“Please?”
Crimson winced, the word sounding so familiar in his ears as the pony before him tried to use her natural cuteness to get him to comply with her requests. “Uh, sorry Twilight, but Static really sounded like she needs my help on this, something about having hands instead of big, clumsy hooves.”
Twilight frowned as Crimson rapidly placed distance between the two of them, heading off to find Static.
“Dodging the question again, is he?”
“I just don’t get it, Spike.” Twilight turned to her number one assistant with a severely unhappy, grumpy face, which quickly devolved into a pout. “The moment True Shot got here, it’s like Crimson just shut me out completely- and it’s not just me, it’s anyone who asks at all!”
The little dragon shrugged. “Maybe it was a bad time for him? If it was a bad time, I wouldn’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that bad, Spike.” Twilight replied, mostly ignoring Spike’s opinion…..until she actually stopped to consider it. It was a frequent occurrence that Twilight ignored certain possibilities simply because she didn’t consider it likely. That often lead to things going badly, as it had when she assumed a particular book wouldn’t have the cure to Poison Joke because it had the word “supernatural” on the title. Had she bothered to check it, she’d have found the cure much sooner than she had. “.....Actually, you might be right.”
Spike started, having turned away with a defeated frown, whirling around to stare at her. “Really?”
“Yes, thinking about it, it does make a lot of sense. Avoiding the subject, running away from anyone bringing it up, only sharing the secret with someone that already knows it. That does sound a lot like the behaviour of someone who experienced something awful..” Twilight conceded.
Spike nodded. For once she’d stopped before inadvertently blundering into a situation and making it worse.
“Maybe I should get everypony else’s help with this? If he has no other excuses, he pretty much has to talk to me.” And there went the intelligent thought process. Spike rolled his eyes as Twilight devolved into a tangent again. “The girls could be a big help, and we could show him we’re all there to support him when he talks about it! It’ll be perfect Spike! We can get him to stop hiding his secrets, and help him deal with whatever it is together! Oh- and I should ask True Shot for his help too! Since he knew Crimson at the time when it happened, maybe he’ll know how best to approach the subject!”
“Twilight, I don’t think that-”
“Oh, nonsense, Spike! Friendship can solve anything! If he sees that we’re there for him, he’ll open up, I’m sure of it.”
Spike threw his arms up in the air, and, with a beat of his wings, took off. His lessons from Dash were useful even in the castle. Twilight had a bad case of what he referred to as directional idiocy. The premise was simple; when Twilight directed her full attention at something, her scatterbrained tendencies started blaring a trumpeting fanfare around her head and destroyed all sense of subtlety and social nuance, rendering everything into a friendship problem for her to resolve.
And, worse, it seemed to be contagious, as all of their friends quickly came marching into formation before the word “friendship” had even left the Princess’s mouth.
So Spike did the only wise thing he could think of, flying away and getting out of the infection zone. No way Twilight’s silly obsession was getting in the way of his new Friendship Zombie comic #712!
**************************************
Static swooped down from the skies above Sweet Apple Orchards with a grin. Twilight had come to her with a plan to get Crimson to open up about his past an hour ago, and the Pegasus had entertained her ideas with a smile and a nod.
As per the plan, Twilight and the girls went careening by underneath her, chasing after the Architect as they badgered him about opening up and telling them about his past.
Of course, that would never work, just as Static had thought.
Swooping even lower, the pegasus brushed against the tops of the trees, her eyes flicking between patches of open air, where she could see through to the Orchard floor and the helpless Architect running away from the overly insistent mares behind him.
With a bit of concentration, she called on the only magic she could still do as a Pegasus, and started pulling together a raincloud, bundling up as much moisture as she could into a dark, angry stormcloud.
She powered ahead of the running Crimson, pushing the cloud ahead of her, and waited for just the right moment.
As he passed beneath her, she turned around and bucked the cloud, sending a lightning bolt shooting down to the ground in between Crimson and the girls, momentarily blinding them.
Diving quickly, Static swept her forelegs under Crimson’s arms and carried him up into the air, out of sight.
With all her haste behind her, Static carried Crimson over the Orchard and past the Apple Family Barn, making sure to stay low so that she was harder to spot, and carried Crimson away, heading for the White Tail Woods, and their seclusion.
With the tall birch trees soon surrounding them, Static dropped down, slowing her speed until she was able to drop Crimson to the floor without hurting him.
“Sorry about the rough landing.” She called, circling back around until she came to a not quite perfect landing in front of him. “I thought you would prefer not being chased by the girls all day, so I stopped by to help out.”
Crimson, for his part, nodded his thanks as he sank down onto a grassy knoll. “Thank you….Will the girls be okay?”
Static grimaced, setting about straightening her mane so that it wasn’t completely disheveled from her flight. “Yeah, they’ll be fine. I didn’t actually hit them, so they’ll just be stumbling around for a bit until their sight clears up.
Crimson straightened his clothes and hair as well, so that he didn’t look like he’d just walked into town off of an airfield. He stood still for a moment once he was finished, before tilting his head at the Pegasus. “....I suppose you want to know what I’m not telling everyone, right?”
“Of course. But only when you’re ready.”
“Why?”
Static turned to him with a smile. “Let’s just say I know what it’s like living with guilt.”
Crimson cocked an eyebrow at her, folding his arms across his chest. “There’s a story there. I want to hear it, properly, instead of you avoiding it like you always do.”
Static blushed, before her timid grin turned to sly smile. “Alright, but only if you tell me your secret when I’m finished.”
Crimson’s leg twitched, and he started leaning, as if to turn around and run again. But then he stopped, pondering the offer. Confiding in his friend? Just one, one who he already had a decent relationship with, someone who might just possibly understand him? That…..that was reasonable.
“Okay. I’ll tell you.” Crimson accepted her offer, adjusting his position on the grassy tuft so that he was more comfortable. “But you go first.”
Nodding, Static began her tale. As it was her own story, she presented it masterfully, telling it as if she were a shaman presenting a legend to her tribe. The story of a man who became a shapeshifter from another world, who came to understand true love, himself, and those around him, learning to use magic, to fly, to fight, and even play guitar. He fell in love, went on adventures, and, when the time was right, went off to fight in a war to save his home and his family. He even willingly gave his life to save his family, his friends, his entire world, and his reward was a new body, and a fresh start on the world he had chosen.
Static finished her tale mimicking her awakening into her new life, before turning to him with a smile. “And there you have it.”
“Well….” Crimson had to tear his eyes away from hers, so focused he’d been on listening to her tale. “It certainly explains a few things.” The Architect looked her up and down, critically. “You really used to be a guy?”
“Yeah, but, after spending months going back and forth modeling for Rarity, the line was already kinda blurry by the time this happened. I really don’t mind.” Crimson nodded in understanding. While it hadn’t been common in Homestead, there were a few instances were individuals of one gender had expressed desire to be the other. He was still considering that little tidbit of knowledge when she spoke again. “Do you get why I feel guilty, now?”
“Your friend.” Crimson nodded after a while, his hand drifting up to his chin as he looked down at the floor. “The one called Anna. You didn’t listen to your own heart and hurt her in the process, and she ended up dead.”
Static nodded. “Knowing it’s not really my fault is one thing. But believing it is quite another. I hate what I did, but I can never take it back, and never make amends. That’s the worst part.”
Crimson picked at the grass by his side, screwing up his lips. “I know the feeling.”
“Ah, is this the part when you confess all?” Static quipped, trying to lighten the mood a little. She leaned in close, and conspiratorially whispered into his ear. “The girls are all hiding over there, they’ve been listening for a while.” Crimson glanced at the bushes she had indicated, and gave the most miniscule of nods. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, you know.”
Crimson frowned. To not tell his story after she had told him hers wouldn’t be fair at all. In fact, it would be downright rude. And...well…..they’d find out eventually, wouldn’t they?
“Well, the first thing you should know, is about the place I lived…..” Crimson began, launching into a brief explanation into Homestead……
**************************************************
About Six Months ago:
Crimson frowned as he considered the small group of ponies following him under a sandy coloured tarpaulin, several feet behind him. He had caved to Aurora’s begging and decided, against his better judgement, to lead them to Homestead, and let them see where it was that their ward had come from all those years ago. True Shot, Aurora, Misty, and a few others shuffled forward as quickly and quietly as they could manage, hidden by their camouflage as they barely managed to keep up.
It was late evening, so the sand was not incredibly hot, and did not burn so easily as it did during the day, which was a relief to the entire group.
Crimson lead them through the dunes to the mouth of the Caves of Conundrum, where Aurora had to stifle a gasp of recognition, since the place was well documented- which made the possibility of a secret civilization having been there the whole time simply amazing!
“Wait here…” Crimson whispered, motioning with his hand for them to stay back.
He stood up, moving forward slowly, keeping in the deep shadows of the cave, making sure he remained out of sight of Homestead’s main gate, until he had found a suitable place for the ponies to hide and observe from.
It was a small outcrop of stalagmites, coloured almost exactly like the ponies camouflaging blanket, and steeped in shadow. Sneaking back to his friends, Crimson lead them to it, hunkering down next to them once they were settled in comfortably.
“Alright, I’m going to go back to the cave entrance and walk in normally. The guards will see me coming and open the gate. It’ll stay open for only a few minutes, and it’s the only chance you’ll get to get a glimpse inside. Once the door’s shut again, make sure you head back out the way I lead you in- there are traps littered all under the sandy parts, so don’t step on them.” He stood up, moving back along the shadows while the ponies made sure they had all their note taking equipment ready.
“Crimson!” Aurora called, softly. He turned back around to gaze at her, and she offered him a happy little smile. “Thanks for doing this. Even if it’s just a quick look, thank you.”
Crimson smiled back at her, his eyes twinkling a little. “Bye Aurora. I hope I see you all again someday.”
She nodded, and the two parted ways.
Crimson did what he had done in the exact reverse order, until he stood at the cave mouth. Once there, he took a few quick glances at the cave floor, and walked briskly in, taking an odd, looping, twisting pathway through the natural, sandy corridor, until he had once again reached the entrance chamber. A quick glance to the outcrop showed him absolutely no signs of anyone being visible, and breathed a sigh of relief. Their discretion was perfectly optimal.
Making his way in front of the door, Crimson waited. The guards should notice any second…...now? Where…..
Bizarrely, the door remained closed.
“Caeruleus?” He called. Two of his old classmates should have been on duty. The Architect’s language seemed strange to him after speaking Ponish so often. “Ater? Come on, open up! It’s me!”
Nothing.
Frowning, Crimson made to step forward, only for the door to suddenly squeal in protest, slowly swinging outwards towards him. “Finally!”
His joy was short lived, though, as when the doors were open enough, several fully armed and armoured Architects came pouring out of the opening, their spears and swords leveled his way. Surprised, concerned and confused, he raised his hands in surrender. “What’s going on? What is this? Some kind of joke?”
It was only when an old, wrinkled man in his late eighties, leaning heavily on a cane, came walking into view, that alarm bells started going off in Crimson’s head.
“Rubrum Pura’Cordis.” Elder Garret called, his eyes hard, and focused on the young man before him. He stopped just behind the line of guards, placing his cane just in front of him and crossing his hands on it. He was dressed in a red robe, one that he only ever wore at the incredibly rare occasion of trials. People breaking rules in Homestead was rare, but not unheard of, and the red robe of Elder Garret was always used for passing judgement.
“Elder Garret.” Crimson returned the greeting courteously. “What is wrong? Has something happened since I have been away?”
Garret’s already narrowed eyes turned to thin slits, and his drawn lips twisted into a grimacing sneer. “Do not pretend, child. I can read you as easily as I would read a scroll.”
Crimson did not drop his act. “Seriously, Elder, this is in poor taste. I have just returned from my scouting mission, and-”
Garret’s hand rose to silence the younger man with a single, swift motion. “You have magic.”
Crimson blinked, before he burst out laughing. “Oh, Elder, you honestly had me worried there. Me, with magic? That would be the day, wouldn’t it?”
“Do you think me stupid, boy?” The old man thundered, slamming his cane into the floor to punctuate his irritation. “This place, our home, was built to keep us safe from those that use magic! It has systems in place, to detect magic! And for the past few years, every time you have passed through these doors, those systems have determined the presence of magic! Now I finally know how you have come to own it’s power…..” He looked to the guards behind him, and they charged forward, rushing past Crimson and heading straight for the outcrop.
Fear gripped Crimson’s heart. “NO!!” He started to turn to go after them, only to find a sword held at his throat, drawing a thin red line across his skin as his own people held him back.
It was barely two minutes later that the Architects came back, Crimson’s friends tied up and helpless, slung over their shoulders. Crimson would have moved, but there were spear tips pressed around his throat in a ring now.
Elder Garret made a quick motion with his hand, and the guards followed the wordless command, maneuvering their spears so that Crimson was forced onto his knees.
“These beasts gave you their power, didn’t they?” He pressed his face close to Crimson’s, to the point he could smell the old man’s breath and see the tiny slivers of meat he had yet to get out from between his teeth. “You betrayed us, lead them to us. You probably speak their language too, no doubt.. But, you’ve also brought something interesting to our attention. It’s rather clear that your strength and incredible physique comes from their power. With it, we can become great again, like we once were, so long ago. All we have to do is claim their power for ourselves. And thanks to you, we don’t have to hunt them down to do it!”
Crimson tried to lunge for the old man, snarling in rage. Several new cuts and puncture marks appeared on his skin. “You bastard! I won’t let you hurt them!”
Garret smirked, turning back to the doors of Homestead, just in time for Crimson to see his friends vanish inside. “So what if we hurt them? They are the enemy. Their ancestors destroyed our people. They ruined us, and you invited them into our halls.” The hunched elder snarled down at Crimson, before lifting his cane and striking Crimson across the face.
“You are a shame to us all. You broke our rules, endangered our people and lead the enemy to our doorstep.” The Elder turned his attention back to the guards. “Take him to the cells. Make sure he’s bound up tight.”
*********************************************
The cells were cold, uncomfortable, and poorly lit, resulting in a claustrophobic nightmare that Crimson could only barely stand. Shifting his hands in the bindings, he tried to wiggle his fingers out of the intricate ties that held his hands in place, but only succeeded in chafing them some more, blood starting to bud up under the tight loops of coarse rope.
He’d been sitting there in that cell for what must have been hours, and yet the lights in the cell had not been turned on at all. Most likely because the power systems for Homestead could function as it was. This deep in the vaults of the structure was usually left unoccupied and unused, and had not seen regular repairs in a very long time. As such it was the one place in Homestead where one could find plants growing freely in through cracks in wall plates and floor panels.
Crimson tried once more to pull himself free of the bindings, but found that he simply was not strong enough.
The grinding of metal on metal assaulted his ears as the door to the small room opened, flooding the five foot by five foot room with the light of a dingy lantern.
“Rubrum.”
Crimson stared up at the face on the other side of the light source, and gave a brief, flat smile. “Uncle.”
“You really messed up this time.”
Crimson snorted. “I did what was right. They’re not what the Elders think they are.”
“So? Why does that mean that you are free to break our laws and bring them here?” Viridi asked. He did not raise his voice, which just made the question ring even louder in Crimson’s head. “Did you even consider that it may have been a trick? That they gave you all this power just so they could find out where we are?”
“You make so many assumptions, Uncle, just like everyone else.” Crimson chuckled, mirthlessly. “You judge them for the stories we tell ourselves, and yet they didn’t even know what I was when I first met them. They are kind, naive, and innocent, not some horrible monster from a bedtime story.”
“So they came here out of curiosity then? To learn?” Viridi snorted. “The terrible monster is just a cuddly ball of fluff that wants to know about us?”
Crimson grinned through his split lip. The guards had given it to him when they threw him into his makeshift cell. “Sometimes the monsters under the bed are just shadows playing tricks. Sometimes the curious ponies are just curious ponies.”
Viridi stared at him. The older Architect hung his head. “There’s no talking you out of this foolish belief, is there?”
“Not a chance.” Crimson confirmed, straining against the ropes again, blood dribbling freely down his wrists.
Viridi sighed. “Well. I’ll…..” He reached to his belt, pulling a sheathe free from it, and then drawing a long, slender dagger from it. He and his nephew both stared at it for some time, before he let both knife and sheathe tumble out of his fingers, to clatter noisily to the floor. Viridi then silently turned, starting to walk away.
“Uncle.” Crimson called, as he reached the door. Viridi stopped moving, hand hovering on the edge of the door frame. “Thank you.”
Viridi did not turn to look at him. “I’m doing this for you. Not them.”
Crimson nodded, and if Viridi had somehow seen it, or had known Crimson had done so, he made no indication, simply walking off into the corridors.
Crimson wasted no time stretching out his leg in order to pull the knife closer, catching the blade with the back of his heel. Drawing his leg back in, he wedged his toes over the hilt and, with great care, flipped the blade in the air, towards where his hands were bound above his head.
His fingers almost didn’t catch the blade in time, forcing him to use his trump card. He was barely able to do it, but so many years of practice had honed his ability to use magic enough that he could use it now. His hands flickered with a glow, and the knife, which would have sailed overhead and hit the wall where it would then land on the floor, out of reach, suddenly corrected it’s coarse. His fingers closed clumsily on the handle, and sweat dripped from his forehead. Even this simple use of telekinesis was hard for him. His grip on the blade was off a little, which meant he had to fumble around to get the blade orientated the right way, so that he could saw through the rope. He did so quickly, working the blade back and forth through the strands of hemp until the blade snapped through the last fibers.
When the rope finally came loose, he surged forward, pulling the now loose rope with him as he made for the door, sprinting out into the dark depths of Homestead.
He made sure to go a different direction than the one his Uncle had taken, quickly navigating the corridors until he found what he was looking for.
He found the stairwell quickly, and, without any hesitation, burst through the doorway, finding two guards waiting for him. They fell back from his entrance with cries of alarm, drawing their swords.
They barely slowed him down. He easily dodged their first swings, grabbed the closest guards wrist, bent it up in a painful twist, which made him drop his sword. Crimson followed through that attack by letting go of the man’s wrist, and grabbing hold of his chestplate with both hands instead, pivoting on his back foot and throwing the guards at his friend. The collision sent them both falling to the floor groaning.
Crimson didn’t wait long, pausing only to strip the guard he had thrown of his armour and his underclothes,then grabbing the fallen sword. He stopped as he started away, noticing a familiar shape tied to the other guards belt. His face mask, that he had carved from the chitin of the Sand Worm that had killed his father, that he himself had killed not long ago. He grabbed that too, tying it to his own belt before he sprinted off up the stairs.
He burst out of the stairwell a floor up, and continued past the startled Architects that noticed his loud arrival. “OUT OF THE WAY!” He bellowed, charging through the crowd. The guards were already moving to intercept him, but he dove into an open corridor, fully knowing where it lead.
The open space that held the generators of Homestead was a massive chamber, at least in comparison to the rest of the vault, and ran through the center of several floors.
Which meant, to the brave, bold, or foolish, it could be used to go up or down as many floors as needed.
The guards got an excellent of this very technique as Crimson leapt into the empty air, catching onto the single rope hanging there. The rope he clung to was one half of a pulley system, weighed down by several metal plates that were being used to repair a crack in the chamber wall. A deft slice of his sword sent those supplied tumbling down, whilst the counter-weight on the other side of the pulley succumbed to gravity’s pull, and yanked Crimson upwards.
He shot up past two floors, then he let go, the momentum carrying him up to the third, where he caught onto the edge of a walkway there.
The guards below were yelling something, but Crimson ignored them, resuming his sprint.
He shouldered through the door that lead to the science laboratories and medical wing, shoving past Architects whose job was to keep Homestead working, and otherwise improve the place.
It was when he reached the medical ward that he stopped running. He was too busy staring in horror at the still, limp form of Aurora lying on a table, her horn having been ripped from her head, the shattered remains of it’s stump still gushing a river of blood that soaked her fur and matted her mane.
Crimson could see the others, tied up and stuffed in the cages usually used for the Giant Shell Bugs the Architects used for food.
He could see Elder Garrett standing there, his eyes wide as he realized that he could not claim the magic of ponies by taking their horns.
Crimson’s eyes were wide, but the pupils in them were shrunken so small it seemed they had vanished in his rage. His sword shook violently in his grip as he stalked forward towards Elder Garrett. “YOU- YOU- YOU!!” He screamed, easily knocking aside the guard that tried to stop him, and ignoring the medics and scientists that bolted out of the shattered door behind him. His fingers curled around the Elder’s robes, and he hauled the old man off of the ground, slamming him bodily into the wall behind him, still incoherently screaming at him. “YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU BASTARD!!”
“I-I didn’t know…” Garrett whispered. “I thought-”
“SHUT UP!!!” Crimson screamed, before turning and throwing Garrett across the room and into the opposite wall, where the old man’s arm hit a pipe running up the wall, and snapped like a twig from the force. Tears streaked down Crimson’s face, as he looked down at Aurora’s still frame. “Oh….I’m so sorry…..I’m so sorry….”
“G-guards!” Garrett’s voice lit a fire behind Crimson’s eyes. He undid the straps holding Aurora to the table, and lifted her gently up. He turned around, the arm holding Aurora’s head already smeared with blood.
Garrett’s eyes went wide as he beheld the blood soaked figure before him, wreathed in glowing, magical flames. Crimson snarled down at the man, then stalked away, breaking open the cages holding the other ponies with a few kicks. Then he ran, leaving a trail of smoldering bootprints in his wake.
The ponies galloped after him, until eventually, they were standing before the huge metal doors of the entrance to Homestead. Free of their confinement, the ponies were able to fight through the guards, while Crimson made his way to the control console that opened the door, and, holding Aurora in one arm, punched in the control that opened the door.
The metal grinded slowly open, but they did not wait for it to open all the way, squeezing out the moment there was enough room.
As they sprinted out into the deep dark of night, Crimson could hear the screams of Garrett as he reached the entryway behind them.
“We will find you, boy! We will find you all!”
*********************************************
“Head north, as quick as you can. Get out of the desert.”
True Shot stared sadly at Crimson as the other ponies gathered up the supplies they had left behind at their camp, not far from the caves. Misty was not talking at all, refusing to leave her mother’s side, and not saying a word to anyone. Aurora was lying on an improvised litter, two stallions ready to carry her on the journey home. “What about you?”
“They’ll come for us. I have to make sure they don’t find you. I’ll stay behind and cover your tracks, and keep their attention on me. Just go. You’re wasting time.” Crimson said. He was staring out at the caves, at the lumpy rock formation that held the home of his people.
True Shot bowed his head, smiling sadly. “I suppose this is goodbye, then.”
“I suppose it is.”
The stallion gazed up at the young man, before turning away, and heading to join his fellow ponies. He stopped, twisting his head around to look at Crimson again. “If...if you ever make it up to Equestria….my door will always be open.”
Crimson nodded, giving a slight smile as he picked up a length of cloth from the discarded tents, and started fanning the sand, causing it to shift and flatten down, erasing the multiple hoofprints that the ponies were leaving behind them. “Sure. I’ll...I’ll try and visit sometime.”
True Shot held back his unshed tears as he walked away, even as Crimson shrank into the distance behind them.
*********************************************
“After that, you can probably guess what happened.” Crimson said, slowly. “Once I made sure they weren’t being followed, I headed north too. It was slow going, and by the time I got out of the desert, I was running low on supplies, and the forest to the north had a few tricks up its sleeves. By the time Twilight found me, I was delirious and badly ill. I thought that my friends story would make all of ponykind hate me for what happened, but you took me in and helped me.”
Static smiled at him. “Well, you’re safe with us. And it’s not all bad, right? You all made it out alive. That’s not something everyone can claim.”
Crimson sighed. “I just wish that I’d have said no. Then it wouldn’t have happened.”
“And you’d probably be dead, or being experimented on by Garrett.” Static countered, jabbing his shoulder playfully with a hoof. “Look, no matter how you slice it, things could have been so much worse than they were.”
“Do….do you think your friends will think so too?” Crimson asked, hopefully.
“I don’t doubt it. They may be a little nuts when it comes to the whole Friendship thing, but their hearts are in the right place, and they’ve done right by a lot of people.” Static jumped into the air, hovering in place with her hoof extended to Crimson, a grin on her face. “Now, you can either sit there and continue to fret about the past, or you can trust in us. I know which one I’d pick.”
Crimson looked over to the bushes where the other ponies were now climbing out of their concealment, smiles on their faces. Then his eyes flicked back to the offered hoof in front of him. Then he reached up with his hand, and grabbed that hoof firmly, letting the pegasus help pull him up.
“Oh, and Crimson?” Static said, now that his attention was back on her. “They’re your friends too.”
For the first time in a long while, Crimson felt something he knew well.
He was home.