//------------------------------//
// The Gift of Revelation 
// Story: Claws Scratching on A House of Glass 
// by Wise Cracker 
//------------------------------//

Rarity yelped from behind her window when she saw the monster griffon approach. His sheer size would have put a manticore to shame and, as if that wasn’t enough, his plumage and fur was thick. He was mostly white all over with the occasional beige and brown splotches, the sort of pattern Rarity recognised from owl camouflage patterns.  

She’d considered using such patterns once. The results were quite ugly.  

Opalescence jumped up behind her, far earlier than usual. Opal was usually so punctual about her catnaps and beauty sleep. But Rarity had no time to ponder that matter too far. She quickly opened the door to her boutique and greeted the griffon. “Hello, sir. You must be the inspector. I’m Rarity, welcome to Carousel Boutique.”

The griffon glared at her, and she heard her cat dash off to occupy the best pillow in the room, just in case. “You Element of Harmony?”

“Err, yes, I am the Element of Generosity, as they say. And you are?” Rarity asked.  

“Name Garwin. Report for Griffon Youth Protection. Permit enter?”

Rarity took a moment to parse that. It sounded like this fellow had trouble speaking, only not. He didn’t mispronounce any words, he had no distinct quirks about any of his vowels and consonants. It had to be an accent, but it was quite alien to her.  

She couldn’t tell where he was from, and for a mare like her, that simply wouldn’t do.

“Yes, of course, come right in. Would you like something to drink? Some tea, perhaps?”

“None now. Ponies drink too much tea. Where sit?”

“Oh, right there is fine, darling.” She pointed to a pile of cushions near her table while she trotted off to fetch a drink for herself. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, Mister Garwin, but you have the most positively strange accent I’ve ever heard. I can’t recall any pony talking the way you do, and I know ponies from far and wide. Where are you from, exactly?”

Garwin cleared his throat. “Hail from North. Yak country. Is not accent: is efficient. Cold and high, spare breath.” He coughed again. “I do apologise for any inconvenience; it is a tough habit to break.”

So he could form a full sentence, he’d simply been taught not to for efficiency’s sake. And probably because it made him sound terrifying when he needed to. “Ah, that explains that. I don’t mind it at all; I’ll have to keep it in mind if I ever run into a yak myself.”

Opal, meanwhile, made a point to sit right behind the griffon, slightly to his left, so Rarity could see. That was very odd indeed, as Opal usually didn’t react to visitors at all, save if they paid her particular attention, which this big fellow did not.  

“Thank you. Now, about changeling Bastion. What know?”

Rarity tapped her chin. “Anything specific you were curious for? That article was just full of slander and lies.”

“Doubt very much, Miss Rarity.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose I’ll have to clean up our reputation then.”

“Is slander when spoken. In print is libel.”

Whether that was supposed to be encouraging or frightening, Rarity couldn’t tell. Either way, she certainly didn’t want to ruin anyone’s life.  

“Tell general impression first,” Garwin suggested. “Will ask when specifics needed.”

Rarity smiled. “Well, little Bastion is a very polite boy, above all. Always on his best behaviour when there’s an adult around, always ‘Please, thank you, Ma’am.’ He was awfully shy when he first came here, but he’s learned to be quite bombastic now, throwing his voice around when he feels the need.”

Behind Garwin, Opal nodded vigorously.  

Now she’s just being downright silly. Why would she care about that little change… oh. Oh, of course he did, silly me. A boy like that isn’t going to take any chances, after all. 

“Need being?”

Right. The boy is listening, too, Rarity, make it count. 

“Oh, cheering on his friends, calling out plans and instructions when they’re making something, that sort of thing. He’s very kind, very helpful. Never too busy to help my little sister when she’s designing new clothes… though I do wish he were more vocal about the quality she tries to produce.”

The cat shrugged nonchalantly. Garwin still hadn’t noticed anything.  

“Has changeling Bastion ever behaved oddly around you?”

Rarity’s ears flicked back. Opal started waving her paws around in a very clear ‘no’ gesture. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Has boy shown signs of repressed anger, trauma, or signs abuse?”

“Did he abuse signs? Oh, you mean signs of abu-no!” She set down her cup of tea in a dramatic fashion, shaking her head most vigorously. “No, never, Lyra and Bon Bon wouldn’t harm a hair on his webby little head.”

“Is not his mothers that concern, Miss Rarity. Mean past trauma.”

Opal, or Bastion, it had to be, stopped the frantic waving, and Rarity took a moment to weigh her words. “Right,” she said with a sigh. “I suppose there’s no dodging that proverbial elephant in the room. To answer your question: no, he did not show any signs of trauma. In fact, I was quite shocked to hear the details of his past. I assumed he was a prince from a different Hive, captured by Chrysalis as a trophy, so to speak, and his living arrangement was merely a way to bypass some legality or other. I didn’t see him acting like a general, certainly. You know, when he arrived, Miss Cheerilee had her class do a little business exercise.”

“Little early for that, nya?”

Rarity chuckled. “To a griffon, I’m sure it would be. But we ponies, we have a few oddities that set us apart from the rest of the world.” She gestured to the diamonds on her thighs. “It’s common for school children to be out and about and trying their hoof at, well, little things they see the adults do. It’s tied to our magic, you see. I myself was making costumes for our school theatre when I was that age, it helped me find my cutie mark. And Bastion’s mothers, I suppose perhaps they timed it, in hindsight, let the boy make friends on his first day and form a team. He didn’t lead his team, though, as I recall, that’s my point. He’s not the controlling sort, not that I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been aware of his goings-on since he arrived here. He offered to do the hard work for the assignment himself, and he let Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon do most of the planning at first. They’re fillies from some of the more well-off families.”

“Pony think he took advantage of them?”

Rarity held back her first answer. “Oh, it sounds awful when you put it like that.”

“But did he? Ka or nya?”

Opal was shaking her head now.  

Rarity bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I really don’t want to speak ill of him. He is a nice boy, mind you.”

“Understandable. But still, take advantage of girls, ka or nya?”

Reluctantly, despite Opal’s frantic yet unnoticed waving, the mare nodded. “He… he did, in a way, if I have to be completely honest. Those girls knew their way around money and the market already, both because of their families and because of their cutie mark. But he did not exploit them in any way, let that be on the record. He merely adapted, and any pony in his position would have done the same. Besides, Diamond Tiara’s father was already on speaking terms with some of the other changelings, Bastion had probably heard of that. And like I said, he did the hard work for that assignment, they merely planned it out. He made a point to do his part.”

“What did work entail? In own words?”

“As far as I know, he mixed some fruit juices with heavily diluted honey mead, made sure the proportions were right. You’d have to ask Berry Punch for the details, she lives across the street from them.”

“Colleague will take care of that. Mentioned pony children tend to be out about. Bastion join them?”

For that, Rarity didn’t need a cue from the impostor cat. “Occasionally, yes. He has his own group of friends, much like any other foal his age.”

“And that not cause any trouble? Not get into altercations, no one addresses directly?”

“What do you mean?”

“Boy ever confronted with animosity based on tribe?”

Opal looked away and nodded morosely.

Rarity pretended not to notice. “No, Heavens no. Certainly not in Ponyville. Why would he?”

“Is changeling, in town full of ponies, refuses to change shape to fit in. Pony say no one bothered by that?”

Rarity shrugged. “If they are, they certainly know better than to take it out on him. And he does not refuse to change shape, sir: no one asks him to. At least, not to fit in. It’s magic, after all, and magic is not something you treat so lightly as to leave to the whims of others. Now, to be fair, there are a few more practical applications to his abilities, but he reserves such displays for close friends only. He doesn’t attract any animosity, to my knowledge, at least. No, when my sister is with him, typically he’ll be with the Apple family, and they wouldn’t let any harm come to him. When he’s with Diamond Tiara, well, her family is highly esteemed around these parts, no one’s going to speak up against him if her father might catch wind of it. When he’s in town, around Sugarcube Corner all the store ponies know him well and around the market...”

“Hmm?”

She grimaced, and quickly stopped because that sort of thing could give you wrinkles. “Mmmmarket ponies can be a tad more, shall we say, coarse in their dealings, as a rule. He may have had to endure some words from them. But Bastion has nothing to fear there, either, as long as Mister Bumbles is around.”

“Bumbles?”

“The honey seller,” Rarity replied. “He gave Bastion the queen for his pet beehive. I don’t think he’d stand idly by if anything happened. Then there’s Burnt Oak, the firewood seller. A little older, but I’ve seen Apple Bloom and Bastion tag along with him when he goes logging. No idea why, though. But Burnt Oak is a stallion of principle, and from what I hear, Bastion holds the value of honour in high regard. He’s quite eager to please his male role models, now that I think of it. Mares and fillies, he’ll be nice to them, but stallions? He tries to earn respect there, and Burnt Oak is a fine example. Nopony would dare speak ill of such a boy where such a stallion would hear it.”

Opal nodded again, and made a gesture that Rarity figured was the equivalent of a thumbs-up.  

“Final question: what are changeling Bastion’s combat abilities? Ever see use?”

“I’m sorry?”

Garwin cleared his throat, and glared at Rarity. “Has the boy ever used any of his combat abilities, for practical reasons? Blast of green, goop shot, meteor rush?”

Rarity pondered that for a moment, before replying, “Umm, no, I don’t think so. Well, I suppose there was that incident two weeks ago, but-”

Opalescence was making wild gestures at Rarity not to continue down that line. Garwin didn’t notice.

“One time is enough. Please, give example.”

“Well… we were having our Summer Harvest celebration, and one of the floats malfunctioned. The brakes malfunctioned, I should say. Bastion flew right in front of it, but then he did… nothing. He stared at it and then ducked out of the way.”

Garwin’s eyes narrowed. “So, changeling froze first? Not split-second response?”

“No,” Rarity replied. “Not anymore, it’s strange. One of his friends, Scootaloo, she has near-perfect reflexes. Anything happens, she’s on it before you can blink. Same with Rainbow Dash, or any of the first responders on Weather Patrol. I’ve seen Bastion play with the Pegasi once or twice, he’s gotten slower, especially recently. I’m not entirely sure why, but I suspect it’s a good thing?”

“How figure?”

“Well, I can only speak as a fashion pony, but in my experience ponies who pick out something quickly are only following trends, something someone else told them is pretty. The ones who know what looks pretty on them, they analyse first and they think for themselves, form their own opinion. Bastion, I suspect, was told to think a lot of things at first. He was meant to be a mere idea factory: input some thoughts and out comes a strategy. That’s how Twilight explained it to me, at least.”

Garwin nodded.  

“At any rate, he didn’t freeze for so long he didn’t move out of the way, and I’m sure most ponies without training would have frozen much worse in that situation. He does still have the same attack patterns as any changeling, you can see it when he’s playing sports occasionally, but I don’t think that’s something to worry about, either. Any odd Unicorn can do much worse than him, and I have seen him use his green… ‘goop’ or whatever you want to call it, in arts and crafts projects. He uses what he knows constructively, and responsibly. He may not be a general, but he sets a good example, and he knows it.”

“Everything covered. Thank you.”

“Is that all?”

“Ka,” Garwin replied curtly. “Mission only to check danger town to changeling. Changeling to town is colleague business.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose you would have to check both. He’s not in trouble, though, is he?”

“Pony know better than me. Gaenorga will know full answer. Gaenorga… special, attuned to children of all kinds.”

Gaenorga? The name sent shivers down Rarity’s spine. Sounds like some kind of horrid mean queen of trolls. “Sounds like a delightful individual, then. Well, I shan’t keep you from your duties. What’s your next stop?”

“Sugarcube Corner.”

“Ah, well, the fastest way there is-”

“Can fly,” he interrupted. “Will look for frosting-covered roof. Thank you.”

“Right.”

“Good day, Miss Rarity. Pony duty fulfilled admirably.”

With that, he turned his back on her and strode off like he were marching on a fortress with an army in tow. Although, judging from his size, he might not need an army in the first place.

Rarity closed her door with her magic and waited a good two minutes before raising her voice.  

“What were you thinking, Bastion? He might have noticed you.”

With a flash of green, the boy dropped his disguise. “I had to make sure. There’s no telling what they’re thinking.”

She rolled her eyes. “Really, darling, you have so little faith in me?”

He winced, hard, and Rarity immediately regretted her words. “No. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s… it’s them I don’t trust. For all you know, they were brainwashed by Chrysalis, too.”

Bastion was a terrible liar, especially around adults. “You mean you don’t trust yourself anymore?”

He snorted, but the sound came out of the back of his neck. “I just want to stay. I’m sorry I eavesdropped on you, Miss Rarity. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think I had to.”

“I understand. I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same if I were in your stead. Where are you going next? Catch up to Mister Garwin at Sugarcube Corner?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I’d get found out too quickly.”

“Yes, Garwin might suspect if he saw you getting too active as Gummy.”

“No, I mean I can’t fool Miss Pinkie Pie for some reason,” Bastion said. “She always giggles when I come in as something else. And she’d let everypony know if she spotted me.”

“Ah. She would, that. Then what are you going to do?”

He sat down, and his body slumped. Even his membranous wings, normally stiff and strong, started to bend like wilting leaves. “I don’t know. I had my magic set up at Fluttershy’s, and Twilight’s.”

“So why not use magic here, too?”

“I have to enchant something for that to work, and there’s no place to put anything where it wouldn’t stick out in this décor. Sweetie Belle tried.”

“Of course she did.” Rarity smiled and sat next to him, hoping whatever emotional energy she was giving off might help somehow. “And what is your magic telling you? Was there any reason to worry?”

“Yes,” he hissed, before shaking his head. “At first. But not now. Now, I…”

“You don’t have a plan for what happens now, so you don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, I do. Garwin will be done in forty-five minutes, that’s how long Pinkie Pie will take him.”

“I don’t think she’s that talkative.”

“But she’ll drag other ponies into talking with him. Burnt Oak and Mister Bumbles will be will be in range for her.”

“That’s one way of phrasing it, I suppose. But you still don’t have a plan for now. And you look tired. Have you been panicking all day? Checking your things every five seconds for an update?”

“No.” He waved his head around in a mix of shaking and nodding. “Maybe. A little.”

“Hmm, anticipation can be quite exhausting, especially when you’re little. Lie down, then, and I’ll fix you some hot chocolate.”

“You don’t have to, Miss Rarity.”

“Yes, I do. Believe me, I’ve seen Rainbow Dash right before a new Daring Do release, and Bon Bon would never forgive me if I let you out in a state like that. I’d never hear the end of it.” She shuddered. “Besides, Canterlot’s fashion season just started, and I could use some help for the colt couture. Unless you do think you should urgently fly across Ponyville again?”

“No, Miss.” He smiled, weakly but curiously. His eyes lit up again, and Rarity realised she hadn’t seen that in a few weeks. “I do kind of want to see what the models look like this season.”

“Hot chocolate it is.”

Rarity smiled to herself as she went to the kitchen. Too easy, that boy. Make him feel useful, make him feel needed, and he can’t pry himself away. 

She felt an odd pang in her chest, thinking that.

And that’s likely going to get him in big trouble some day.





Starlight wiped her muzzle with a napkin once her meal was finished. “So what would you do, in my place?”

Sapphire looked away wistfully. “I’m not entirely sure I’d have made better choices than you. And to be perfectly frank, what is there to do for you, really? You’ve spent your whole life working towards a revenge scheme that’s suddenly out the window. Unless you do wish to continue with your equality goal.”

“Would you stop me if I did?”

“I think others would.”

“But would you?”

“It’s not my place to interfere in pony affairs, Starlight. They’ve been very kind to me and my kin, and given what we’ve suffered under Chrysalis, what she might have planned for us,” Sapphire said, her hooves shaking for a moment. “What she did to some of us, I wouldn’t want to see repeated in pony lands.”

“So you would stop me.”

“I already am, aren’t I? We’re talking. You’ve changed your mind on some things, you’ve given me material to ponder over. But thought is one thing, the action is still uncertain.”

“Then the answer is no. I don’t think I want to continue. I mean, I still don’t think I’m wrong, but maybe I can go about it differently, more efficiently. I can still do it, but maybe not the way I planned.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. You could ask Sunburst for a second opinion.”

“No, that’s a bad idea, at least right now. I think I need to rest and let this all sink in. Besides, I’m going to have to lay low while Chrysalis is on the loose.”

“Smart thinking. And you won’t take the chance to talk to him today? At all?”

“After today...” Starlight chuckled and wiped the hint of tears from her eyes. “No. I’m just glad I got to say ‘Hello.’ I know where he is now. I know I can find him, if I need to. But it wouldn’t be fair to go to him now, not like this. I need to try and get myself straight first, I can’t lean on him like a crutch anymore.”

“I hope you manage to. Thank you for sharing, Starlight, this was interesting. You said your village was, where?”

“Near the Rockies.” Starlight’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on. How do I know you’re not Chrysalis in disguise?”

Sapphire nodded towards the castle. “The silencer field we were in was of the Iratus variety. If I’d tried to enter in the wrong shape-”

“Your heart would have stopped. Of course, both hearts would have. I knew I recognised that smell from somewhere.”

“It’s alright. Caution is a virtue, and I’ll not begrudge a friend that.”

Starlight’s ears perked.

“Sorry, does that word upset you? ‘Friend?’ Do you prefer I call you an ‘ally?’” Sapphire asked.  

“No, no, it’s...” Starlight chuckled. “Unexpected, is all. Today has been a very surprising day.”

“Well, I’m almost due to teleport back to Alveola.”

“That far?”

“You are not the only one who can use emotional energy as a magical steroid, Starlight.” Sapphire winked and raised her glass. “Here’s to surprises.”

Starlight Glimmer grabbed her glass and smiled. “To surprises. May they always be for the better.”

“Hear, hear.”





Gaenorga kept up her smile as best she could. “So, just to recap: no unusual nightmares, then, no strange looks in his eyes, no unexplained twitches?”

“No,” Bon Bon replied. “He hasn’t had any of those, aside from the nightmares you’d expect when he just got here. Nothing except the little bit of awkwardness the past couple of weeks.”

“I’ve tried cheering him up with music, but it only helps for a bit,” Lyra added. “Was that good or bad?”

“Oh, quite good,” Gaenorga replied. “Bard magic can be highly effective in these cases. But, I have to ask: can your son… I don’t want to presume, but can he defend himself against your magic? In the event someone managed to copy your spell, overheard the tune, I mean?”

“Yes,” Lyra said with a firm nod. “He doesn’t make music on his own, but he can fight it if he wants to. We’ve practised, it helps his concentration, you know? Keep focused, that kind of thing.”

Gaenorga nodded, but didn’t write that down. “Good. Well, with that cleared up, I think all that’s left is to talk to the boy of the hour.”

“I’m here.”

Gaenorga froze. I didn’t hear him come in. I didn’t notice the smell. My armband didn’t even go off. 

She looked at him, and he tilted his head, curious. No doubt he’d tasted the wave of shock coming off of her. “My, my, you are a stealthy little ninja, aren’t you? I didn’t notice you come in.”

One of his hooves went off the floor in the reflex, as if he wanted to back away. “I’m not a ninja, Miss. I only heard of them, I didn’t get that many lessons in it.”

“Then you must have a talent for it, I suppose. My name is Gaenorga, and I can only assume you are the Pristine Bastion I’ve heard so much about?”

“That’s me, Miss.” His hoof went back down, his wings fluttered. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ve just got done interviewing your mothers, I found no cause for concern from them, I only need to talk to you for a little bit. In private, you understand.”

Bon Bon and Lyra nodded, and Bastion went up the stairs to lead the griffon to his room.  

It was a nice enough room: bed near the windows, large closets, some stuffed animals nearby. It looked neat and tidy, and judging from what she’d heard, Gaenorga could only assume this was its natural state, and not the result of extra efforts to make things look cleaner than usual.  

He hopped onto his bed, sat upright, and motioned for Gaenorga to do the same. A big giraffe plush kept its eyes on her notes, it seemed, but she didn’t bother adjusting it.

“Okay,” she started. “Let’s begin with something simple. Tell me about your time in the Hive. What kind of training did you get?”

He shrugged. “Mostly how to do things quickly. I did the same drills as the other drones at first, except not with them, but alone. That was kind of like going to school, umm, in the time it took day to day.”

“And did that training involve being subjected to any spells?”  

“Chrysalis doesn’t use magic on her advisors, so no. It’s too easy to hijack; it leaves an opening.”

That was not true, she knew, but he clearly believed it, and she had no reason to convince him otherwise at this point. Gaenorga motioned for him to continue. “An opening for… what, other changelings?”

“Yes. Other Kings and Queens. Or bad creatures. We had to be able to think for ourselves, we were in charge of evolving. That’s what she said, at least.”

“And your uncle was in charge of evolving combat capacities.”

“Yes.” Bastion nodded.  

“So what can you do?”

Bastion gulped. “I, umm, I have some of my uncle’s… it’s hard to explain. I have his essence, and that means part of me isn’t me, but him.”

There was that odd genetic memory the naga were so perturbed by. “You mean like a family bond? That’s simple blood and genes, it doesn’t say anything about your abilities.”

“It does, actually, at least for changelings. See, ponies, they have this thing, and it’s obvious what it does.” He gestured to his thighs. “They call it a talent, but it’s not really a talent.”

Gaenorga took note. He was aware of its existence, obviously, so it was less likely for any impulses to sneak up on him. That was a good sign. She kept her poker face up, just in case. “You mean cutie marks.”

“No. Cutie marks are only how it’s shown. I’m talking about what’s underneath, what gives them their cutie marks. Nagas have it. Pandas have it, griffons have it, but they don’t get cutie marks. I can’t remember the word for it, Sapphire tried to explain it once. I think she said it was a car, or something.”

“Karma, you mean?”

“Yeah, that. Like, if you could take memories and experience and bottle them.” He gulped at the word ‘bottle.’ In fact, he froze for a moment at that word. He didn’t stay that way long enough for her to remark on it, though. “Our magic, the way we feed, we always get some pieces from the thing we’re feeding off of. Usually it’s not much, barely enough to notice, but when it’s between changelings, when we share the same blood… we can kind of share cutie marks, even though we don’t get cutie marks in the first place. I can’t do everything my uncle could. He was one of the most powerful changelings ever, even Chrysalis was impressed.” He let his head hang. “But he cared about me, a lot. And he taught me, so I could think like him. I can fix things. I can fix things the way he could fix things.”

“But no offensive spells? No advanced magic?”

He shrugged. “Nothing the others of the Council wouldn’t know. Nothing important.”

“Bastion, I need you to be honest with me.”

“You first, Ma’am.”

She blinked in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Your letter said you’d be ascertaining whether my personal security in Ponyville was at risk. Yet your focus is on my capabilities, the risk I pose to Ponyville. So either your report was deceptive in nature, or you are attempting to extract information. And you’ll understand, of course, if I am reluctant to relinquish such intel when presented with such obvious duplicity.”

She chuckled. “Someone gave you a dictionary for your birthday, huh?”

He smiled. “Sweetie Belle did. And it was a thesaurus. My uncle liked using big words, when he wanted to be funny. Or when he wanted to be intimidating. And you’re stalling. Are you testing me or are you here for something else?”

Best to get this over with quickly, then. “Let’s say for a moment that I am testing you. And let’s also say that, rather than take the chance, the naga officials decided to send me to retrieve you right now. For the sake of argument, let’s say you’re about to be teleported into prison. How would you respond?”

Again, he shrugged. “Sounds fun.”

“Fun?”

“Yes, fun. Enjoyable, quaint.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“If you really want to teleport me away from here, first you’re going to have to catch me. That means getting a hold on me before I fly out the window.”

“I’m pretty fast, little boy.”

“Maybe. But I have three exit points I can use. You’ve only got vision of the window behind me. And besides that, you’re sitting on my bed. I have traps ready to spring up at a moment’s notice. That stuffed giraffe behind you? I put some of my goop in there. One wrong move and you get glued to the floor.”

She chuckled again. “That’s good. That’s very good, I’m impressed, really. You’re very well-trained.”

“Thank you.”

“In bluffing, that is. There’s no liquids in that giraffe.” She tapped her beak. “I learned a bit of vulture magic, you see, way back when. My senses are attuned to that sort of thing. You don’t have any traps here besides the little vines at the windows. Anti-burglary traps, I would assume, standard pony fare installed by your mothers, not meant to keep anything in.”

“What makes you think I can’t mask a scent?”

She shivered. He did manage to sneak up on her once already. “Suppose I did catch you, and teleport you away from here.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No, but you’d still prepare for it,” Gaenorga reasoned. “A boy like you doesn’t take chances. A boy like you covers all the angles. So I’m asking: how would you react?”

“Nothing.”

“Really, now? No defence at all?”

“Not from me, no. I’d just hit you really hard, maybe use magic.”

“You’d still be in enemy territory.”

“Not for long. My magic mom’s friends with Twilight Sparkle. She picked up a few tricks recently, in the Crystal Empire. Even if you manage to pull me away, my Unicorn mom can pull me back. And you wouldn’t get the chance to try again.”

In hindsight, she probably should have asked Twilight about that. “And if we’ve warded to guard against other teleporters?”

“I’m a changeling. Getting in and out of places is in my nature, even if I was never an infiltrator.” He took a deep breath and stared into her eyes. “Can I ask you a question now? Honestly?”

“Sure.”

“What are you testing me for, really? Do you think I’m dangerous?”

Gaenorga’s wings bunched up against her sides. She closed her eyes, thinking it over for a moment before replying. “No, I know you’re dangerous, at least to some small extent. But given the company you keep, that’s not much of an issue. I’d be more worried if you were harmless in this kind of environment. As for the tests, while our reports did say a few things about your mental faculties, given the latest stories we thought it prudent to confirm the findings up close.”

“So you want to know how I act under stress.”

“Yes. You seem stressed now.”

“I am.”

“As stressed as you were when you had that fight with Apple Bloom?”

His gaze hardened, his tone became colder. “That is beyond the purview of your investigation, Madam.”

He went back to his thesaurus talk, clearly this was a sore spot. “Is it? You were faced with stress, you lashed out. Sounds straightforward to me.”

“If you’re trying to get me to snap, it won’t work. Apple Bloom doesn’t stress me out. She didn’t stress me. She’s… different. And what happened wasn’t her fault, or mine. It was an accident, and a misunderstanding. And it doesn’t concern you.”

“Bastion, I realise this is painful, but you have to understand this is the sort of question that can cost you. So I’ll ask again: are you as stressed now as you were then?”

“No. Like I said, that wasn’t stress. That was confusion. There was a lot going on, a lot I had to figure out and a lot of things ponies told me.”

“About?”

He clenched his jaw and glared at her, but eventually he’d weighed the pros and cons of his possible responses, and he cracked. “About how my senses… how I really work.” He shrugged. “I’d never gone infiltrating before, so I never learned how to act around other creatures. I never learned exactly what they thought about changelings, either, just how they felt about us.”

“So, what, you were confused about your empathy?”

That got a smug smile out of him. “You’re the one who’s confused, Miss: we don’t have empathy, not the way you think we do. I don’t get why ponies think we do, either. We can’t detect emotions from afar, we can only taste it. But tasting it means absorbing it, and that’s not always safe. I was getting some mixed messages from ponies, and I didn’t know how to deal with that. So my, umm, my conditioning took over. But you knew that already, of course. You just wanted to see how upset I’d be about admitting it.”

“You are a smart one. And that is the last of me testing you, don’t worry.”

“Did I pass?”

“Tell me about your friends first. Apple Bloom sounds like somepony important to you, if you’re willing to defend her so eagerly. Any particular reason?”

He pouted, again weighing his words carefully. “Everypony wanted to be nice, and they assumed that was fair. Apple Bloom wanted to be fair, because she knew that was nice. I… she’s my normal. She’s what I’d turn into if I could, if I could be anything. Just, you know, a boy, obviously. I mean, I’d turn into a boy, she’s not a boy.”

He was getting flustered. Hard to believe that was even possible for a boy like him. “Obviously.”

“Anyway, she’s not my only friend. There’s Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, Rumble, Diamond Tiara, Silver Spoon...”

“Can you tell me anything about them? Anything specific?”

“You want to know if I keep track of what my friends like and dislike.”

“Yes.”

“Well… Scootaloo and Rumble are helping me out with flying lessons, more advanced stuff. Part of why I got confused was them: I thought Scootaloo might have a crush on Rumble, but I asked and she said she definitely didn’t. I didn’t realise, so I’m guessing I just mistook the taste of admiration or friendship for a crush. Like I said, I don’t know what all the love tastes like.”

There’s the confusion. Not too unusual, friendship and young love probably would feel very similar to him in terms of taste, even if they don’t provide the same sustenance.

“Scootaloo has trouble flying, but Rumble’s been helping her, and I’ve done little draining here and there, with a grown-up there to control it,” he added quickly. “Twilight Sparkle said it was like leech therapy, to help break down magic blockages. Twilight said it was either that or actual magic leeches, and Scootaloo didn’t like the idea of slimy leeches on her.”

“Does it help?”

He smiled proudly. “She can hover over the ground now, that’s a lot better than before. But the doctors said she won’t fly higher than a house until at least ten more years. Something about her wings not growing at the same time as the rest of her, I don’t know what exactly.”

“What about you?”

“I’m staying low, too, so she doesn’t have to feel bad. Same with cutie marks: I promised I’d be the last one in class to get one.”

“I thought you said you don’t get cutie marks?”

“I can fake one. And if I’m last, nopony has to feel bad about it.”

An odd sentiment, but a natural one, considering his position. “Okay, fine. Who else?”

“There’s Sweetie Belle, she knows all about pretty things, like fashion and how to act in some places. Her sister’s a dressmaker, Sweetie Belle’s more of a singer. But she doesn’t like singing in front of judges, so she only sings around her friends. She helps me out with finding clothes that fit my colour and, you know, my body type, since my shell isn’t exactly like a pony’s hide. I help her out when she wants to do a play and she needs more background characters. Since I can change shape and all, it’s convenient for her.”

Gaenorga scribbled down something. Bastion kept his eyes on that paper.

“And the other boys? Featherweight, was it?” she asked.  

“I don’t talk that much to Featherweight, but he’s nice, too. Mostly he only asks me when he needs wildlife pictures. Most animals don’t notice a disguised changeling with a camera on his neck.”

“Uh huh. What about the adults? Anyone you can ask for advice, besides your mothers?”

“My friends don’t mind asking their family when I need advice. Sweetie Belle’s sister gives me a second opinion when she’s designing things for me. Come to think of it, usually it’s Rarity doing the actual designing, Sweetie Belle never seems to get anything past the first draft.”

Gaenorga flipped a page in her notebook to continue. “What about male role models? Who do you ask about boy things, or stallion things?”

“There’s Rumble’s brother, Thunderlane. Everyone likes him, and he’s practically a Wonderbolt. Then there’s Apple Bloom’s brother, Big Mac. He’s super strong, and he doesn’t speak much, but he says a lot, if that makes sense.”

Again, the griffon took note.

“But my moms know other stallions, too. I can ask whoever I want, that’s what they said. And I can ask my godfather.”

Gaenorga squinted, thinking. “You have a godfather, too? I didn’t see that anywhere.”

“It’s kind of a secret. He’s a Wonderbolt. My moms, they… they wanted to get a pony child a while back, and he offered to be the dad, I think. I’m not sure how that’s supposed to work, though.”

Not informed on all the facts of life yet, then, which again made sense given he had other, more urgent concerns to catch up on. “Right. I think that tells me everything I need to know about the company you keep. So how about we move to the most important part, then.”

“I’ve told you all the important stuff.”

“Not all of it. Tell me about your uncle’s... cutie mark, his talents.”

“What I got from him?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure if I got that much besides how I plan and think.” The boy shook his head and pouted. “There is one thing, though, I don’t really know what it is. I think it’s a piece of something. Sometimes, in my dreams, I’m flying, but I’m not me.”

“You shapeshift in your dreams?”

“Sort of. I mean my dream me is a different shape, but I’m not.”

Gaenorga tilted her head. “Dream shapeshifting can mean a lot of things. What do you turn into, then?”

“That’s the weird part: I turn into a lot of things, little things. Into a swarm of beetles. They’re all me, but they’re all different bodies. I fly around, I land on an orchard full of fruit. I can smell it, sweet apples all over. And then I eat, and everything dies. I’m sad then, because I killed everything. I feel hungry, and one by one, the swarm that’s me starts fading. Then I wake up.”

“Wow. That’s quite the nightmare.”

“Not really. That’s the other weird part: once I wake up, it feels normal.” He made himself small with shame. “I… I don’t like how it feels normal. I should feel scared when that happens, but I don’t. Every time I think about it, it feels like it’s him. I know that’s not me.”

She scribbled that down in her notes, thinking. “Tell me more about this swarm form, this dream. Is it consistent, is it a scenario that always plays out the same way?”

He nodded. “Exactly the same. That’s bad, isn’t it? Means someone could use it if they stole it.”

“Possibly. But on the upside: it means you could use it, too.”

“Why would I want to?”

“For whatever reason your uncle did, I suppose. You’re sure you got that from him?”

“Positive. It’s got his shape. Or not his shape, his smell. I know it’s his magic, but I can use it, and I use it to kill things in my dreams. What do you think it means?”

“In my experience? A dream like that, a regression of that sort, doesn’t mean much of anything, not in a practical sense. Most creatures of magic have their recurring nightmares, typical to their species. We griffons, for example, have nightmares about aurification. That’s-”

“Being turned into a gold statue.”

“Exactly. Ponies are known for having so-called collar dreams at times: they feel an enslaving presence around their neck and have an instinctual fear for it. Even naga have nightmares about giant eagles. These things don’t come from anywhere real in particular, but they’re an old memory, an instinct manifest, an atavism, if you want to look up the exact term. Since changelings have a lot of magic tied to hunger, and divined their magic based on insects, I’d wager it’s not unique to you but something your uncle held on to and passed on, probably by accident. It’s not an inherently bad thing, that kind of dream. It can help you discover new means of magic, I’m sure Twilight Sparkle is competent enough to help you out with that.”

“Okay, that’s good to know. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. What about your mother? Your birth mother, I mean. Do you remember getting anything from her the same way?”

She heard his stomach churn at the mention.

His lips quivered, and he looked away. “She… she loved me. A lot. She hugged me, kept me warm.”

“Even as a drone?”

“She wasn’t a regular drone; she was Faux Pas’s sister. She was important. She loved me, for real.” He tensed up. “She took care of me whenever I got hurt in training. You know, the extra stuff. She always helped me through it. When it got rough, I mean.”

Gaenorga nodded. “Rough meaning stiff joints, starvation, exposure to the elements, that sort of thing?”

“Uhuh. My mom always gave me good love to feed on, when I went back to her. Then Chrysalis sent her on a mission. She got new sons, a new family. She forgot about me. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

It didn’t take a genius to see the emotion welling up in him. “You miss her a lot, don’t you?”

He nodded. “I, umm, with this whole thing happening… I can’t remember what she was really like. I try to think of her, and all I see is the drones Chrysalis got to replace her. But drones are all the same. She wasn’t like them. I wasn’t like them. I’m me, but part of me was her. I just wish I could remember what part, so I’d know what part was all me, you know?”  

“Is there any memory that stands out, regarding your mother?”

“No. Just one weird thing. It’s not a nightmare, I don’t think, but sometimes, lately, I dream of what happened when I heard they’d lost her. I don’t feel scared or sad when it happens, just… nothing. And I think it’s just something that started from me doing that school project anyway.”

Gaenorga tilted her head at that. “Why would you assume that?”

“When I think about that, when I dream about her and the drones that replaced her, I always hear the sound of glass. You know, bottles moving around. I don't know why, it's kind of weird and random. We didn’t have any glass at the Hive, so it has to be my imagination, right?”

Gaenorga drew a circle around the word 'glass.'“Of course. That could have come from anywhere, really, dream symbolism has a lot of strangeness to it by default. You don’t have to say any more on that subject if you don’t want to, Bastion. I know that kind of emotional wound can be painful, especially given the nature of your magic.”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it? You know. I don’t. You know I haven’t been feeling well.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. Everyone’s noticed by now. Everypony around must have mentioned it. But you haven’t asked me anything about that. You’ve been dodging it, when it should have been the first thing you ask. You know what’s wrong, don’t you?”

“Did you overhear anything from eavesdropping on me and my colleagues?”

He went quiet and folded his wings. “M-maybe.”

“Rest assured, you’re not in trouble for that,” she added. “I may have some answers as to what and why you’ve been feeling the way you have, but I need to know how you’ve been experiencing it first. Do you think you can put it into words for me?”

“If I tell you, and it turns out to be something bad, will you try to take me away?”

“Only if I have to. But I highly doubt that.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you think is wrong with me, and I’ll say if it’s true or not?”  

Gaenorga sighed. “Try to understand: you are, like ponies, a creature of magic. What you want to see and what you actually see are connected. If I start putting ideas into your head about what’s wrong, it might make things worse. Do you understand that?”

Reluctantly, he nodded. “Okay. It’s… it’s like there’s nothing in me anymore. Like I’m empty inside, nothing but nightmares and thoughts that aren’t mine. I have parts of my uncle, parts of my mom and dad, but nothing that’s me. I try to do things I like, but I don’t like them anymore. I try to remember things I’ve done, things I’ve learned, but I don’t remember learning those things. Do I have amnesia?”

She shook her head. “No. No, that sounds like something much more benign, and easier to treat. What you’re experiencing is called dissociation: it’s when you remember doing things as if it was someone else doing it, as if someone else was in your body, pulling the strings. It’s a scary thing to feel, obviously, because you can’t always tell if there really is something pulling your strings.”

“Like my mom. Her strings got stuck. Will it go away? The feeling, I mean?”

“Yes, and I can promise that without reservation. You clearly have a mind of your own, as battered and abused as it may have been in your formative years. Dissociation is simply one of the ways mortal minds cope with this kind of thing, it’s like a… like a painkiller for certain parts of your mind. It could be you healing from the trauma of losing your mother, or your uncle, or the shock of moving here finally caught up to you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, it can be handled, and handled well. You’re not the first child to be put through this kind of ordeal, and you won’t be the first to recover. Things will feel strange at first, you may have to re-learn a few skills, social skills especially, but in time it goes away.”

He narrowed his eyes when he realised she’d seen cases like him before. “Is it like what happened to my mom? My birth mom?”

“I’m afraid not. She was, as far as we know, blanked with magic. If her mind is so far gone that she can’t recall her own species, there’s not much that can be done, especially if we don’t even know who she is or where she ended up. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’m…” he wiped his eyes. “I’m okay with that. She’s happy with the griffons. I’m happy with ponies. That’s fair. She loved me, she deserves to be happy, too. I just… I like this. I like my new moms. They love me like she did. They care for me like she did. It’s just as real as she was. I’ll be good, I promise, I don’t want this taken away, please.”

“No one is taking you away, Bastion, and I’m sorry you had to worry about that. Sometimes these cases don’t end well. Yours did. And with everything said and done, we can submit our report, set the record straight, and you can keep on living in Equestria as you choose.”

She got up, cocked her head towards the door, and he went to open it for her. Lyra and Bon Bon were already waiting for her.

“The snakes don’t have a leg to stand on,” Gaenorga said. “There’s zero signs of anything they were concerned about, nothing that can’t be explained as something perfectly normal.”

The mares breathed a sigh of relief.  





“Again, sorry to inconvenience you like this,” Gaenorga said as she walked out the door. “But protocol must be followed. I’ve already informed Twilight Sparkle of some of the precautions you’ll want to take soon, she can explain them to you better than I can. All that’s left is to finish up our reports and you won’t have to worry about any of this nastiness again.”

“Thank you,” Lyra said.  

Twilight Sparkle came trotting by to meet the griffons. “Hello. Everything’s in order?”

Gaenorga nodded. “All is in order, I only need to wrap things up. Here come my associates now. Garwin, Geirolf, are you two done?”

“We’re near-I said we’re nearly done here, Gaenorga,” said Geirolf. “We’ve just had some trouble locating the local elected official of these here premises. Mayor, that is.”

“Hmm, teacher miss appointment, too,” Garwin added.  

Twilight raised an eyebrow at that. “That doesn’t sound like them. I told them specifically where and when they were expected to be. There they are now.”

“Hello, everyone,” the mayor said, heading towards the building crowd of ponies and griffons with Cheerilee by her side. “Is everything taken care of?”

“We still need to take your testimony, Ma’am,” Geirolf said.  

“Really? But I was just talking to one of your colleagues earlier,” Cheerilee replied. “The griffon girl, we talked nearly all afternoon.”

Bastion’s wings buzzed ominously. “You mean you talked to Gaenorga?”

“No, no, a smaller, paler griffon. Female, though.”

“There were only three griffons coming to Ponyville today,” Bastion said. “They all arrived together.”

“You were spying on us then, too?” Gaenorga said.  

His ears fell back. “Sorry, Miss. But, if she’s not with you, then…”

Gaenorga growled. “Probably another one of those thrice-damned gossip columnists. Come on, boys, we need to catch her before she causes any more damage.”

“Umm, excuse me?”

Bastion froze when he saw the fourth griffon. He took a step back on instinct, and his jaw locked when she spoke to him.

“Hello, Bastion,” Gytha said. “I think we need to have a little talk.”

He shivered. His wings buzzed under his carapace, his eyes locked on the griffon even as they started to water up.

“Mom?”