//------------------------------// // Emergence // Story: Sunset: Stranded // by Viking ZX //------------------------------// Chapter 18 - Emergence Day Twenty - Ramirez Estates still Not long now. I think I’ve gained about all I can here. Tomorrow morning I plan to leave. Yesterday’s storm has ended, but the weather still rains in fits and starts and the wind hasn’t lost much of its force. The extra day will give it time to settle down—I hope—as well as give me more time to study and learn about Sera. I’ve been studying so much my head hurts. I can’t tell if that’s because I’m out of practice, or if it’s because I’m stuffing knowledge into my mind as fast as I can. More likely the latter. One of the nice things about this estate is their library. They have books that are practical, concerned with immediate matters, such as engine repair or radio maintenance. Things that I need to understand and learn. The carriage they left behind is called a “truck,” for example. Knowing the various classes of vehicle will be important when I find other serans. I doubt any of them would believe my tale of being from another world. Worse, if they did, disaster would likely result. Perhaps that’s one reason why she didn’t want me to come here. I suppose I can understand that. She might not have seen everything, but she might have known of the threat that could be posed to Equestria and the other nations if either the serans or the Locust came into possession of the portal and realized travel to other universes was possible. And she didn’t trust me enough to not let that happen. There was a knot forming in her stomach. She changed topics. Today I plan to do some more shooting practice, then do some last-minute reading of some history books I found. Starswirl’s theorems are all well and good to know, but I can’t replicate them if I can’t figure out how to access my magic! Last night I tried several methods to try and draw my agic out, from complex to the most basic, and still nothing! She wrote the last word with such force it was almost etched into the paper. I even tried experimenting. I— She pulled the pen back, her thoughts flashing back to the night before. —disassembled part of the radio antenna to see if it would help, but achieved nothing. She left out the part where, out of desperation, she’d held one end against her forehead, hoping that just maybe it would act in a manner similar to her old horn. Nothing. So today, after shooting, I’m going to go over some of the books I’ve found that look like they may discuss wizards or other parts of the history of this world. There has to be something I can find that answers my questions! They couldn’t just forget about magic! Even with such wonderful tools! She tapped the page several more times with her pen before deciding on her closing line. I’m going to find it. It has to be here somewhere. Sunset closed the journal, staring down at the imprint of her colorful cutie mark on the cover. It has to be here somewhere … right? * * * The hunting rifle let out another loud crack, kicking against her shoulder, and Sunset felt a sense of grim satisfaction as the next bottle of wine shattered, its contents spilling down over the distant brickwork. “That’s five,” she said, letting her breath out slowly and shifting the weapon to the left. Five in seven shots. Better than a few days ago. She sighted along the barrel, lining up the small nub at its front with the notch near the rear and aligning both with the next bottle of wine. Now! The rifle let out another crack, kicking against her shoulder, but the bottle didn’t break. Bits of brick flew as the bullet missed, shooting past and burying itself in the terrace. Too hard. The instruction had been in the book she’d learned from. Don’t jerk it. She focused again, letting the bottle line up just right, then squeezed the trigger once more. This time the crack of her rifle was answered in kind by tinkling of glass as the next wine bottle in line shattered into pieces, dark fluid spilling out across the bricks. SIx in nine. There were four bottles left, waiting to add the stain of their contents to the side of the pond. Six shots later—and one reload—the last of the four bottles had met its end. Sunset stood, eyeing the glimmering glass on the far side of the lake. “Well,” she said aloud as she engaged the safety and swung the rifle up onto her shoulder. “Nothing to fear now. As long as my target is a bottle that stays in one place and lets me lie down to make the shot.” She blew a breath through pursed lips. It’s going to take a lot of practice before I’m good at this kind of thing. She was improving. She could tell that much just by the number of shots she had left in her pockets. But I definitely don’t trust my ability to do so when something else is shooting back at me. The wind, still evident in the wake of the storm, kicked up again as she made her way toward the kitchen, making her mane dance around her face. Or a lot of somethings. Ten bottles at a few hundred feet in fifteen shots is probably good, she reminded herself as she moved through the house. Especially for only a few days of shooting, right? The wagon train was still where she’d placed it a few days before, in the middle of the main hall and ready to go if the need arose. The rifle was reloaded before being placed back in its harness, ready to be used should the need arise. The extra ammo from her pockets went back to the boxes she’d pulled it from, though there wasn’t much of either left. Standing, of course, her shooting was a bit worse. Despite the muscle of her new body, holding and firing a firearm was both tiring and difficult. The sound of her boot’s tread echoed as Sunset made her way through the halls, heading for the manor library. I’m better than I was the first day I tried, and that’s what counts. She was less sore as well, having learned to hold the rifle in a more proper manner. But even so … I really hope I don’t need to use it, she thought as she entered the library, the door letting out a faint creak as it swung to one side. The room was cozy, almost cramped, and would have been a lot darker if not for the massive skylights that made up most of the roof. They were filthy, so they didn’t let in much light. But it was enough to illuminate the massive stacks of shelving winding around the room. She’d left a solar-powered lantern near one of the reading nooks anyway, though the nook itself had a window that looked out over the rear grounds. All right … She slowed as she reached the center of the library, casting her eyes around at the dust-covered shelves. I need history. Detailed history. There has to be something here that can teach me about seran magic. A half-hour later she settled into the nook, with branches wheeling and whirling outside the window and a stack of books almost as tall as she was to work her way through. The first four she discarded with little fanfare, their contents swiftly revealing themselves to be little more than summaries she’d already stumbled across with nothing new to add to the narrative. The fifth appeared promising, but turned out to be a collection of short stories. Fiction, rather than the cold hard facts she was hoping for. The afternoon stretched on, languidly giving way to evening without a single gasp or protest. The pile of books grew smaller with each passing hour, histories, retellings, and fiction all joining the pile of rejectees. Rain came and went, came again, then departed leaving only lines in the dirty glass. Bit by bit, her frustration grew, book after book slipping away as it began treating the material as fantasy or discounting it entirely. Her stomach let out a growl, and she quieted it with some jerky from her pocket, not even willing to stop for a proper meal. Fantasy. Histories—complete with attached theories and explanations for how the “magic” was performed. Suggestions ranging from men and women ahead of their time to chance to even “lost technology” from before the dark age—though that seemed to be a whole subject on its own, and not one she wanted to spend time researching. Historical fiction, of which there was a decent amount, seemed likewise invested in making magic out as a trick or advanced knowledge, and the few times it didn’t, the “magic” on display was doubtful at best, at worst completely at odds with everything else written and surely nonsensical. If magic was as simple as speaking a few secret words, someone would have accidentally triggered a spell to end the world decades ago. It was true there were spells that contained verbal components, but they were for reasons of rote, not anything to do with the actual magic. Barring a few rare exceptions … none of which appeared to be the logic behind the books she found. It was as if they were actual fiction, rather than any attempt to explain how magic worked. Glad there was no one else around to witness her, she even tried a few of the words written, trying to coax some form of shift in the magic buried deep within her. It refused to budge, leaving her grateful that at least no one had been around to witness her making a fool of herself. Early evening moved towards late, the shadow cast by her stack of books left to peruse growing larger and longer even as the stack itself shrank. No … No … No … She wanted to scream with each passing failure. No! Where is it! Someone has to know! Three books from the bottom of the stack, she finally found it. A book of historical essays on various figures throughout seran history, with a focus on myth and its practicality. Section three was simply titled “Wizards and Other Magic Users.” She flipped to it immediately, recognizing the artwork that preceded the essay from several of the other books. A wizard, from an ancient hold called Fort Reval. Sources cited, building page upon page of history. This is it. This has to be it. Ignoring the dryness in her throat and the still-present hunger in her gut, or even the trembling in her hands, she began to read. Page by page, line by line, her hopes began to crumble. The book was methodical but well-reasoned. It dug into historical findings, records, archeological digs, tombs … everything. There was no angle the paper didn’t come at the man from. By the end, there was only one conclusion the text had reached: The man had been ahead of his time, clever, well-educated, and likely brilliant. But he was no wizard. Because Sera had no magic. A shake seemed to roll through her, a physical shock as she flipped to the next essay, reading through it as well, eyes darting over sources and findings. The second essay, about a witch woman who had lived on the Vasgar coast, came to the same conclusion as the first. There was no magic. It was brains, science, and cleverness. It’s a cover up. It has to be. But by the third essay, even that seemed unlikely. What little she’d found of books supporting “magic” had either been slight of hand or so ridiculous as to clearly be fake. Sera doesn’t have magic. There was nothing about reaching into one’s core, nothing about the most basic of magical law or usage. But … No! I told the mirror to find someplace with magic! There is magic here. Unless Starswirl was wrong. The thought made a tremor run through her. He wasn’t always right. I told the mirror to send me somewhere where magic was low. What if— “No.” She spoke the word aloud, shaking her head as another tremor echoed by. “The mirror opened. I can feel my magic, even now.” So why can’t I use it? Why can’t—Wait. Another tremor, and like the last, it hadn’t come from her. Her blood turned to ice. The ground was shaking. Already the motion was gone, but the terror that had come with it hadn’t faded. They’re here. She scrambled from her seat, knocking over a pile of books in her rush to escape the library and pausing only long enough to grab the collection of essays she’d been reading, taking it with her. The sound of her boots ringing against the wooden floors echoed through the mansion as she raced for the main hall, rebounding and making it sound as though there were more people around than just her. What do I do? The ground shook again, a telltale vibration that made the glowing lights shake and shimmy. Lights! She’d left the light in the library on. If the tremors were an emergence hole, and not just something tunneling past or the ground settling, the lights would draw the Locust’ attention like moths to a flame. She skidded to a halt, her boots slipping and sliding over the dusty carpet as she prepared to reverse course … Stop! A moth that draws too close to a flame burns. Light a fire, draw attention away from your escape. Something to cover up her leaving until she could find a place to hide. Burn the house down? She dismissed the idea almost instantly. She didn’t know the first thing about legitimate, non-magical arson. It wouldn’t be a very effective trap anyway. But a better idea slipped through her mind. A surefire way to draw the attention of whatever was making the ground shake. She charged for the rear of the house, bashing one of the doors aside on her way to the kitchen, steps coalescing inside her head. It’ll work. If the instructions left by the original inhabitants had been accurate, it had to. And it would work a lot better than simply setting fire to some of the books and hoping a flame was enough to draw their attention. The door to the kitchen struck the back wall with a bang as she slammed through it, sliding to a halt as her eyes fixed on the view through the rear windows. The tremors had faded, but outside across the grounds one of the trees by the pond was shaking back and forth, reeling like a stallion who’d had too much to drink. She was running out of time. Energy. That was the key. She raced to the iceboxes by the walls, pulling every door open and ignoring the musty, dry scent of rot that came with it. She hit every switch, every button, strange machines activating and whirring while the  ovens beeped. She opened doors, exposing the heating coils so that the ovens would be fighting the cooling systems of the iceboxes. She turned on the water as well, hot and cold both. The pumps and heating activating was more energy the house would use. All of it. She needed everything to be on for any of it to work. The smaller, more compact receiving radio above the sink. The device with a glass screen that was similar, but for pictures, not that she’d ever seen it show anything but a strange mesh of something called “static.” Anything that needed electricity. She was inches from the main lightswitch  for the room when the windmill near the end of the grounds abruptly tilted and dropped out of sight. Sparks flew as cables tore, the electrical box letting out a second spray a moment later as something inside broke or combusted. For a brief moment the sounds of everything around her dulled as the metallic scream of the vanishing windmill echoed across the grounds. Then it was gone, the entire structure absent from the rise. Seconds later something—no, multiple somethings—began to rise into the air, long and spindly … Legs. Sunset turned and ran, the lights still off. There were other switches to worry about. From behind her, an echoing scream sounded across the grounds as the corpser—there was little else it could be—announced its arrival on the surface. Why, she couldn’t say. But the presence of a corpser meant one thing: the Locust had arrived. She flew through the manor, hitting every light switch as she passed them and bathing the halls in a warm glow. Her wagon train was right where she left it, the harness lying atop the forward wagon. She threw it over her shoulders, but didn’t bother clipping in. There simply wasn’t time. One hand drew the gnasher from its holster, the other grasped for the lead wagon’s handle and caught hold. The weight of the water slowed the train’s start almost to a crawl as she pulled, her boots slipping against the carpet, but step by step it began to roll forward, picking up speed. She swung the body of the gnasher at the light switches by the front door, flicking them up and using the momentum to turn and drive her shoulder against the wood at the same time. Lights inside and out sputtered to life as she crashed through the front doors, chasing back the twilight shadows. One boot caught on the doorframe and she stumbled, almost falling and tumbling down the single step to the circular brick drive. The lead wagon dropped down the step behind her with a bang, its handle almost roughly shoving her forward. She turned, following the curve of the drive as behind her the other two wagons made similar drops, each one pushing her hand forward and letting similar crashing bangs. A distant yell echoed from somewhere behind the house, a cross between a gravelly roar and a rallying cry. Another followed a second later, then a third joined in, all of them echoing across the estate. Loud cracks followed in their wake, in short, rapid bursts. Gunfire. Her throat felt as though it had been sealed by something. More cracks sounded, and she waited for the explosion of pain that would signify she’d been struck. It didn’t come. Of course not! The chastisement rose out of her fear like an airship ascending from a morning fog. How could they see you already? The house. They’re shooting at the house. Warning shots, like those that would loose arrows at a distant foe during a charge. I still have time. The wagon train was pushing her forward now, its immense mass gaining speed as it moved down the gentle slope toward the front plaza. As soon as she reached the bottom of the slope she slowed, pulling the handle back and letting the wagon move past her, its weight and mass fighting against hers. Her boots skidded and slipped slightly, but she didn’t fall. A fact she could appreciate later. If I live. Once the wagon train had slowed enough she let go of it entirely, letting it roll on ahead past the front of the massive truck. She passed both quickly, heading for her ultimate goal: the generator shed. I hope this works. The locust would find her if there wasn’t something else to keep them occupied. A moth in a flame. She wrenched the door to the shed aside with a quick jerk, the rollers squealing. The shed was much as she’d left it, though dark. A moment’s quick glancing located a light switch, and the interior blazed to life. Fast! The glow would be a beacon for any Locust that made it to the front of the house. She needed to move fast. Sunset moved to the fuel tank first, grabbing every valve she could see and twisting them to one side. A strong, acrid odor filled the air as a yellowish, almost glowing fluid began to flow out of the open valves. Within seconds her lungs had begun to burn, the acrid fumes making her cough. Not yet. She made certain that the valve on the hose leading to the generator was open, then turned and rushed for the massive machine. The instructions were still where she’d left them, and she wiped the dust off, nodding as she frantically read over every line. Turn that switch to “standby.” Okay. Then set the primer switches to “automatic.” Plastic and metal clicked beneath her fingers as she followed the imprinted instructions. Confirm starter charge by holding “test” for three seconds. Come on! More yells and gunfire echoed from the manor, followed by the sound of breaking glass. The Locust could be on her in moments. Come on! The light by the button she was holding down went green, and she let it off with what was almost a cry of relief. The last step in the instructions was simply to wait. Generator will now automatically activate when signaled. But she wasn’t done. There was one last step she needed to take. A moth is drawn to a light. But I don’t need a light. I need flame. One of the valves she opened led to a long, wound up hose with a nozzle at the end. For refueling the various vehicles used by the farm, most likely. Leaving her gnasher on the nearby workbench, she grabbed the nozzle in both hands and pointed it at the generator. There was a lever along one side, and she flipped it back. Fuel gushed out of the nozzle end in an arcing stream, splashing across one side of the massive engine. She worked the stream across some of the larger metal parts she could see, then held her breath and lunged forward, jamming the nozzle into a gap in the metal. When she pulled back the hose stayed, still spewing the acrid fuel deep into the metal innards of the generator. Now run! Sunset grabbed the shotgun and bolted out of the shed, gasping for untained air. The wagon train had stopped a few dozen feet away, near the edge of the plaza, and she raced toward it, still coughing. Another roar sounded from the manor, but much closer than the earlier cries. They had to be in the house. Her shoulder felt as though it was being wrenched from her body as her momentum clashed with the stationary wagon train, but with her jerk the train began moving forward, rolling after her across the plaza. How long did she have? There was no way to tell. The only way she would “know” was when either the Locust caught her or her plan worked, whichever came first. Her boots met sand-covered gravel at the edge of the plaza, the wagons rolling off the bricks behind her but thankfully not losing much speed. That came when the drive began to slope upward, the train slowing as gravity tugged at their combined mass. But there was no time to slow, no time to stop and put on her pack or attach the harness. Get over the rise! She needed to move as quickly as she could, out of the light and into the shadows on the far side of the drive, by the forest. Or maybe to the north, where if she crouched both she and the wagons would vanish behind the stone wall. After a second’s consideration she shifted her course, heading toward the latter. Come on … The only sounds from the manor still were guttural shouts and roars, along with the sounds of glass and other items being smashed. How long would it be before one of them looked out a window and saw her rushing away into the dark? The sun had fallen low enough now that there weren’t even shadows at her feet, the whole of the road covered in a quiet dark that made the world around her feel tinged in purple dimness. She reached the top of the rise, the pressure on her arm instantly slacking as the wagon train began to follow her down the other side. In seconds she was sprinting, each stride carrying her for long leaps as the wagons’ weight took her place as the primary provider of momentum. Part of her wanted to slow, fearful that her boots would catch, and that she would tumble to the ground in the dark, the wagon train rolling over her in a spiteful insult before the Locust would find her battered body and do whatever horrible thing they would do to it. But she didn’t slow and she didn’t trip, managing to reach the bottom of the dip in the drive without losing her footing. Again the roles reversed, the wagon train once again needing her efforts as she moved up the next hill. Do I want to go up? The Locust had to be getting close to the front of the manor now. Were their eyes good enough to pick her out from a few hundred feet? Had she even made it that far? If I stop, I lose all that momentum. She kept going, rushing up the second, larger rise and praying that a Locust wasn’t sighting a rifle on her back. By halfway she was struggling, the slope steeper and taller than the last one. She turned, tossing the gnasher atop the first wagon with her pack and grasping the train’s handle with both hands, moving backwards up the hill. The harness seemed to taunt her as it swung from her shoulders, a reminder that with just a few seconds’ time she could be moving with much more ease. I don’t have a few seconds. She continued working her way backwards, fearing with each step that her boots would slip out from beneath her or that the ground wouldn’t be where she’d expected it to be. The wagons rattled as they rolled, the water in the jugs sloshing back and forth. At least all my reinforcement held. That was one thing she could be proud of. Not a single thing looked out of place despite the drops down the step and the high-speed jostling the loads had been subject to so far. Even her pack had shifted but not fallen off. A little farther. Once she cleared the hill, she could put it and the harness on. From someplace out of sight. Light makes it hard to see the dark, right? Her eyes slipped to the front grounds of the manor, lit by lights that now seemed brilliant against the night. If I’m out of the lights, am I safe? She twisted, glancing at the ground at her back. There was a shadow there, however faint. I need to get further back. The slope beneath her was starting to level out, the top of the rise nearing, the wagon train easier to pull. Once she reached the top, she could duck down, slip her pack on and clip the harness, and escape into the dark. Another roar echoed from the manor, a shadow flitting past one of the hall windows and blocking the light for a brief moment. For a brief moment Sunset froze, just long enough that she felt the wagon train jerk against her hands before she began to move again, its upward momentum spent in the brief instant she’d stopped. They’re checking the manor. It won’t be long until— The front doors swept to the sides, kicked out by what looked like a heavy boot. A massive bipedal figure strode out into the light, and Sunset’s stomach clenched in fear as she got her first look at one of the creatures that had brought down the planet.. It’s skin was mottled and grey, scaled in a way that reminded her more of a lizard than the smooth skin of a dragon. It wore nothing above the waist, its upper body bare and showing off masses of bulky muscle. There was a firearm in its hands—a gnasher, like her own—and it brandished the thing as it turned to the right and then the left. Her throat went dry as the thing began to turn in her direction … But then with a sudden roar the generator in the shed caught at last, the draw from the manor finally having drained the batteries low enough for the failsafe to activate. The Locust’s head snapped toward the manor, one hand rising and pointing as it barked in its guttural language. Sunset dropped, crouching and pressing herself up against the stone wall, blocking her view of the front grounds. Part one of her plan had worked—and just in time too. The generator was active and making plenty of noise to cover her escape. She continued moving backwards in a sort of crouched waddle, moving as quickly as she dared down the road and onto level ground. Down the drive a Locust came into view once more, the same one or another like it, rushing across the plaza with its shotgun at the ready and heading for the generator shed. If it turned around it would be looking right at her. Once again she turned and pulled with one hand, the wagon train now again on level ground, moving in a crouch across the top of the rise. Just a little farther! Ahead the drive began to drop, the incline slight but more than enough once combined with the waist high grass and wall to hide her from any prying eyes. Long enough to get the harness clipped in, anyway. Another roar from the manor sent ice sliding down her spine, and she almost shut her eyes, waiting for a shot, but none came. The drive dipped at last, a small depression stretching across its width laden with flat sand and silt from the recent rain. Perfect. Sunset dropped to her knees, ignoring the shock of both wetness and pain from the impact, the soil harder than it had looked but still giving slightly. The wagon train rolled past her, its own momentum lasting a bit longer before stopping, and she crawled forward, grabbing the pack and swinging it into place. Come on! She risked a glance back at the plaza, just visible through the grass. She was several hundred feet away now, the shape of the Locust at the generator shed’s door the size of the tip of her thumb .. but still clear enough silhouetted against the light that she could make out its motions as it looked left and then right before stepping into the shed. Work! Her hands slipped, dropping a clasp from her harness as she waited for the generator to do what she’d hoped. The Locust silhouetted in the door stopped a few steps in, likely catching sight or smell of the puddle of fuel lying on the floor. It’s not going to work. The figure turned, and Sunset shrank back as it looked in her direction. Don’t see me don’t see me don’t see me—! The figure cocked its head to one side, as if squinting at something, and her heart seemed to stop in her chest … A flash of light, so bright it hurt to look at, erupted from the shed, followed by a heavy whump. The Locust spun around letting out a deep yell of what she could only assume was panic as it saw the white flames that had suddenly enveloped the generator. There was another, brighter flash as the fuel beneath the generator caught, a burst of light so vivid that Sunset shut her eyes, one arm coming up reflexively to block the flash … followed by a second, louder and deeper boom like the impact of a heavy bass drum. The fuel she’d sprayed all across the generator had caught, and that meant— Down! Sunset twisted, throwing herself belly-first to the damp soil and cupping her hands over her ears. Any second no— The world went white through her closed eyes, a roar so loud it seemed to consume everything else filling her skull and penetrating all the way down to her bones. Heat flared across her back, a hot wind lashing her mane around her face as the ground shook shook beneath her like a scolded puppy. Almost as quickly as it had come, the roar of the blast faded, the sudden wind stilling and the ground quieting once more. Sunset lowered her hands, rolling onto her side and then pushing herself up to look back in the direction of the manor. The shed was simply gone, a burning, smoke-filled crater filling the space where it had been as well as a chunk of the plaza. The truck was gone as well, and it took her still-reeling mind a second to catch sight of its rear poking above the stone wall by the front of the manor. The blast had flung it up on its side and into the grounds. Every remaining window left in the manor had shattered inward, and several of the lights she’d lit had been blown out by the force of the blast. Shaking, Sunset pushed herself up, more of the manor grounds coming into view. A notch in the stone wall she was peering over caught her eye for a moment, until she saw the scrape in the stone. Something, likely a piece of brickwork from the shed, had hit it hard enough to knock some of the stone away. The grounds looked as though a bomb had hit them … and in a way, one had. The plants were charred and scattered, the grass pressed-flat by the blast. A figure lay pressed up against the wall of the fountain, body twisted at an unnatural angle. Another Locust, since it couldn’t be the one that had been in the doorway. Likely it had been immolated completely. Well, Sunset thought as she turned back toward the plaza. It worked. The rest of the sheds around the plaza had all collapsed, several of them burning where the wood that made up their roofs or doors had caught fire. And if there are any Locust left, it’ll give them something to look at. She turned, crawling forward across the silt until she’d reached the lead wagon once more. The carabiner slipped into place with a soft click. I just need to— Another roar echoed from somewhere nearby, faint but loud enough to be heard over the fading ring in her ears. Her makeshift flame hadn’t gotten all of them. But maybe it would be enough of a distraction. Hunching low, Sunset began to run, leaving the ruin of the estate behind her. * * * “Sunset. Sunset. Sunset!” She spun as the voice loomed out of the smoky haze around her, her hooves clopping against the ground as she searched for the source of the voice. “Hello? Who’s there?” “I am most disappointed in you Sunset.” The voice seemed to echo around her, resonating and seeming to sink into her flesh. “Very. Disappointed.” “I … I don’t … What did I do?” She spun in a panic, again looking for the source of the voice, but all she could see was the same smokey, discolored haze. Except that it wasn’t smoke. It was dust, thick and cloying and sticking to her coat. “What did I do wrong?” “You failed me, Sunset Shimmer.” The world around her began to brighten, something brilliant and terrifying glowing through the dust. “You weren’t good enough.” She knew the voice. Knew who it belonged to. She began to back away, away from the growing fire rising out of the haze. Her legs felt leaden, like they weren’t functioning properly, as if the dust itself was sapping her strength. “Please,” she said as the flames began to burn brighter, white-hot tongues licking out of the dust. “I didn’t! I tried! I did everything—” “It wasn’t enough!” The last word came like the shout of a titan, driving the haze back and revealing the source of the fires. An elegant alabaster mare stood tall, wings spread wide, her horn rising toward the sky. Flames licked the edges of her body, dancing across primaries and seething along a long, graceful neck like a living, burning mane. “You failed me, Sunset, after everything I gave you!” Burning, blazing eyes stared down at her, filled with contempt and fury. “No!” Her own voice sounded weak as she tried to step back. But something in the smoke gripped her, holding her tightly and pressing her forward. “I didn’t! I didn’t want to! I tried, Princess! I tried!” “You did not.” Fire seeped from the edges of her mentor’s mouth, hissing at the air. “You know what this means, Sunset. You know the price of failure!” The words echoed and rolled around them, shoving the dust further back and revealing ruins. Crumbled brick and stone, grown over by dead, grey and brown life in all directions. “No …” Her mentor seemed to swell, filling the sky with a maw large enough to devour her whole. “You failed me, Sunset! You weren’t good enough! Your magic was weak! Your studies worthless!” “No …” Tears were running down her cheeks, soaking her muzzle as she pleaded for her life. “Please, Princess Celes—” “Do not speak my name!” The figure sneered at her. “I have no use for weak, magicless ponies such as yourself.” The rubble began to shift around Sunset, sliding back behind her to form a familiar rectangular shape filled with broken glass. “No!” The force was back, pulling now, drawing her hindquarters toward the gaping maw of the mirror. Through the broken glass she could see monstrous shadowed shapes with jaws full of teeth. “Please! I’m not magicless! I’m not!” Broken brick built around her hooves as she dug in, trying to fight her way forward. “I’m not! I just couldn’t—” “Couldn’t what?” the burning figure asked, her entire form now wreathed in flames, dancing and burning. She let out a scoff, the hot air ruffling Sunset’s mane. “You were never good enough, Sunset.” “No!” She pushed harder, fighting at the tendrils of whatever was pulling her back toward the mirror. “Please! I—!” “I don’t want you anymore, Sunset. Go to your magicless world.” Sunset felt her rear hoof slip through the portal, howls emanating from the creatures on the other side. “It’s where you belong.” “No!” She slipped again, the rubble beneath her hooves giving way. Clawed hands wrapped themselves around her rear legs, adding their pull to the suction drawing her in. “No! Please!” She reached for her magic, only for sparks to fly from the tip of her horn as magic itself deserted her. “I suppose I’ll find another student,” her mentor said, her burning gaze almost detached. “One that won’t fail me.” “No … Please … Princess!” More hands rose out of the mirror, grabbing her flanks and side, pulling her slowly but inexorably through. “No!” She kicked out, but she could already feel her hind legs changing, metamorphosing. “Please!” “Goodbye, Sunset Shimmer.” Celestia’s burning face filled the world now, so hot that it burned. “Forever.” “No!” Sunset jerked upright, her chest heaving. The real world came back to her with a sudden splash, like a spray of cold water, its realness aided by the cool sweat across her face that enhanced the late night chill. Around her was her small campsite, dimly lit by the twin moons of the night sky where they poked through the branches of the trees she’d curled up under. With a shuddering breath, she relaxed, closing her eyes. “It was just a dream,” she said, her throat sore and aching. “Just … a dream. I chose to come here. I chose.” The recognition didn’t stop the tears from coming, nor the deep sobs that began to rack her body as she curled into a small ball atop her sleeping pad. Eventually the world faded, drifting into darkness as she cried herself back to sleep. She awoke sometime after sunrise, her body stiff and sore from the compacted position she’d curled up in and her face dry and sticky with the residue of her tears. Wordlessly she cleaned up, using a bit of water from her canteens to wash the signs of her sorrow away … but it didn’t drive away the hollow in her heart. Even knowing that she had never said those words, that she’d chosen to come to Sera in pursuit of her destiny didn’t ease the ache inside her chest. It wasn’t real, she thought as she ate her breakfast, washing it down with more precious water. It was just a nightmare. A collection of all my stress and fear from the last few days coming to life in a dream. She still felt a chill rush through her as her mind recalled the burning, warped version of her mentor that had shoved her through the mirror. Sunset had seen her angry before, but never … Never like that. Not at me. And this world isn’t magicless, she thought as she broke camp. The familiar, comforting warmth that was her magic was there, same as always, inside her chest. I just haven’t figured out how to use it yet. And I came here on my own. It was the other way around. She didn’t force me here. I came of my own free will. She tried to stop me. Because— She didn’t finish the thought. That much in the dream, while exaggerated, had been— No. Even nearing it threatened to bring the tears back, her throat growing tight. She backtracked, running her thoughts back toward other parts of the dream. I chose to come here. It’s been dangerous, yes. Very much so. But I’m surviving. More than survived, really. I fought the Locust … and won. Sort of. It had been a trap, but all the same she’d managed to use what she’d learned to outwit them and get away, as well as … Killed a few of them. The realization still made her feel a bit queasy, even after putting two nights of rest between herself and the deed. But it had to be done. There was no doubt that had any of them found her, they would have spared no guilt for killing her. Another thing she didn’t really want to think about. The wagons rolled along behind her, the road winding more and more frequently as it neared the eastern mountains and the town of Passtil. She couldn’t see it yet, but then much of the horizon was hidden now, blocked from her view by thick, wild growths of massive trees and rougher foothills that the road both cut through and wound around. But it had to be close. She could see the pass rising above the nearby forest, a massive opening in the towering mountain range, like the gap-toothed smile of a young foal that had lost a tooth. Any minute now. The road continued its serpentine trek through the thick woods, oblivious to her passage and the lack of its designated clientele. Step by step miles vanished beneath her boots, the pass drawing closer with a slowness that was agonizing but sometimes sudden. The road dipped and rose, rising over the miles and making her legs burn. At one point she passed over a bridge, a massive, overwrought edifice that rose easily fifty feet over the churning whitewaters of a seething mountain creek. Was this on my map? She’d glanced at her atlas the night before, trying to figure out how close to Passtil she was, and there had been blue lines running down from the mountain faces, but … There was more than one. And she’d already passed crossings  that were less bridges and more massive culverts or arches over slightly smaller watersheds, so it was hard to say which one of those the bridge counted as. If I’d been paying better attention … She glanced at the watch on her wrist. It was almost eleven. Two hours to go until midday. So close to the mountains the air felt cooler, though still not cool enough to make her want to put on a coat. Her shirt, dirty as it was, was good enough. There was even a gentle breeze, not quite enough to drive back the heat of the sun overhead but still noticeable. Faint wisps of cloud occasionally drifted in front of the sun, shadowing her course. It wasn’t hot, but it certainly wasn’t cold. After her nightmare the night before, somewhere in the middle felt preferable. She passed another abandoned car on the side of the road, slowing only slightly to glance through its open doors and see if anyone had left anything inside. There was a bird’s nest on the seat, though it looked long-since abandoned, just as the vehicle did. She continued on. There were other signs that the road hadn’t been used in many years. Parts of it had begun to crack, leading to wide gaps that the wagon wheels bounced over. In multiple places where the road had cut through the hillsides, rock rising to the left, right, or both, years of decay had settled in, forcing Sunset to detour around small slides or even boulders lying in the way. Trees too, had come down in some places, none of them covering the full width of the road, but still presenting the occasional obstacle that she had to maneuver around. Would Equestria look like this if we all just vanished? Sunset wondered as she passed another wide crack in the road, already colonized by high-reaching grass. How long would it take for the wild world we hold at bay with our magic to simply cover everything we built? Years? Decades? Centuries? There were ruins that could be found across the world of ancient civilizations that had flourished and then fallen, of course, but often there wasn’t much left. Only the longest-lived elements tended to stand the test of time, such as stone. And even stone can be buried or grown over. Otherwise ponies like Daring Do wouldn’t have a job. There were ruins that were special cases, of course. Unicropolis, for one. The city had been frozen solid by the wendigos, turned into a magical ice-cube so thick that the region was still an eternal winter few ventured into. At one point, Sunset had been told by her, the massive city had been little more than a glacier with the ice-covered peak of Starswirl’s tower poking above it. Over the centuries the place had warmed, much of the upper levels finally thawing to the point of being covered in thick drifts of snow year-round. It was expected that the summer climate would be a mild winter in perhaps another decade, but even then few wanted to go back to the place. Having seen what Holton was like, now I understand that a little better. At the time her mentor had explained things to her, she’d merely questioned why more ponies hadn’t returned to claim the ancient capital and, perhaps a bit brusquely, dismissed her explanations offered. Unicropolis was like Holton. Worse, even. A lot of the unicorns that had lived there, convinced of their infallible nature, had refused to flee when the wendigos had approached. As many bodies as Holton had held … Unicropolis has a lot more. All sealed in ice. No wonder no one wants to go back. Ahead of her, around a bend in a road, another bridge came into sight, though not as large or ornate as the last one she’d passed. But past it … At first she almost frowned, her eyes catching sight of the thick forest past the bridge where she’d expected the road to continue onward. But then she noted the change in the road itself past the bridge, the gaps in the trees to either side. The road hadn’t been blocked. It was an intersection! “Yes!” Elation bubbled within her, rising above the pallor that had clouded her emotions  all morning. “I know that spot!” The road became a gentle, downward slip as the curve ended, moving down the foothill toward its end. The wagon train pushed against her gently, and after a moment’s look at the long, straight stretch before her, she unclipped her harness from the wagon, then sat down atop the lead, the handle rising between her knees and her boots free to drag along the ground. She’d considered the maneuver earlier in the day but never gone for it. Now, with the intersection in sight, putting her just a little over a mile from Passtil and the slope ahead of her slow and straight, it felt like the perfect chance to test the idea out. At worst, she could drag her boots to keep the speed down. Which she began doing almost immediately, the wagons picking up more speed than she’d expected on such a slight incline. Still, it was quicker than walking, and in a way, fun. A grin worked its way across her face as the wind began to tug at her mane, and she picked her boots up, letting the wagons gain even more speed. Her course began to deviate toward to the left, and she adjusted the handle, evening things out. “Wooo!” She let the shout out without thinking about it, tension and stiffness melting away under the sensation of pure joy she got from flying down the hill. In less than half a minute she was at the bottom, the road leveling out and her speed slowly bleeding off. She was still going fast enough by the time she reached the bridge that she was over it in seconds, the wagons bouncing as they hit each end. “Wooo!” She cheered again, the intersection nearing, and dropped her boots, the material making a double-rasp and kicking up off the ground until she forced them back down. Gradually the wind in her mane faded, bled away by the extra drag, the wagons slowing until they were moving at a quick job, then a fast walk, and then not at all, rolling to a stop just a few feet into the intersection. To her left the road extended off in a long, gradual curve, heading for the distant western horizon. To her right … was Passtil. Or at least, some of it. She could see the pass clearly at last, the steep sides of the mountains separating just enough for habitation and civilization to have laid claim to it. It was still a ways off, but she could see homes and other buildings already, rising above cliff faces with blank, staring windows. It’s like an eyrie, Sunset thought as she looked at it. Mixed with Canterlot. Except that rather than tunneling into the cliffs.the serans built atop them or on the sides. Even at a distance the town seemed to rise up into the pass on both sides, structures and what looked like covered bridges and steep staircases climbing hundreds of feet up the mountain flanks. Woof. You’d get your exercise in just walking home each day, Sunset though. And I grew up in Canterlot! Granted, Canterlot had been built near the top of the mountain, near flat segments, and then later had grown out to have the majestic views, drops, and plazas that so many thought of when they pictured the city. Passtil, by comparison, looked like a city that had sprung up because of a convenience and then simply continued sprawling upward. It’s probably fairly defensive as well, she added as she began walking once more, heading east toward the distant town. If the early eras of sera were as violent as the books said, then that probably was why they built up instead of out. But did it help them against the Locust? Her answer came as she moved nearer to the city. Even through the high treetops she could soon see scars on the cityscape, conspicuous gaps in the high-rising structures that, when squinting, revealed bases suspiciously like piles of rubble. A long chasm in the cliffside came into view to her right, what looked like the line left in a treeline after a landslide … save that this wound had been made in buildings, a whole line of them collapsing down on those below and taking most of the cliff face with them. What must it have been like to be in those buildings? The thought made her shiver, and she pushed it away before it could settle in and take hold. She didn’t want to picture what it would be like to feel the floor tilt beneath her, or the sky flip outside the windows, the sudden lack of gravity as things began to plummet— Nope. Don’t think about it.  She could make out individual buildings now, just as ornate and artistic as those in Holton, but with more sheer edges to them, like the builders had tried to capture the essence of living on such drop offs. Even through the ruin and more of the vines that seemed to grow over everything, it was still visually striking. Birds flew from a greenish statue of some historical figure perched on the edge of what was probably a plaza, looking down over a steep drop off to the roofs below. She didn’t miss the empty plinth next to it, nor the shattered, warped roof of the structures below. A break in the trees to her left caught her eyes, empty dark windows staring out at her from deep within the woods. A cabin, long since covered by moss and grass, with an overgrown lot in front of it. Apparently not everyone had lived inside Passtil. Unsurprisingly the town had a wall around it, just like Holton, though a bit higher and more solid looking. And more modern, Sunset noted, her eyes slipping to the massive bits of metal that adorned it. Though I did leave through a smaller exit in Holton. Maybe the larger entrances were more recent? Regardless, the additions hadn’t done the town any good. The gate itself was wide open, twisted and scorched with long-faded scars of violence. The gatehouse on one side had been leveled, bare skeletal remains poking up at the sky like clawing fingers. Several cars and trucks—not carriages—had been smashed to one side, as broken and battered as the gate was. One of the military transport vehicles in the pamphlet she’d found sat just beyond the gate, its top battered in and tires at odd angles. Whatever had happened to it, it wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Locust … Sunset moved to the gate, boots slipping over thousands of spent bullet casings that had long since been blown into piles or settled into the dirt. Sure enough, just past the wall she could see the familiar craters in the ground that marked old emergence holes, now filled with grass and the occasional swaying wildflower. But the gate looks like it was hit from the outside. Maybe it was easier to emerge outside the town and then break their way in? Why have the holes inside? Maybe that was for reinforcement after they had pushed past the gate. That would make sense. More signs of ancient combat littered the main road past the barrier, burned cars and trucks mixed with battered heavier vehicles she’d never seen before. Buildings and staircases had chunks missing from them, like bites taken by giants. There was even a massive, burnt-out hulk of a machine that was on treads and sporting a massive cannon—which was currently pointed skyward, as something had collapsed the ground beneath its rear, trapping it and exposing a chunk of its underbelly. Which looked heavily damaged, the armor twisted and ripped back. That made her pause. The machine looked heavy and dangerous. What could do that to something so big? A corpser? But she’d seen the pictures, and corpsers had legs like a spider, striking from above. What else had the locust had which could do so much damage? And what am I looking for in Passtil anyway? That was the real question. Her walk to the town hadn’t taken long, and it still wasn’t even midday. But now that she could see the destruction wrought on the town’s main boulevard … What could I hope to find here? A radio? That looked dubious at best. If there had been a large radio tower anywhere in Passtil, it had likely fallen to the invasion, since she couldn’t see any sign of one rising above what buildings were left. I could find another jug of water. She glanced back at her wagon, eyeing the half-full jug she’d partially drained on her way from the Ramirez Estate. But … that could take some time. She’d need to find a business first, and from the look of the road past the entryway, that was a dubious proposition at— Wait a minute … She moved forward once more, wagon wheels rolling past the remains of the large, tracked war machine as she quizzically took in what lay down the road. Is that …? It was. Ahead of her the road diverged, the inner lanes entering a tunnel and then dropping down into the ground while the outer lanes merged, the road narrowing to move through the center of Passtil. So the traffic that needed to pass through could, while the more regular traffic could stay above. Clever. Save that at some point the road beneath had collapsed, the road above sinking with it and leaving a water-filled chasm running right through the middle of the city. Why it hadn’t drained she couldn’t say. But there’s no way I’m going along the main road to find anything. Not without a boat. At the edge of the collapse she could see another of the armored, treaded vehicles sticking up into the air, its rear half submerged in the artificial lake. Still a good idea, though. She could also make out still water inside the tunnel that had led to the lower level. When I return to Equestria, I’ll need to remember that. However, it wasn’t immediately useful. Nor was it threatening, but useful it was not. Worse, unless I want to climb up to the edges of the city looking for stuff, I don’t think I’m going to find much. And those gaps between the buildings look narrow. Probably easy to get lost in. Unless I can spot a tower or something, I—What’s that? Part of a familiar looking spoked wheel protruded from behind a nearby car. Is that … It is! Unclipping herself from the wagons, Sunset stepped around the edge of the battered, bullet-ridden vehicle, her eyes locked on the thin—and flat—tire, followed by what was connected to it. A warped metal frame, bent by some impact and missing its seat, but recognizable nonetheless. A bicycleI They have bicycles here! Of course they have bicycles here, she chastised herself. They can put weapons capable of wiping out cities into space. Why wouldn’t they have a bicycle? Granted, it wasn’t much to look at. It still bore the marks of its makers, the overall design heavier and more straightforward than bicycles in Equestria had been, but that didn’t change the fact that its rear half had been squashed between the sidewalk and the carriage it was sitting behind. Hopefully the rider had gotten away to safety before … But no, she could see a lock of sorts around the front part of the frame, connected to a grill on the sidewalk. The machine had been left on the side, then become a casualty. Still … A bicycle would be a helpful tool for getting around. Certainly faster than walking. If I could rig it up to my wagons properly, she thought with a glance back at the train she’d left in the middle of the street. Just … not this one. For that matter, whoever owned the bike in question probably hadn’t lived higher up in Passtil. She gave the rising stairways and sheer cliffs above her a sideways glance before looking back at the bike once more. That or they carried this thing up a lot of stairs. Still, a bicycle could be a useful tool. If I can find one. Searching through Passtil, however, wasn’t looking to be worth the time. Half the routes up deeper into the town looked to be blocked by rubble or barriers both makeshift and official-looking, and as tall as some of the buildings were the whole place doubtlessly was a maze unless you knew where you were going. She turned to check the other side of the pass, light glinting off the artificial lake to her side, and checked the destruction evident. It was more of the same, the gaps in buildings either rubble, barricades, or both. Even from below she could see winding streets and walkways twisting or making sudden, sharp angled cuts as they made their way back and forth up the sides of the mountain. I don’t even want to imagine pulling the wagons up those hills. Her gaze settled on a car that had gone off the road and crashed into the top of a building, breaking it open and bringing down part it, somehow leaving the third story hanging in the open air, suspended by a single wall. She let out a slow sigh. Passtil was looking like a bust, though it had been a stop mostly of convenience anyway. Still, maybe there’s something left over from this fight … Her thoughts slowed as she turned, another glimmer from the lake catching her eye. Except that it was a glimmer from a portion of the lake that was in shadow … So what’s doing that? Sunset took a few steps forward, moving closer to the lake and catching sight of other glimmers that she’d assumed earlier had been merely the sun reflecting off of the lake’s surface, except … Sunlight isn’t that color. Nor does it glimmer from shadow. What is that? The glimmer she was seeing wasn’t the only unusual thing about the lake either. Now that she was looking more closely, there was a sort of haze across some of its surface, faint but still noticeable. There was a golden-yellow tinge to it as well, matching that of the strange glow. With a flash of realization, she placed it. Imulsion! There had been a picture of it in the dictionary she’d used to learn the seran’s written language, as well as a description. It has to be! The book had described it as having a yellow bioluminescent glow, as well as emitting fumes that glowed in a similar manner. “But …” The sound of her own voice echoing out across the empty, shelled streets was almost as shocking as the hints of imulsion coming from the lake. She snapped her mouth shut, teeth almost clicking her jaw closed so fast. Imulsion is supposed to be deep underground? What’s it doing here on the surface of an artificial lake? Maybe a fuel station had its tanks broken open? She shook her head even before the thought had finished. Even if a fuel station had split its tanks open, that wouldn’t change that it had happened years ago. And imulsion fuel wasn’t the same as pure, unrefined imulsion. Maybe a fuel truck under the surface of the water? Sunset slipped her pack from her shoulders and dug through it for several seconds before finding her binoculars. The distant lake surface leapt into sharp clarity before her eyes, blurring for a second but then sharpening again as she adjusted the focus. No … Whorls of faint mist rose before her eyes, rising from faint but distinctly glowing slicks on the surface of the water. Or maybe? A truck sitting on the bottom of the lake could be home to a large supply of the glowing imulsion, which if the leak was slow enough could take years but … There’s been rain recently, and the lake level isn’t that high. The world blurred as she moved the glasses over to peer at the edge. So there must be an outflow somewhere. Probably into the river or creek that ran along the side of the main road from time to time, the same one that had passed under the last bridge she’d crossed. There were small trees by the water’s edge as well, dating the formation of the water-filled chasm. Again she slid the binoculars across the distant water with its yellow, glowing slick. I know a little bit can go a long way when it comes to something like putting oil atop water. A faint memory flashed through her mind, of performing exactly that experiment with— She shoved it back. No. There’s no way a single truck could leak this much imulsion over all the years since this happened. And there were no signs along the edge of the lake, even on a second look, that showed that the water level had recently been lower. No flooded trees poking above the depths or sudden shifts in the color that could imply discolored shores recently overtaken. Maybe there was a whole convoy on the lower level? It would explain why the town had been so heavily defended, and why the locust had attacked it. Not one truck, but a dozen maybe. On their way to the Jacinto Plateau to be part of the storage for the siege. That answer made sense, and she lowered the glasses. Still … It was eerie the way the haze shimmered and shifted above the water. Breathing that can’t be healthy. The idea almost felt like common sense. Breathing anything that had so much energy it naturally glowed seemed like a bad idea. Glow … Wait a moment. On a whim, she reached again for her magic, pushing and seeing if she could grasp it. Once again it slipped from her grasp like an errant soap bubble, tantalizing but sliding just out of reach. Maybe if I had some imulsion— She dismissed the idea with a shake of her head. Just because it glows, doesn’t mean it’s magic. Does it? Maybe that was all the “lightmass” process was, a way of refining some form of natural magic into fuel that the serans understood and— No. Magic doesn’t work like that. In Equestria, another part of her suggested. Maybe all it takes is getting some of it in your hands. It’s caustic. She knew that much from the dictionary, even if she didn’t know much else. You wouldn’t want to touch it with your bare hands. Maybe if there was some in a container or stored in a way that was safe to handle. Maybe then. But right now? She turned forcefully, pivoting on her heel and putting the lake at her back. Not here. Not now. Still, she could feel the temptation calling to her, crying out to be heeded. I could do so much more if I had my magic. And I still have it. She stuffed the binoculars back into her pack, maybe with a little more force than was necessary, but not hard enough that anything would be damaged. There’s nothing for me here. I wasted the wa— A toppled truck caught her eye, and she paused. Maybe not nothing, exactly. The truck was one of the larger models, with a heavy blunt front and a bed that had at one time been covered in ribbled canvas. Most of the ribbing was bent and twisted now, along with part of the bed. Both probably from the same impact that had thrown the truck up onto its side. Most of the canvas was still intact, if looking a little worse for the wear, but what had caught her eye were the scattered, heavy-looking metal cases that had fallen out of the back. Someone was going through those. Though dusty and dirty, it was clear that someone had at some point thrown the lids of the cases back, likely emptying them of anything useful. Save one, half-protruding from the back of the vehicle bed. It’s lid was still closed. Lettering had at one point been stenciled across the side, but years of sun and weather had removed most of it, leaving only a few broken patches that were barely legible as letters, much less anything readable. But if someone raided the other cases … Sunset walked over to the side of the truck, stepping around the scattered and already ransacked cases with only a partial glance. Their insides were empty save slats or mounts of some kind. Someone definitely picked them clean, she thought as she came to a stop by the one still in the back of the truck. She moved to fold the canvas flaps around it aside, only for the thin, weakened cloth to tear slightly under her fingers. Handholds on the side of the metal case became apparent as light fell over them, and she wrapped her fingers around the metal. And … heave! With a loud bang one end of the metal case dropped to the ground, the weight far heavier than she’d expected. She froze for a moment, waiting for any sort of outburst in response to the sudden noise, but only echoes of the impact bounced back at her. Bullet casings ground against the dirty pavement as she pulled the case further out, crushed by the metal box’s weight and creating a grinding rasp with each tug. At last, with a final sharp jerk, the rear end of the case fell free, slamming down onto the pavement with another loud bang that echoed across the lake. The case was held shut by clasps just as thick and utilitarian as everything else the cog built, but they didn’t appear to be locked, and after a second’s fiddling the first of them gave with a sudden click. Its counterpart followed in quick succession, and Sunset threw the lid back, grunting at its surprisingly heavy weight. Didn’t these people ever build anything light!? Identical rows of gleaming metal stared up at her from within the crate, a half-dozen identical metal shapes carefully cradled within. Familiar metal shapes. “Lancers,” she said, the word a quiet whisper compared to the bang that had echoed seconds earlier. “Of course.” The weapons were still pristine despite however many years the crate had been abandoned lying in the back of the truck, along with row upon row of what had to be ammo magazines—What an odd homonym—filling the bottom half of the case, likely a good portion of the excess weight she’d felt. “Military truck, militant government … Of course it’s guns.” Then again, everyone else has one. She reached down into the case, leaning up against its side, and took one of the firearms in her hands. Metal clasps held it firmly in place, though with no catches that she could see on either side, and she gave the weapon an experimental tug. It didn’t move. Was it just that heavy, or—? With another, firmer tug the lancer popped free, the back-end flipping up and almost out of her hands, the front end with its wicked-looking bayonet diving thankfully down into the depths of the case. I forgot how heavy these things are. Sunset flipped the weapon round, holding it by the handle giving it a few experimental hefts. She hadn’t lifted one since she’d removed the bayonet from the first one she’d seen. It had been only a few weeks, but it felt like a lifetime ago. There was a safety similar to the one on her gnasher by her thumb, and she eyed both it and the magazine placed just ahead of that. Then she frowned. “It’s … loaded,” she stated, almost in awe. “Who stores and transports a loaded firearm?” Somewhat cautiously she reached out and pulled the bolt back, watching through the vent as a bullet slid smoothly into the waiting chamber. “Okay, it wasn’t loaded exactly, but …” There was an unsettling implication to the design of a weapon that had been shipped ready to fire. Carefully, she pointed the front of the lancer out over the nearby lake and then gave the trigger a questioning pull. Nothing happened. At least the safety was on. But who would store a weapon like ...  She glanced back at her own wagon train, gnasher and hunting rifle both holstered alongside the lead wagon, loaded and ready to go. Okay, maybe they had a reason. But even so! It took her a few seconds to work out how, but a moment later the magazine dropped out of the bottom of the lancer, clattering as it hit the pavement. She pulled the bolt back and ejected the unused round, clearing the gun once more. There. She shoved the magazine back into place. I don’t mind it having bullets at the ready, but until I’ve fired it, I’d rather not trust all its other parts to do their job, even if this thing is brand-new. Sort of. Because I’m taking it. She almost hadn’t realized it, but the decision had been made. She set the rifle down atop its fellows in the case, then bent and picked up the unused round she’d ejected. It was much larger than the ammunition used by the hunting rifle, both in length and in girth. Probably hits a lot harder too. Designed to punch through heavy UIR armor, rather than just skin and bone. For a moment she considered replacing the bullet in the rifle’s magazine, but with another glance at the amount of ammunition in the bottom of the case, she tossed both the idea and the bullet itself aside. There were what looked to be hundreds of magazines standing in neat little rows below the racked rifles. Far more than she would want to take with her. Saving a single bullet wouldn’t be worth the trouble. The only question now was “How many should I take?” Followed by the slightly pressing question of how to safely store the large array of magazines. The soldiers usually stored them inside those metal boxes. The airtight ones, which means they weren’t exposed to the weather. Sunset stared at the magazines for a few seconds before pushing herself away from the case, turning towards the wagons. But the cog really do make everything pretty tough and durable. I doubt their bullets would be bothered by a little water. Besides, she thought as she began pulling the train over to the case. I have covers. And there was a small lopsided empty space on one side of the lead wagon left from the firing of so much of her rifle ammo. She flipped the cover back, exposing her carefully packed supplies, and began moving lancer magazines over from the case, at first one by one, but then in small clumps of three as she grew more confident in her actions. Don’t I already have two magazines somewhere else as well? She could remember packing a few from Holton, but more as a last resort than with intent to use them. Until now. The steady clunk of each group as she dropped them into place in the wagon was almost soothing. Relaxing, in its own weird way. Dull, but at least different from the endless walking of the last few days. Walking I’ll be right back to as soon as I’ve got enough bullets. She stalled for a moment, almost dropping her latest triplet of magazines. “Did I really just think that?” The magazines let out quiet clinks as she finished setting them in the bottom of the wagon. Only a few more, and they’d be flush with the remaining few boxes of hunting rifle bullets. But rather than moving to finish the job, she stared at the neat rows. Is this who I am in just three weeks? A Sunset who thinks about bullets and whether or not I have enough? It was hard imagining the young mare that had come through the portal planning out how to best store bullets for a firearm. Would I recognize myself now, after such a short time? She sat back, sitting atop the edge of the case, though whether it was just to think or because her legs suddenly felt tired, she wasn’t certain. Would I know me? You know, outside of the weird seran body. She stared down at her fingers, wiggling them. They were, she had to admit, neat. But I still miss my hooves. And my horn. And my coat. Her throat suddenly felt scratchy, like she’d swallowed something that didn’t agree with it. But … it can’t be helped. She shut her eyes, pulling in a long breath and letting it out slowly. Everypony changes as they grow. That’s part of— Her thoughts hitched as she recalled who she was quoting. Part of growing up. Becoming better. Her vision blurred. No! Sunset squeezed her eyes shut. Not right now. Not today. I have too much to do today. She pushed back at the storm of emotions that had surged out from deep within her, shoving them back down. Don’t think about it! You don’t have the time! We all change. I came here in pursuit of that. She wiped one arm across her face, brushing away the brief tears that had entered her eyes. But am I changing for the better?  The thought echoed in her mind as she finished filling the wagon with lancer magazines. Change for the sake of change isn’t always good. There’s always a direction. Always. Is it the right one? The thought echoed in her mind as she secured her new rifle in the rearmost wagon, and as she refilled her canteens and had a quick lunch. Even as she clipped herself to the train once more and set out, leaving Passtil behind her and heading west, it continued to slide back and forth across her mind, bringing with a feeling of unease she couldn’t shake. Is it the right one? Silently, Sunset headed west, following the old highway.