrails. Cloudy landed beside him and peered at the wreckage. He leaned in, sniffed at the interior, and grimaced. “Blood.” “Yeah,” Vermilion said. The wagon’s traces were frayed, with bits of hair stuck in their knots. The leaves and earth beneath them were trampled and torn. It didn’t take a great deal of imagination to piece this puzzle together. “This is new,” Stratolathe said. “Wasn’t here when I came through last time.” “Not everyone has abandoned their homes yet, then.” Vermilion peered down the path ahead. It curved after a few hundred yards, and the trees hid everything beyond from sight. “How far to Cirrane?” “Not too far. A few miles, maybe. We’ll get there before nightfall.” “Okay.” Vermilion rolled his shoulders, letting the scabbard’s straps bite into his muscles. Their weight and pressure, the promise of a ready weapon, was a minor balm on his nerves. He licked his lips. “Okay.” Rose sifted through the wreckage, lifting pieces away with her magic and setting them aside. It revealed nothing but more ruin beneath. “What are you thinking?” “Could anypony have survived this?” Rose stared down at the trampled ground, then out at the wreckage beyond the treeline. Pieces of the wagon stuck out from the brown needles like bones. After a moment she shook her head. “Right.” Bile filled his mouth. “We’ll keep going to the town. Everypony get your—” A flash of movement caught his eye, and he froze. Beside him, Rose sucked in a startled breath. Far ahead, at the bend in the path, a large black wolf stood watching them. Even at that distance, Vermilion could tell it would tower over each of them. Its head was larger than his barrel. It stared at them, unmoving, then bolted away. In seconds the black shape was lost among the shadows of the trees. Don’t fixate. Memories of the Creeping Gloom teased his mind. He remembered standing in a stream, shocked by the sudden appearance of a monstrous presence, never noticing the real danger approaching from— He was already spinning when he heard the crackle of a leaf being crushed on the ground behind him. The saber came out in a fluid flash that split the air with an audible whistle. The others were late, just starting to turn. The world slowed and assumed an impossible clarity, a granular sharpness drawn with a hair-thin brush on his retinas. He saw every leaf in the bushes as they twisted in the wind. He saw the individual hairs in Quicklime’s mane shifting as she opened her mouth to scream. And teeth. Vermilion could count every tooth, every yellow, spittle-flecked incisor and long, wicked fang in the jaws of the night-dark wolf behind them. It lunged toward him as if through molasses, inching closer at the racing pace of glaciers. He could’ve stepped out of its way with ease. Time resumed its normal flow. Quicklime’s shriek rang in his ears as Zephyr and Cloud Fire burst into the air, their wings tossing up dust and leaves for a dozen yards around. Rose stumbled away even as the black wolf closed the remaining yards toward him in a heartbeat. Nothing that large should’ve moved so fast. But Vermilion was faster. His saber completed its arc, smashing into the beast’s shoulder like an iron bar into a sack of flour. He felt it cut deep, barely slowing as it parted skin and muscle and bone. The shock of the impact rattled his jaws and nearly knocked him off his hooves. A nimble dance to the side restored his balance. The wolf was not so lucky – Vermilion’s blow sent it crashing into the trees beside the path. Its foreleg cartwheeled through the air before hitting the dirt a dozen yards away. It scrabbled at the bushes with its remaining paws, writhing, muzzle lifting into the air to howl out its pain. Vermilion’s saber cut it short. The tip pierced the wolf’s throat, spine, and several inches into the tree behind. He pulled it free with a grunt, tearing its throat open, and scanned the forest for any more attackers. There were none. Only the empty forest, stretching out forever. He panted, catching his breath. “Luna’s tits!” Cloudy swore from above. He landed a moment later, spear held tight against his side. “It was right behind us!” “There’s at least one more out there,” Stratolathe said. The tips of his wings shook, but his voice was even as he peered at the path ahead. “Don’t let your guard down.” “No chance of that,” Vermilion mumbled around the saber’s hilt. A shadow flitted through the branches overhead, and he glanced up to see Zephyr flying from branch to branch, spear held at the ready. “Is everypony alright?” A chorus of mumbled affirmatives responded. Quicklime seemed the most shaken, and she stood close to Rose’s side. Both their horns glowed. Okay. A bit of the tension flowed out of his shoulders. With everypony else on guard, he allowed himself a moment to inspect the fallen wolf. It was huge. He’d sensed that before, in the flashes of adrenaline-fueled comprehension that interspersed the violence of the fight. But now, with his heart calming and the threat of death gone, he could see just how large it was. The size of a bear, with jaws large enough to encompass his whole head. Each of its legs must’ve weighed more than Zephyr. Blood no longer flowed from its wounds, but enough had poured out before its heart stopped to turn the ground below it to mud. “Were these what attacked your team?” he called to Stratolathe. The pegasus flew over, his hooves skimming the dirt. He stared at the fallen wolf. “Aye, though we never saw more than one at a time. I wish we’d had you with us then.” “Not the biggest monster we’ve fought,” Vermilion said. He shook his saber clean and slid it back into the scabbard. “Nasty enough, though.” “Aye.” Strato scanned the forest. Birds and insects started to fill it with their song again, after briefly falling silent during the battle “We should move. There are worse things out here.” They resumed their walk, though slower. The pegasi kept to the branches above, while the ground-bound ponies walked closely together, silent except for the quiet hum that emanated from Rose’s horn. Some spell, he assumed, already charged and ready to fly. He worked his aching jaw. It’d been too long since he practiced with the saber. His neck would be sore tomorrow. “Worse things, huh?” “Well.” Strato’s wings fluttered. The blades hidden between his pinions flashed. “Maybe not much worse. But terrible enough if—” A piercing, inequine shriek above cut him off. Vermilion jumped back, almost tripping over Quicklime. He reached for his saber again, teeth closing on the hilt. Beside him, Rose’s horn began to glow with a green light so bright it cast its own shadows.   This time, they were the slow ones. A huge shape tumbled out of the branches, trailing a cloud of black feathers. It struck the dirt with a thud and lay still. A moment later a huge wing fell down after it, landing atop the body like a shroud. The body lurched. It twisted and writhed, spasming, and began to boil away into streams of shadow. They danced along the ground, splitting apart into thousands of spider-like shreds that sought out the cracks and crevices in the earth, vanishing into them, hiding beneath the leaves, escaping into the bushes and trees beyond. Within seconds most were gone, and only a few stragglers remained, stranded on rocks or struggling to fit into spaces too small to hide them. The air whistled. A thin blur shot down from the canopy, striking one of the little bits of shadow. It was Zephry’s spear – the ancient, weathered, frail-seeming and impossibly sharp gift from Luna. It impaled the shadow and sank into the earth and rocks below. The shadow boiled and hissed and vanished. The two pegasi landed beside spear. Zephyr yanked it out of the ground with her teeth. “Um…” Vermilion stared. “What—” “Strygian,” Stratolathe said. He kicked up a few leaves, searching for remaining bits of shadow. None appeared. “Giant hawk owls, twisted by an evil influence into something else. Something greater.” Oh. “It’s dead, right?” Stratolathe shrugged. Wonderful. He put his saber away and trotted toward the pegasi. “You two okay?” Cloud Fire’s spear was slick with blood. He wiped it clean with a rag from his saddlebags, and when the rag started to smoke he tossed it down with a grimace. “Yeah. It tried to jump us. We were faster.” “Hate to fight one of those at night, though,” Zephyr said. “Lot harder to see.” Rose shook her head, dispelling the glow around her horn. “Any other surprises we should be aware of?” she asked Stratolathe. “Plenty, I assume. But I didn’t exactly take notes last time I was here so forgive me for not havin’ a full catalogue of badies ready for your perusal, sister.” Vermilion stepped between them before they could start arguing again. “Please, not now. We need to stay focused and get to Cirrane. We can bicker later.” Rose glared at him with venom in her eye, as angry as he’d seen her since their first meeting in the hospital. She looked ready to snarl, but finally she turned away with a snort and began down the path again, horn glowing like a green star in the growing twilight. The pegasi jumped out of her way and resumed their stations above. Quicklime gave him a worried look, then raced to catch up with Rose, her short legs pumping to keep pace with Rose’s longer strides. Stratolathe exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. “Little hot-headed, that one.” Vermilion waited until Rose was a few steps further down the path before following. He kept his voice low. “She’s been through some tough stuff lately. And she’s always been a little, uh, strident, ever since I’ve known her.” “Mhm.” Strato scanned the woods around them as they walked. “Be careful how close you git to her.” “What’s that mean?” “Means what it means, son. Ponies think us birds don’t notice things, but we do. Cloud and Zephyr seen it. How sweet she is on you.” His face flushed, and he faced out at the forest until he felt his blood calm. “We’re friends. We’re all friends.” “Uh huh. Keep tellin’ yourself that, son.” They were silent for a while after that, which suited Vermilion just fine. He could respect Strato’s years of experience and obvious knowledge of the area, but they had a good team thing going and Stratolathe wasn’t exactly a good fit with Rose. Nopony aligned with Lord Graymoor would ever be in her good graces, he suspected. The path began to angle downward again as they crested the top of a low ridge. Far ahead he could hear the trickle of water over stones and smell the loamy, rich scent of moss consuming the trees. “Cirrane’s on the river?” he asked. “Aye. Not much further.” The forest opened at the bottom of the valley. Ponies had cleared the trees away from the river for a hundred yards on both sides of the banks. Overgrown fields of barley ran wild on either side of the path, no longer tended by their masters. Homes dotted the fields, and ahead, clustered around a wide wood bridge, was the town itself. Really just a collection of a dozen or so homes, all in various states of disrepair. Broken windows and broken doors. Nature had not yet reclaimed the town, but she was starting to make inroads. Rose halted at the edge of the fields. Zephyr and Cloud Fire landed beside her. In a moment they’d all caught up, and they stared at the abandoned homes. A broken weathervane atop the highest roof spun in the wind, filling the night with the rough squeal of metal on metal. “Well.” Quicklime picked up a hoof-sized rock and chucked it down the path toward the buildings. “What now?” “We go slow,” Stratolathe said. He flexed his wings. “There weren’t any ponies left the last time I was here, and I don’t think any’ve returned. Sister, do you mind giving us some light? Might spook any nasties that’re hiding for us.” Rose nodded. Her horn burned with a green light that built into a brilliant, eye-watering spark, and just when Vermilion was about to turn away to avoid being blinded, the light leapt from her horn into the air. It arced up and out over the town, and at the apex of its flight it erupted like a firework, filling the town with sharp emerald shadows. Birds burst from the barley fields, and a few smaller animals as well, racing as fast as they could into the cover of the forest. “Good sign, probably,” Vermilion said. He took point and led the way into the ruins of Cirrane. The buildings were of of a style he’d never seen – stout and thick-walled, constructed of packed earth rather than timbers. Grass grew atop the roofs. He wondered how anypony could live in such houses without them turning into mud in the rain. A mystery for another time. “What are we looking for?” Zephyr asked quietly. She hopped over a fallen door, gliding with her wings out for a few extra paces before stopping at the town’s only intersection. The narrow side road, barely more than a foot trail, paralleled the river and vanished into the trees past the fields. “The shrine. It’s across the bridge.” Stratolathe gestured with his wings. The tip of his wingblade extended a few inches beyond, reflecting the light of Rose’s flare like a jewel. The bridge was barely large enough for a wagon, and they took it one at a time. Zephyr and Cloudy flew across, posting at the far side. Vermilion paused in the middle to peer over the side. Junk filled the stream below – broken timbers, barrels of rotting food, sodden winter clothes. Rose nudged his rump with her nose, and he hurried across. The shrine was the only building on the far side of the river, and the only building constructed of wood rather than packed earth. It was a modest structure, surrounded by a low fence that contained a neat garden. Alone among the buildings of the town, it seemed undamaged. The wide, filigreed double-door was unmarred, its windows unbroken. The earth around it was untrampled. A short spire stood atop the steepled roof, bearing a weathervane in the shape of a moon bisected by an arrow. Above the door, along the lintel, the name “Luna” was engraved in the wood and painted silver. “This is wrong,” Strato muttered. Vermilion glanced at him. “How?” “The whole village was tossed last time. Broken up. The shrine too.” He pointed at it with a hoof. “This looks… somepony cleaned this up. Fixed it.” Vermilion spun in a slow circle, ears up. Rose’s flare had died, and the sun sunk low enough below the horizon that all the color had faded from the world. But he had no trouble picking out the details from the nightscape. Nothing he saw suggested any ponies remained. “Are… you sure?” he asked. “Pretty damn sure, aye.” Great. Vermilion was pretty sure those wolves or owls or whatever hadn’t decided to refurbish the shrine. Ghost carpenters? He pushed open the low gate and stepped onto the grounds of the shrine. Lavender, oleander and jasmine assaulted his nose. Thousands of tiny flowers filled the grass around him. He stepped among them and made his way toward the broad doors. They weren’t locked and he pushed them open with ease. They swung open on freshly oiled hinges. The interior consisted of a single large room, like an assembly hall. Soft seating cushions formed rows in the back, and at the front of the hall an enormous triptych filled the entire wall. Lavish images of Luna in her phases decorated the edge panels, depicting her alternately as a warrior maiden, a scholarly patron of the arts, a seductive vixen and a master of obscure magics. In the center panel, a painted globe floated among a dark starscape, and Luna loomed over it with wings-spread, a dark queen surveying her domain. Atop the triptych, well above his or anypony’s reach, a silver disk represented the moon, and in the center of the disk glowed a brilliant sapphire the size of an egg. It filled the shrine with a soft, icy glow. He stared at it, mesmerized. “No, no.” Stratolathe growled. His wings shook, rattling the blades hidden in his feathers. “This is all wrong. This room was a ruin. That gem, I– I held it in my hooves! Who put it back there?” “It’s fine. Relax,” Vermilion said, though he hardly felt relaxed. “It’s just a tidied-up room. Better than who-knows-what monsters.” “Yeah, speaking of, what’s the plan?” Cloudy said. He stood by the door, eyes on the night outside. “Getting kinda dark out there. We staying here?” “I think that’s our best option.” He eyed the rest of the shrine. There were no other doors, and while the building had no fireplace, numerous oil lanterns hung from the walls. Enough for the others to see by, though the sapphire in the triptych cast enough light by itself to imitate the full moon. “We’ll do shifts again. When the sun rises we’ll start back to Hazelnight.” “And that thing?” Quicklime gestured up at the sapphire. “Let’s… not touch it just yet.” Something in the back of Vermilion’s mind agreed with Stratolathe – this shrine was not as abandoned as the rest of the town. Best not to tempt fate until they had to. * * * He took the first shift. Part of him hoped Rose would join him again, but apparently she was still a bit angry. She curled up with the pegasi while Vermilion sat awake with Quicklime. He expected a chatter-filled shift, but something about the shrine or the village or this whole damn part of the world had chilled the tiny unicorn’s normal exuberance. Instead she retrieved her charcoals and a drawing pad from her saddlebags, and set about copying the images of the triptych. He settled with reading a few passages from Canopy’s journal, and before he knew it Cloudy was nuzzling his shoulder. “Hey bud,” he whispered. “My turn. Get some sleep.” Right. He put the journal back in its special pocket in his saddlebags and joined the others. They’d built a pile out of pillows atop the floor, which through some incredible feat was made of polished marble – he couldn’t even begin to guess where the townsponies had gotten it from. The mines around Hazelnight, perhaps. It was beautiful stone but too hard and cold to sleep on, so they huddled with each other atop the cushions instead. Rose opened her eye as he lay down. She squinted at him and scooted a bit further away. Her scent retreated with her. Well, fine. He rolled over to face the far wall. The cold light of the sapphire filled his eyes, and he fell asleep bathing in its glow. * * * He opened his eyes and knew at once he was dreaming. He was alone atop the cushions in the shrine. Frost collected on the marble, creeping up the walls and choking the lanterns. Only the sapphire’s blue light remained. He sat up. “Luna. We’ve made it to Cirrane.” Nothing replied. There was no sign of the princess. But he heard quiet whispers treading on the surface of his mind, and his nose filled with her scent – jasmine and ice and mare and feathers. He stood and took a step out onto the marble. Frost crunched beneath his hoof, and a numbing cold seeped up his leg, flowing with his blood to his heart. In moments it had enveloped him entirely, and he let out a quiet, relieved sigh. To think, he’d once despised the cold. The room was larger in his dreams, or he was smaller. The roof soared dozens of feet overhead. It took him minutes to walk the length of the hall toward the triptych at its head. The images of Luna painted upon it had changed as well, growing darker, huger and hungrier. The silver glint of her fangs peeked out from every visage. He stared up at the central panel, where the image of Luna triumphant loomed over the world. “We’ve fought the monsters Stratolathe warned us of. Servants of the nightmare. They were dangerous, but no match for my friends. We’ve grown too much since Hollow Shades, or perhaps the nightmare’s reach is still weak out here. Either way, soon we will be back in Hazelnight, and Graymoor will have all he needs for his spell. Whether or not that will be enough to save the town, I cannot say yet.” He exhaled. The fog of his breath filled the air and slowly dissipated as he waited for her reply. The images in the triptych moved. The four aspects of Luna on the side panels turned toward him – warrior and scholar and vixen and sorceress. Their manes began to flow in the ethereal wind that coursed between the stars. “My Vermilion,” the Lunas whispered in chorus. “You have done well again. Truly, you are the greatest of my servants.” He shook his head. “No, I am just an earth pony stallion, a poor warrior compared with my friends. They are your true champions.” The portrait of the vixen detached from the triptych panel. The paint lifted away into the air and filled out, growing a third dimension as the image stepped toward him. Her lines were svelte, smooth, emphasizing the raw lust and sexual appetite Luna patronized. She moved like a cat and swept around him, her soft coat brushing against his shoulder and chilling him instantly. “Still so modest,” the vixen said. Her wing traced a line between his shoulders. “So refreshing, a stallion who doesn’t mindlessly boast. I would take you to bed myself, were it not for the strife that might cause among your party.” His throat seized, and he struggled to swallow. “That would… might not be appropriate.” “Lies,” she whispered in his ear. “Everything I do is appropriate. I cannot be otherwise.” “You underestimate yourself again.” The warrior Luna stepped out of the triptych, gaining depth and weight as well. Her muscles rippled beneath her coat with each step, and she towered over Vermilion. A silver peytral graven with an image of the crescent moon guarded her chest. The marble rang beneath her hooves. The warrior stopped paces away and stared down at him. The vixen snorted at her sister and pulled him closer with her wings. “I, uh…” He looked at the other Lunas in the triptych for help. The scholar and sorceress watched in silence. In the center panel, the queen of the night eclipsed all of them with her presence, but she made no effort to intervene. “You have it in you to become one of the greatest ponies of this age,” the warrior continued. “A hero out of myth, such as has not walked Equestria in a thousand years. I will make you understand this before you are done as my servant.” “We can remake Equestria,” the vixen whispered. She placed her hoof beneath his chin and bent his head up, until the silver moon atop the triptych filled his vision. “Overthrow the old order and bring a new dawn to the world. A dawn to usher in a thousand years of night.” “I… What? What is this place?” He thought back to his last dream with Luna, when she’d claimed ignorance of Cirrane and its shrine. “Who are you?” The vixen laughed and vanished into smoke, sending him stumbling off balance. The warrior stared at him for a moment long before vanishing as well. The scholar and sorceress disappeared from the side panels, leaving bare, unvarnished wood behind. Only the central image of Luna remained, looming over the painted world like a god. He noticed, for the first time, that her eyes were drawn with catlike slits for pupils. “I am many, my Vermilion,” the image whispered in his mind. “I contain multitudes.” The image of Luna stretched, reaching up out of the painting with her hoof. Standing like that, she towered over him. A single missed step with her hooves could crush him like a bug. But with unerring grace she grasped the Heart of Winter sapphire illuminating the center of the triptych’s silver moon. Its blue light flashed, filling the vast hall, then dimmed as her hoof concealed it. “Your work is not yet done.” She leaned out of the painting, extending her leg toward him. The sapphire balanced on the sole of her hoof. She tipped her leg, and it fell toward him. “Be my herald again, my Vermilion.” Everything about this was wrong. Luna had never spoken to him like that. Her only tasks to him were the defense of Equestria, nothing about remaking Equestria or ushering in a new era. He wanted nothing more than to wake from this vision. But the sapphire was already falling, drawn to him not by gravity but rather magnetism, as though something within it sought its destiny within him. He reached out and caught it in his hooves. A piercing, deafening scream shattered the silence. It arose out of the night, as if the whole sky outside was being torn apart and every tree in the forest suddenly felled. It dug like daggers into his ears, seeking out his brain. Pain blinded him, and for a moment he lost sight of the shrine and the sapphire and the image of Luna. His chest spasmed, uncontrolled, and he screamed as well. Vision returned, and he collapsed at the base of the triptych, panting. Sweat poured down his sides, freezing into cloudy dots as it touched the marble beneath him. The room filled with shouts as his friends came awake – Cloud Fire, still on shift and alert, spun around in confusion with his spear out. His mouth moved but made no sound. He struggled to his feet. The horrible, endless screams continued, though in his deafness they sounded almost mute. His ears were stuffed with cotton. Rose appeared beside him. Her eye was wide, filled with concern. She must’ve just woken, for the blindfold concealing her destroyed eye was loose and slipping, revealing the edge of a bubbled scar beneath. She mouthed something silent. Her gaze darted back and forth between his face and the sapphire clutched against his chest, and she tried to speak again. He stumbled to his feet, brushing past her to the center of the room. The others were all up now, their ears flattened against their skulls. Quicklime’s horn sparked, and a sparkling, egg-shell thin dome appeared around them. The sound of the scream faded, replaced by an emptiness so profound he felt momentarily nauseous. He grabbed his saber, pulling it out of its scabbard, and bobbled with the sapphire. It was huge and heavy and its light stung his eyes until he dumped it in his saddlebags and cinched it shut. “What did you do?!” Stratolathe shouted. It was barely louder than a whisper to Vermilion’s ringing ears. “What did you do?!” “Nothing! I–” He ran out of breath after just two words, and gasped for more air. “I dreamed, and she gave me the sapphire, and–” “Who?” Zephyr shouted. She had her spear out, and was tossing the rest of her gear over her back. “Luna!” He pointed back at the triptych. “She visits my dreams, like when we fought in Maplebridge. And this time…” He trailed off, staring at the triptych. The images of Luna on the painted wood hadn’t changed, but now he saw them differently. Her coat was darker, closer to black than indigo. Her sharp teeth more pronounced. And those catlike eyes – he could not stop staring at those eyes. He had seen her before with black coat and needle-like teeth, especially when filled with passion or rage, but never had he seen her with those eyes. Why had the triptych’s painter taken such liberty with her sacred image? Who would dare such a thing? “Did this happen last time?” Quicklime turned to Stratolathe and asked. The warding spell didn’t seem to be tiring her much. “When you were here before?” Strato shook his head. “Nay. It’s just a gem, little sister. I don’t know what it has brought to us.” The floor lurched beneath them. A crack appeared in the marble, running the length of the hall. The wood triptych wobbled and fell over with a soundless crash. And as quickly as it had come, the deafening scream ceased. Quicklime dropped her spell. Without its light, the hall fell into a profound darkness, broken only by the moonlight streaming in through the high windows. “Is it–” The shrine shook again as something crashed against the walls outside. Dust fell from the rafters. Cloudy jumped away from the wall as it shook again. “Bar the doors!” Vermilion shouted. “Don’t let it get in!” Zephyr ran to the doors, but Rose was faster. The emerald glow of her magic surrounded the wood, and she shoved a wood plank through the interior handles. A moment later the building shuddered again, and the doors bowed inward. The hinges squealed and the wood frame creaked ominously. “I don’t think we can stay here, bud,” Cloudy said. He backed away from the door, spear held out before him, its silver tip shaking slightly in time with his heart. “You really wanna go out there?” Vermilion could almost breathe again. What was out there? Could they fight it in the dark? If not, could they escape? Outside, something huge and fast passed over the moon. Its shadow covered the windows and plunged the room into momentary darkness. Somepony gasped for breath. It might’ve been him. The doors creaked again. Some tremendous weight pressed against them, bowing them inward. Rose grunted, and the light pouring from her horn doubled. “I can’t hold it. It’s breaking in.” “Does that spell block magic?” Quicklime asked. Her own horn began to glow again. “No.” “Great. Everypony close your eyes real fast.” The glow in her horn doubled and redoubled. Still it grew, until it filled the shrine with its light, and it grew brighter still. Within a few heartbeats it was as bright as the noon sun. It became a star as everything else in the room turned black, and Vermilion squeezed his eyes shut as the first wave of its heat touched his face. Even through closed eyes he saw what happened next. The star became a beam, briefly connecting Quicklime’s horn with the door. A searing blast of hot air washed over them, instantly melting the bits of frost still clinging to his hooves. A sound like a clap of thunder shook his chest and rendered him momentarily deaf again. He opened his eyes as soon as the heat passed. The door had a new hole in it now, its edges still on fire, surrounded by blackened and charred wood. Something outside let out a shriek of pain that slowly receded away from the shrine. “Woo!” Quicklime panted for breath. Her face was blackened, and most of the mane around her horn was simply gone. A few frizzy ends still glowed. “That was something!” “Okay. Grab everything. We’re leaving.” Vermilion checked his saddlebags one last time – the sapphire and Canopy’s journal were safe inside. Nothing else mattered. “What’s the plan?” Cloudy asked. He posted with Stratolathe beside the door, ready to kick it open. “Out of this damn village, then out of the forest.” Vermilion peered out the windows, trying to find the moon. “How long until sunrise?” All three pegasi glanced up. Zephyr spoke first. “Just over three-and-a-half hours.” Okay. It would be tough and dangerous, but anything was better than staying in this cursed shrine. “Everypony ready?” “It’s just like last time,” Strato muttered. “Weren’t no crazy screaming then, though.” “We’ll be fine. Stick together and stay on the path. If anything gets close, kill it.” He took a deep breath, spun, and bucked the shrine’s doors with all the force he could muster. The doors were supposed to swing inward. It didn’t matter – his kick shattered the frames and sent the doors spinning out into the garden beyond. The town, illuminated by the full moon, seemed as bright as day to his eyes. He could see everything. In particular, he could see dozens of shapes stalking between the houses, slinking through the tall barley, or soaring overhead and occluding the stars. He recognized wolves and strygians, but other things had joined them as well, other animals or spirits twisted by the nightmare’s influence. The town crawled with them. Something burned in the fields beyond the shrine’s fence. Fuck. Well, nothing for it now. He took a breath, drew his saber, and lead the charge. He hadn’t lied to Luna – or whatever spirit that had been in his dream. He and his friends had grown so much since Hollow Shades, both as a team and as individual warriors. They cut through the monsters, the wolves and nightmarish owls and living shadows. They carved a path through the village, Vermilion with his saber, Zephyr and Cloud Fire with their spears, the unicorns setting everything ablaze with their magic, and Stratolathe guarding their rear. They destroyed everything in their path through Cirrane, through the fields, all the way to the forest’s edge. One cunning wolf lay in wait in the bushes for them. Its teeth caught Vermilion’s shoulder, and any other member of their party might’ve received a grievous wound, enough to maim or kill. But Vermilion was an earth pony, his muscles more like solid oak than meat, and he turned out of the wolf’s jaws. His saber answered and cracked the wolf’s skull open. Iron stung his nose, and his leg ran hot. Rose stopped beside him, her horn smoking, and tried to force a bandage on his wound. He pushed her further along the path. “I’m fine! Just go!” he shouted. “Oh, shut up,” she grumbled. “You’re not bleeding to death tonight.” It only took her a few seconds to tie a crude bandage around his chest, securing a gauze pad over the worst of the wound. She cinched it down with a hard tug that hurt worse than the bite itself, then she vanished down the path after the pegasi. Stratolathe passed a moment later, and Vermilion found himself alone at the edge of the forest. A dozen tiny fires burned in the town and fields behind them, set by the unicorns as they fought their way through. His own path was equally clear – a trail of dark shapes, laying where he cut them down or smashed them with his hooves. For a moment he wondered at the destruction, and a heady euphoria built in his chest. He had done this! And his friends, of course, but he, Vermilion, the weak little runt of his siblings, the private who could only ever carry things for the company, he had become a warrior at last. With his new strength and skill and his friends, they could accomplish anything. They could save the world. The euphoria built and built until it escaped, bursting out of his throat in a laugh. Joy like he hadn’t felt in months – no, years – flowed through his veins. Uncaring, daring, he lifted his head to the sky and laughed. And the sky looked back. His throat spasmed closed. The laugh died in a strangled gasp. Sheer, uncut terror shot up his spine like lightning, a terror like he hadn’t felt since that final night in Hollow Shades, hiding in the bushes from an enormous spider while Zephyr bled out on his back. He had to flee, he had to run and hide, he had to find his friends and run past them so that he could escape and if that meant they would all die so he could live then so be it. But most of all he had to stare up in awe and horror at the night. High above, among the stars, a wound opened in the sky. The great arc of heaven tore, and from the bleeding hole emerged something not of the world; something not of nature but out of nature. A vast whirlpool that spun faster and faster, consuming stars and the moon and even the darkness itself, until what remained was an absence not just of sight but thought. And from this absence, this emptiness, this undarkness that bled on his retinas like the afterimage of the sun, a great something emerged. Something demonic and huge, loosed, escaped, knocking at the door of his heart. It had wings, he saw. Wings that stretched to the horizon. It bristled with teeth all across its insane, mouthless form. It grew out of the moon or hid within the moon or it ate the moon. Beaks and segmented cilia and miles-long tendrils and twisted animal parts stretched and clacked and clawed at the sky. But most of all he saw its eyes, its thousands of eyes, an eye for every star in the sky staring down at him, impaling him. He felt the weight of its attention crush him, and he could no more bear it than an ant could bear a pony’s hoof. It was far too much – all he could do was scream. He remembered nothing else from that terrible night.