Sickening.
All the world was sickening.
Every rock, tree, river, blade of grass. The land was beautiful. Picturesque. And it sickened him.
Clearly the parasites that called this place home had been busy. They’d tamed the wilderness, driven out the feral monsters, nurtured the barren earth into rich soil that could support fields upon fields of crops. They’d multiplied a hundredfold and spread their roots like the very weeds they plucked from their gardens, or an infection left unchecked. And like an open wound, they left scars in their wake: roads cleaved through forests and prairies, around mountains and diving into valleys.
That was how he found the first of their settlements: a town by the name of Pleasance. It was night when he arrived to study them – to observe from afar and learn the ways of these repugnant creatures. He wasn’t his so-called brother, the treacherous wretch, but he was no fool either; one could not hunt without first understanding one’s prey.
And they were prey, the ponies, all of them. They simply didn’t know it yet. Even after wasting away for an eternity in the cold, unfeeling void of Tartarus, they’d changed little since his imprisonment. They smiled and they waved, exchanging petty gossip as if the world around them was nothing but a blissful dream. Ponies were soft and shallow, never aspiring for anything more than their daily bread. It was pathetic.
And to think that contemptible scab, his own flesh and blood, had betrayed him for them. Turned against his own. Walked free as he condemned his kin to a thousand years of deathless hell, where chains never rusted nor age took its toll. Silence reigned absolute in that realm, save for the ever-present pacing and panting of Cerberus. There was plenty of time to think. An abundance of sentiments to process. An eternity to imagine restitution. To scheme.
But as eternity passed, his stores of magic waned, and his schemes had to adapt. He could not simply break free and wreak havoc as he wished. Now, he was frail. Now, he was weak. He once stood taller than an alicorn, stronger than a dragon, with the power to crush boulders and grind bones into dust in his bare hands. But no more: now, even a starved wolf would prove a challenge, let alone an armed and intelligent adversary.
Skulking about in the dark was beneath him, but it was also the most prudent measure. He’d avenge his pride in due course – strike down those who scorned him, devour their magic until their life force gave out, and he’d relish every second of it. Patience was needed, however. Senseless rage wouldn’t achieve retribution.
Pleasance was a farming community, its inhabitants simple and unassuming, but until he found a reliable source of magic to exploit and drain, his presence would have to remain secret. Even if these insects couldn’t protect themselves, they’d raise the alarm, and he wasn’t so naïve as to think that the kingdom was defenceless; the Sisters would never abandon their subjects, nor their guards disband.
He was now a scavenger – a bottom-feeder scrounging a miserable existence from the lives and efforts of peasants. This was what he’d been reduced to. And if that traitor were with him still, nothing would please him more than to have him watch this kingdom burn.
But he wasn’t angry. Not tonight. Tonight he was focussed, lying in wait amidst the corn stalks as the moon shone through a cloudy veil. A storm brewed on the horizon, far beyond the town’s outskirts, flashing lightning and permeating the cool air with the distant growl of thunder. For now, a cave in the nearby forest served as his abode, though he had no intention of returning there yet. Not without the cloak.
It hung on the washing line of the cottage ahead, along with other items the occupants had strung up – bedsheets, pillow cases, more cloaks. So many cloaks. No one creature needed that many cloaks. But that one, the black one, would suit him perfectly, and sufficiently conceal his identity.
Stealing was nothing new to him. Being so clandestine about it, on the other hand, was a different story, and one he’d rather not dwell upon. Best to get it over with, he figured, but not until the coast was clear.
A unicorn siphoned water from a pump close to the rear entry of the cottage, occasionally glancing up at the storm. It would be a fair while before it struck, but it was definitely approaching, and she was clearly taking it into account. Nevertheless, she remained calm and continued to fill her bucket, the purpose of which was a mystery to him. But her motives were of little concern: it neither affected him nor seemed like an important task. And when she finished, she whisked the bucket into the air and carried it inside with her magic.
Silence settled over the homestead, and after watching the illuminated windows for any sign of her return, he acted swiftly.
Keeping his form low, he broke from the cornfield and leapt over the wooden fence, then paused in a shallow ditch to watch the cottage again. Seeing nothing new, he crept out and slid behind a thicket of bushes, just before the picket fence separating the property from its crops. After a second assessment with similar results, he kept his eyes on the windows as he snuck around to the gate and cautiously unlatched it. The rusty hinge squeaked, though not loud enough to alert the residents.
Were he his usual self, he’d have levelled this place to the ground, and the owners with it.
But he wasn’t so lucky. That power would be his once more soon enough, but only if he could endure stooping to common thievery for the time being.
Patience, he reminded himself. Patience.
The mare might’ve been his first victim if she lived alone. But she didn’t: she’d hung the covers for a second bed out to dry, and he couldn’t be certain of how well he’d fare against multiple opponents, even if they were hapless farmers. The risk far outweighed the reward. Better to take his prize and leave.
So he slunk toward the clothesline, careful to avoid anything that might make a noise. After plucking the pegs from the edges of the cloak, he swathed himself in it and fastened it at the front below the chin. It was as if it were made for him, and showed its age with fraying edges; it had lasted many years of punishment from the elements. Not only would it help shelter him from prying eyes, but wind and rain too. How fortunate.
But then there came voices from inside – one adult, the other much younger – and he whipped his head in the door’s direction quick enough to see a silhouette approaching through the gap below. He wouldn’t have time to reach the fence, nor would darting for the woods be wise: they’d see him from afar and warn the town of a bandit in the forest. His only option for now, then, was to hide in plain sight.
He tore for the left, ducking beneath the view from the windows to the western side of the house, and rounded the corner into the shade it cast. Lowering himself to the ground, he peered back around as the door swung open, and candlelight poured forth onto the grass. He needed to know if and when his theft had been discovered.
A filly hopped from the steps into the air and shut the way behind her, hovering on feathered wings and carrying wicker baskets over both flanks. Under the moon’s gaze, it was difficult to pick out any distinguishing features other than her coat and mane, but it hardly mattered to him. He wouldn’t be returning to this deplorable excuse for a dwelling after tonight.
She fluttered to the laundry and began stowing what she could into each hamper. The pillow cases went, followed by the bedsheets and cloaks. But then she stopped, staring at the empty space on the line, then glanced about the yard to search for the final item.
His hand curled into a tight fist as his teeth gnashed and ears pinned back beneath the hood. She was perceptive, then, or perhaps this family owned so few clothes that the loss of even a single article had to be explained. This would prove problematic either way, and he probed his mind for the most pragmatic solution. A good scheme was one that could adapt.
Lightning flashed in the sky, and thunder rumbled shortly after. The storm was near. It would arrive in a matter of minutes, and seemed severe enough that he could use it as cover to escape. His mixed fortunes were growing brighter again, even as the land itself grew darker, the clouds above gradually smothering the moon in their tempestuous embrace.
The filly looked to the gathering squall, then patrolled the yard for any signs of the missing cloak. It was, obviously, for naught, and he had to admit that he felt slightly amused watching her fruitless efforts, even though he was by no means out of the metaphorical woods just yet. And then he was struck by the fact that she was but a foal – a child; of course she would fail. To think that his sense of humour had eroded to the point that observing a witless infant was now entertaining.
Death would be too simple for the Sisters. No, he would let them live, if being trapped in Tartarus could be considered living, and he would show them every agony he’d perform on their kingdom, their people, until their sanity broke. That would be his promise to them, the price of their defiance, the cost of their defeat.
“Hello?”
His ears twitched beneath the hood as he felt icy needles prick at his spine. The filly was looking right at him – a solitary eye leaning out from behind the house. He cursed himself for being careless, forgetting his own appearance, but a thousand years without a mirror had left him ignorant of himself. Perhaps if he stayed still she’d think his glowing pupil an illusion. He couldn’t be sure whether she was convinced either: retreating now would only confirm her suspicions.
She slowly descended and touched down on his side of the washing line, then tentatively advanced into the gloom toward him, glancing along the fence and at the bushes outside it. “Is somepony there?”
Perhaps he’d made a noise without realising it, or maybe the lightning had revealed him for a brief instant. Whatever the case, if he did nothing soon, he’d certainly be discovered. And yet what could he do without alerting half the town, and the whole country by the same time next day? He wasn’t yet strong enough to drain a pegasus of its power, which meant that he’d either have to convince her to keep quiet – an unlikely outcome – or eliminate the threat entirely.
Tempting though it may have been, it wasn’t wise: even if they never found the body, they’d scour the countryside for clues and witnesses, and that would inevitably lead them to his cave. The less commotion, the better. And would anyone truly take an impressionable, imaginative and easily scared little girl at her word? Likely not.
“Did you take Ginger’s cloak?”
Patience, he reminded himself. Patience.
Every step she took grew evermore timid, until she came to a complete halt, meeting his gaze with a scared, unnerved… and yet surprisingly resolute look in her eyes. Scarlet eyes. Rare in a pony, from his understanding. “I need… I mean, could I please have it back? It doesn’t belong to you.”
Still, he said nothing, and instead merely stared at her. She could talk and talk and talk, but her nerve would break eventually, and when she left, so would he, vanishing before any others found him.
Her ears lowered, but even as the hesitation mounted within her, she dared to steal another step forward. Another step towards bared teeth and claws poised to strike, if she dared to steal a second. “What… are you, anyway?”
She’d get no reply from him. Lightning bathed the world in white moments later. Thunder shook the earth. While she shrieked and jumped at the shock of it, he bolted from his hiding place and vaulted the picket fence, aiming for the cornfield. Then came the rain – a torrent of it, cascading down like a waterfall – and by the time he traversed the ditch and sprung over the second fence, the cloak was already drenched.
“Wait!” the filly cried, her voice now distant and hard to hear with so much going on. He veered left and right to make his path less coherent if she tried tailing him. “Stop! Get back here! Give it back!”
But he’d have none of it. She had no control over him, nor did he care to listen. And soon he’d broken free of the stalks and freshly laid fertiliser, leaping into the next field, and continued galloping all the way to the woods.
The cave wasn’t much warmer than the open air outside, but at least it was dry. And the cloak, although damp, helped to keep some of the heat from escaping. That was its function, it seemed, rather than a shield against the elements. The journey hadn’t been for nothing.
He’d built no fire because fire produced smoke, and that wasn’t ideal within a cave. If he’d built it at the entrance, perhaps it would’ve attracted a stray pegasus to investigate, and then he’d face the same predicament as he had with the filly, only much sooner, and likely with an adult. Perhaps that would’ve been easier, but then again perhaps not. It wasn’t beneficial to ponder what could have been: the future was where his ambitions lay. A future without equals, rivals, or friends. A future where he would rule alone.
The scent of wet earth, stone and foliage wafted in. It was strong. The storm had eased somewhat, but it was still far from over – maybe a full day until clear skies. He couldn’t say that he was thrilled to be spending the rest of the night cold, wet and grim, but there was little else to do, save for scouting out a new location to call home, should he be detected again. These weren’t dire circumstances, however, and braving the rain a second time didn’t appeal to him in the slightest.
He’d stay here, then, and wait. There was always more waiting to be done. But he hadn’t spent an age in purgatory to waste his vengeance. He lacked the strength to challenge the enemy in open combat, but strength took many forms, and while his physical prowess had waned, the might of his conviction had never burned brighter.
They would fall. All of them would fall. And he would scatter what remained of their kingdom to the four winds, leaving naught but ash in its wake. Then and only then would his dominion be complete.
Patience, he reminded himself. Patience.
“Hello?”
The word came as a whisper through the clamour outside – a lone voice amidst the roar of an entire horde – but there was no mistaking the familiarity. He wasn’t one to let a thousand years of isolation get to him; he knew what was real and what wasn’t. And that cry into the forest, that far-off noise, was no hallucination.
The filly had followed him.
She was too young to be a skilled tracker, and to do so while the storm raged overhead would’ve been near impossible. Blind luck had brought her here, then, and he sneered at his misfortune. There weren’t meant to be any witnesses, and certainly none so stubborn as this imprudent whelp. If she persisted, it would be the end of her – if not by his hand, then by the unforgiving nature of the elements.
Good riddance either way.
“Where are you?” she beckoned through the gloom. “Can’t we just talk?”
He narrowed his eyes and pulled the cloak tighter around himself. She was getting closer. The winds of fate were cruel to him tonight. But he knew that conquering Equestria wouldn’t be a bloodless affair: sooner or later, a pony whose nerve outweighed their might would stand in his way, and he would smite them down as a scythe would grass, and crush them under hoof. Should his reign of terror start with the disappearance of a child, then that would be all the better.
But although he had no qualms about doing what had to be done, he also knew that until there came an impasse, no one had to die; children could be scared, and their fears blamed on their imaginations. Besides, this cave had served him well. Searching for another so convenient would prove more than a little problematic and waste valuable time. The Sisters would discover his absence eventually, and then there would be no place to hide.
“Are you… are you in there?”
Closer, closer still. It vexed him that his plans might be delayed, and no less by some peasant brat. If it were a guard, then at least there’d be some dignity in putting a hold on his efforts – a delay caused by a worthy foe. For what counted as worthy amongst their misbegotten kind. Nevertheless, she was approaching, and he wasn’t so petty as to let pride be his downfall. Revenge didn’t favour the righteous.
The clop of her hooves outside signalled her arrival, and then she appeared from around the corner of the entrance and halted. She was soaked, her curly mane dishevelled, her coat darkened with water and mud, and yet even from so far within the cave, he could see her resolve hadn’t faltered one bit. Perhaps he’d have found it admirable, if she weren’t so foolish.
“Hello?” she echoed into the darkness, taking a few wary steps forward. She closed her eyes as she passed through the waterfall of droplets that shrouded the cave’s entry, then shook herself down and continued on her journey, creeping into the gaping maw of his lair. “Is there anypony in here?”
“Come no closer, girl, if you value your life.”
She yanked herself to a sudden stop, wings open and ready to take flight. More instinct than intent, he suspected, as he still didn’t detect even the slightest trace of fear. “Who are you?”
A sensible yet pointless question. She should’ve learned to be afraid of the dark, and everything that dwells within it. “My name,” he said, rising to his hooves and stepping out from his alcove, “does not concern you.”
“You stole Ginger’s cloak. I think it does.” Her eyes darted about the blackness with a squint, which meant that she hadn’t seen him yet. His voice ricocheted too much for her to locate its origin. That suited him just fine. “Who are you?”
His ears pinned back as an incensed nerve plucked at his core – to think that an impudent foal barely out of her mother’s crib would use that impatient tone with him, as if he were wasting her time. Maybe a lesson in respecting one’s superiors was in order, or maybe making her disappear would serve as a lesson in and of itself. But he did neither.
He couldn’t quite explain it, this… feeling. A flight of fancy, he supposed, bordering interest. Although he had limited experience with children, save for their screams and the lamentations of their heartbroken parents, this wasn’t the reaction he expected. Most her age would’ve bolted long before now, tails between their legs and bawling their eyes out, squealing at the top of their lungs. But not this one. She’d stood her ground, dared to challenge his authority – to measure the purity of his resolve. That was a test only the Sisters were meant to put him through. No one else.
Exceptions, however, weren’t above elimination.
“I am a shadow,” he hissed, reaching up and tugging the hood further over his head. “A shadow from Equestria’s past.”
”Like a ghost?”
A malevolent spirit that stalked the land until its task was complete. Yes, he could see the parallels, and they weren’t unpleasant. “You may call me that.”
“Ghosts aren’t real,” she stated indignantly, wings folding at her sides as she assumed a more defensive stance, as if she’d found her courage to fight. Admirable, but mistaken. “Dead ponies don’t steal anything, ever.”
“I never died,” he rumbled, frowning disapprovingly. “Nor am I one of you.”
Silence descended upon them, though a strong gust billowed past the cave’s entrance and rain continued to pour. As his words were allowed to sink in, her stalwart mask began to crack, revealing an unnerved infant cowering beneath the surface. It would only be a matter of time before the façade crumbled into dust. “What… are you?”
“Leave now, little girl, and I’ll let you live.”
She stared in his general direction for a good, long while, completely stunned, and for the briefest moment he caught a flash of apprehension in her eyes. But it was only for a moment. Her mask repaired itself, tempered itself to steel, and although she took half a step back, it was done with the air of someone readying themselves for a charge. “Not without that cloak.”
He growled to himself and started advancing. It was a slow, deliberate march, aimed at instilling dread and asserting his control. This was his den, his land, and in time all of Equestria would belong to him too, and there’d be no respite for those who defied him. “Then it appears we’re at an impasse.”
He halted when the ambient light from outside hit him, not that there was much left with such a dense layer of clouds overhead. He was within reach of her, could easily overpower her should he choose to, and depending on her response, he was more than willing to. He clasped his hands into fists beneath the cloak for good measure, and flexed them when there was no more clasping to be done. If she were wise, she’d take the hint and leave without another word, and the night wouldn’t have to be soured with choked cries for help.
The filly gazed up at him, eyes widening, lips parting, ears flattening, but not so much in fear. “Tirek?”
He said nothing, for there was nothing to say, though he couldn’t help feeling the faint whisper of curiosity nip along his crest and tug at his brows. Hearing his name from the mouth of another after so long felt alien, more so that it hadn’t been uttered with fear, but astonishment. Not only that, but it was strange to think that anyone would remember him, and conveniently forget his crimes against the kingdom – against her people.
Nonetheless, there stood a filly half his height before him, whose memory was as flawed as it was impressive. And she was beginning to look daunted by him. “Lord Tirek? Is that really you?”
He arched an eyebrow, but offered no further signs of interest. Petty flights of fancy were beneath him. And yet he couldn’t escape the question now plaguing his mind. “You’ve heard of me?”
“Of course!” she exclaimed, inspecting him up and down with a bewildered smile, on the fringe of what one might call bright and cheerful. “I just thought you’d be… taller.”
He stared at her impassively. Perhaps he’d have felt insulted if it weren’t the truth; he was a far cry from his once-imposing figure. But there was a more pressing matter afoot, and it begged the question: “How do you know of me?”
“How?” she parroted dumbfoundedly, only to blink and shake herself out of her stunned blankness. “Well, through stories. Golly, mister, there are so many! Not just about you, but everypony from way back then.”
There were others. Yes, he remembered. Whispers of a shapeshifting horde that ravaged the west, led by a queen both malevolent and deceitful. A king in the north who waged war against the Sisters, his armies clad in bewitched iron. Tales of a pony whose loathing had warped him into shadow and consumed the last great heroes in the land. And the Spirit of Chaos himself, whose motives consisted entirely of his own amusement.
But Equestria had prevailed. Its subjects had prospered. They’d been weak; they lacked conviction, and where they failed he would succeed. He wouldn’t stumble into the same mistake of trusting another as an equal. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, and suffered through a thousand years of imprisonment for it.
“Do you know what I did?”
She beamed and nodded fervently. “Mm-hmm, I sure do!”
“Then why aren’t you running away?”
Her sunny disposition faltered. “Should I?”
Surely this child couldn’t have been so ignorant. To have heard of him and his deeds and not recognise what danger she faced was ludicrous. Even someone so young would understand that. And yet here she remained, more confused than afraid.
It shouldn’t have bothered him. It shouldn’t have. But for the first time since he could remember, he hesitated. Not because he felt anxious or even empathetic towards her, but because she intrigued him. That was enough to postpone her fate. At least for now, if she refused to wisen up.
“It would make you harder to catch.”
The filly blinked, then held a hoof to her mouth and giggled. There wasn’t a single hint of unease in her tone, or an inkling of it in her eyes. Rather, she appeared sincerely amused. “Why would I want you chasing after me? If anything… I’d be chasing after you.”
His frown deepened into a scowl. “Mind your tongue, girl. I am not so easily trifled with.”
“Golly, so serious.” She giggled again and shook her head before sitting on her haunches, beaming up at him. “I didn’t mean you should be scared of me, mister. What I meant was that… you’re my hero.”
An eyebrow arched, and his displeasure only grew. “Your hero?”
“Oh, absolutely!” She nodded fanatically, and her gaze became both whimsical and reverent. “You took what you wanted, laid the rest to waste, even faced off against the Sisters. If it weren’t for your brother, I bet you would’ve won!”
“That perfidious lout can rot,” he retorted with a snarl, stomping a hoof to snap her out of her reverie and force her back a couple of steps. “He’s no brother of mine. And you’ve no business here either. Take your delusions elsewhere, girl, or you’ll face—”
“Delusions?” She spat the word as if it were venom and stood her ground. “I’m not deluded. And I’m not lying either. What you did… was something nopony else had done: you defied the two most powerful beings in the kingdom. Not only that, but the only way they could take you down was by turning Scorpan against—”
“Do not mention his name in my presence!” he roared, lunging forward and leering over her, fists so tense that his arms trembled. “Leave, girl, before I treat you to the reckoning I’d show him. And there will be no mercy.”
The filly withdrew until she felt the dripping waterfall upon her flanks. She’d been startled, but she still wasn’t fearful, and that infuriated him even more. “My name is Cozy Glow.”
“Your name means nothing.”
“So did yours, once upon a time.”
His hands balled themselves into fists again and shook from the strain. She knew exactly who she was talking to and yet had the absolute gall to say that – to her supposed hero, no less. But although it stoked the fire building in his chest and brought his blood to boil, it wasn’t without a kernel of truth. “Do you expect wit to save you?”
“No. But you wouldn’t hurt me anyway, would you?”
“Shall we put that theory to the test?”
“Gladly.”
There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in her voice, nor in her expression or any other part of her that he could see. It had been an almost automatic response, declared with the utmost confidence and belief, and much to his indignity, he hadn’t envisioned such a direct answer.
Nevertheless, he maintained a grim appearance, and gave her nothing in the way of clemency. His fists relaxed, however, although they itched for something to grasp and wring and twist and snap. She’d answer for her insults to what honour he had left, one way or another.
Her eyes were aflame with sheer tenacity, each crimson iris almost glowing amidst the dark of the cave and the storm. “If you so much as pluck a hair from my poor, defenceless head, I’ll go running back home to Ginger and cry about a monster in the woods. And if I disappear, they’ll hunt for you anyway. You’d have to move no matter what, and I’m sure you don’t want that. Not in this weather, and not when you’re so… lacking in the muscle department. No offence. But that leaves only one option left, doesn’t it?”
He continued to stare, to observe, to measure the filly’s gravitas, and still he couldn’t decide whether she was brave or just plain mad. But there was one thing he could say about her that was, unequivocally, true: she was clever. Shrewd. Perhaps deviously so. And although she was far from landing within his good graces, an ashamedly sentimental part of him couldn’t help but be impressed.
“You know what I’m gonna say, don’t you, Tirek?”
Yes, indeed he did, and he straightened himself as he folded his arms. “State your terms.”
“I want to join you.”
That made him pause, and he allowed himself to arch an eyebrow in response. “Join me?”
“Yes,” she devoutly affirmed, risking half a step forward and looking him in the eyes with a steadfast, indomitable air about her. “You escaped Tartarus. You have to be here for a reason. Whatever it is, I want in.”
It was an unexpected proposition, and thus a highly suspect one – not that he could see what she had to gain from it. Even so, it made little sense for a child living in the backwater regions of Equestria to hold a grudge against the Sisters or the kingdom itself – a land famed for its peace and stability – when so many other nations had suffered through war and blight and turmoil. It was always better to err on the side of caution. “Why?”
“Because I’ve had enough.”
“Of what?”
“Everything. This place. The ponies here.” Where she was merely intrepid before, now she adopted a more baleful tone, and her gaze followed suit. “None of them understand, and they don’t try to either. They’re just so… selfish, and pathetic, and too full of themselves to even begin thinking about what it’s like to be me.”
“And what hardships do you face?”
“My very existence.” She flicked her tail and snorted, turning her unpleasant gaze on the ground between them. “Ginger and Mulberry stopped caring about me the day I was born. They hate me because I’m not a unicorn like them, and they hate each other because there has to be somepony to blame.”
Her familial politics didn’t concern him, and he felt no desire to hear them any further. But remaining silent would’ve implied that he wished her to continue, and dismissal would only encourage her to pester him even more. Whether or not it was her intent, she’d effectively backed him into a corner. “Then move on. Leave them. Forge a better life for yourself.”
“Oh, and how am I supposed to do that?” she snapped, returning to him and growing so bold as to sound resentful. “Nopony else wants to get involved. They’d rather have nothing to do with it. You don’t get to backtalk your family here, even if they’re making your life miserable and remind you every single day that you’re the reason why they’re miserable too.”
He held her gaze with indifference, offering nothing in return. But there was genuine hatred in her eyes – a fire that she wouldn’t allow to be extinguished. And for all of his misgivings about her and her kind, that was something he could respect, if reluctantly.
“They’re callous, all of them, and believing in the magic of friendship made them like this, as if it’s all just some big misunderstanding, and everything can be solved with a simple conversation. I’m sick of it. They can all rot like your brother, and I’d kill to see that happen.”
Actions spoke louder than words, of course, but that was no idle threat coming from a pony, especially when it had been declared with such fierce determination. And despite his most conscious efforts, he couldn’t deny that there was… a connection of sorts. They weren’t exactly kindred spirits, but she longed, hungered, to be an enemy of his enemies, and although her utility was yet to be determined, she wasn’t naïve. An ally like that was hard to come by.
“Let me help you. Please. If you do, there’s nothing I won’t do for you.”
The filly had promise. But she wasn’t yet ready. “You do not seek to help me, girl, but yourself,” he intoned, laying bare the truth that he could see plain as day. “You wish to ease the burden you carry, the betrayal you feel, by smothering it in rage.”
She blinked, then furrowed her brows in puzzlement – as if she could hardly understand why he’d say that, as if she’d been lying to herself for so long that she believed her own deception. But he never lied, unless there was something to gain; reality was a harsh yet necessary tutor.
“I cannot give you the peace you desire. But you have the gift of a sharp mind and a quick tongue, and those may yet prove useful, in time.”
Blinking once more, she briefly glanced either side of him, then cocked her head enquiringly. “Is that a yes?”
So persistent. So unwavering. Perhaps she was merely a younger version of himself, in some regards. But now was not the time for sentimentality, and he had no yearning for it either, so he turned and strolled deeper into the cave, scanning the ground.
The girl followed him. “Tirek?”
He found the stone he was searching for and picked it up. It was smooth and just large enough to fit in his palm – easily concealable for one so small as her – but it required something more before it was ready, and there was more to say before he delivered his final judgement.
Closing his eyes, he held it in front of him and focussed on the shape, texture and smell of it. His breathing slowed, and the world slipped away; not a sound could be heard in the darkness of this void. And then he uttered the words, whispered into the abyss, and they poured from his mouth like oil. They were of an ancient language, potent with centuries of sorcery and witchcraft and all the dark methods of enchantment and conjuring.
They were a gift he’d shared with his brother, before he was betrayed. But this girl was far from his equal, and until his efforts were thwarted and his power diminished a second time, she would never succeed him. He would not permit it.
With the ritual complete, he opened his eyes again to see that the stone had been scarred, the words so corrosive that they’d etched themselves into it, spreading black tendrils throughout its cold surface. A scant handful of individuals might recognise them, but none would know their true meaning, least of all their purpose.
“I’m not leaving without an answer.”
“And you shall have it,” he murmured, returning to her and bowing forward, offering the stone.
She stared at it for a short while, inspecting it closely, then sat down and hesitantly accepted the gift with both hooves, only to carefully roll it over and examine it further. “What’s this?”
“To all but you, a simple stone.” He rose to his full height and folded his arms once more. “If they were to look closer, they’d notice the markings. These are the runes of my homeland. Imbued within them is my magic. You need only centre yourself, touch the stone, imagine me standing before you, and I will be able to speak with you no matter the distance.”
Now she seemed only confused. “Why would I need that, though, if I’m coming with you?”
“Because you shall stay here.” With an air of decisiveness, he wandered over to the entrance and stood alongside her, peering down at her as a master might an apprentice. She was smart, assuredly, but she had much to learn. “If you were to leave, they would come looking for you, and two are easier to track than one. My plan cannot accommodate you.”
Surprise washed over her like a slowly rising tide, and in its wake was a touch of anguish – that she’d hoped for so much and apparently gained so little. Her flattened ears, however, perked up once she stumbled into another more hopeful thought. “What is your plan?”
“Telling you wouldn’t be wise, would it?” he hummed in an almost blithe tone, lifting a cautionary finger as the ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. It had been many, many years since he’d last smiled, and now the instinct itself felt almost alien to him. “You’ll find out soon enough. But the trick to any scheme is never leaving loose ends.”
She watched him closely, then nodded pensively and lowered her attention to the stone. And for the first time since their initial meeting at the outskirts of Pleasance, he saw a lingering sense of nervousness in her eyes. Yet it still wasn’t the terror he’d come to expect. Instead, it was the fear of rejection. Of abandonment. Of being seen by him as worthless. “Am I a loose end?”
“Only if you know something about me you shouldn’t,” he grimly muttered, the carefree undertone skulking back into the depths. And then he rounded on her and flung the cloak aside to brandish a clawed hand, charging what precious little magic he had left, bathing her and the cave in the deathly glow of its orange light. “Or if you plan to betray me as I’ve been before.”
She swept herself into the air with a flurry of her wings, eyes wide and brows high, but soon settled only a short distance away from him, still within striking range. The alarm quickly subsided, however, and making its valiant return was that familiar and unfaltering sense of true grit and resolve. “I’m not. I won’t. And I won’t let you down either.”
His eyes remained narrow, squinting at her analytically, but then he snorted in approval and doused the power he’d summoned, and the cave sank back into the ambient gloom of the storm outside. “See to it that you don’t. You aren’t an ally yet, Cozy Glow, but you have the makings of one.”
That seemed to be exactly what she wished to hear, and a manic grin spread across her muzzle. It nearly made him smile in turn. Nearly. But unlike her, he had experience on his side, and he knew how and when to control himself.
Better to cut a weed at the stem.
“Go,” he said, gesturing to the trees beyond the cave and the town beyond them. The storm had lightened somewhat. “Live among the sheep, little wolf. Your time to hunt will come. And when it does… we shall have a glorious feast.”
“Thank you, Lord Tirek.” She nodded fanatically and began to hover again, drifting over to the entrance and passing through, taking the stone with her and focussing on him all the while. “Thank you, thank you!”
“Do not thank me yet, only when you’ve proven yourself.”
“Right, right, of course, yes, sorry. But thank you.” And then she buzzed away into the depths of the woods, further and further until her wings were drowned out by the sound of falling rain. “Thank you!”
He waited until she was far from earshot and long out of sight, and then permitted himself the guilty satisfaction of a soft, appreciative smile, if only for a brief moment. The girl had spirit, and her heart was twisted just the way he liked it. And although he’d long assured himself that he wasn’t the sentimental type – too enlightened by the malice of treachery – a shameful part of him couldn’t help looking forward to whatever fruits this deal might bear.
But that was for the distant future. For now, he had a previous engagement, and all of Equestria would know that even the icy depths of Tartarus wouldn’t save them from the inferno he would unleash.