The lights were blinding. The crowd deafening. It seemed almost unreal from the first moment I stepped into the arena. In a way, I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. I had grown up hearing the stories. The everlasting glory of those who had claimed a spot in the history of others. That had pulled themselves from the slums and the forgotten wastes of the Saddle Arabian Desert.
Growing up as a colt I’d see them as immortals. I would try to sneak glances through the doors of Holobars, and watch with stupefied wonder at the sight of the larger-than-life heroes on those scratched and dented Holo-screens. The gladiators of the Arena that would stand on top of piles of bodies. Ponies they had defeated in combat, with blades. With lasers. Even with their barehoof. They knew no loss. No defeat at the hands of others.
How I dreamt to be just like them. A strong stallion, with wartorn armor, holding a worn battleaxe victoriously in one hoof, surrounded by fallen foes, and adoring fans yelling my name. But never did I think it would turn out like this.
I felt stunned. Nauseous, breathing ragged, exhausted. But I was finally in the position I had once dreamt of, and I could only think of one thing. How I had looked into her eyes after the last round. How she just stared at me. As if she didn’t really understand me. As if she was scared of me. And as I looked down at the pile of bodies below me--ponies with loved ones; hopes and dreams; futures-- I realized that she had a good reason to look at me like that.
What had I become? Was I really the same pony she had met when we were just foals?
there looking into the blinding lights, I didn’t know anymore. I stared into the lights and slowly recalled the day she and I met...
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The Bazaar. One of the busiest places you could find in the desert. They say it’s located in a neutral area of the Saddle Arabian Desert, so that all races were welcome… As long as they brought money. Legend has it that Princess Celestia once ruled over these lands, until the invention of lasers and mechanics brought war and chaos. Now, most kingdoms keep to themselves, leaving places like Saddle Arabia on its own. When I was growing up in the Bazaar, I used to see all kinds of creatures there: boars, ponies, griffons, even zebras and a small dragon or two if you’re that unlucky. Someponies even sold rare animals there, manticores and the like. Point is, if you had the stuff to pay for it, you could find whatever you wanted there.
The day I met her, it seemed to be the busiest day of the year. The Bazaar was packed, loud, and chaotic. Merchants and customers were scrambling around, all of them jostling between colorful stands selling various wares, shouting in multiple languages, sometimes ending in a fight. The sweltering heat didn’t seem to help. But the fights didn’t last long on account of guards of some race or another breaking it up. Bad for business, y’know? But this amount of business here was perfect for a small colt like me. I had already managed to fill my small saddlebag with all the stolen loot that I could get my grubby, sand-torn hoofs on. No one noticed a ragged little orphan among all the paying customers, discreetly dipping his hooves in this bin or that, and then disappearing without a trace.
About midday, I had decided it was getting too hot out to continue, so I started to dodge my way in the general direction of where my camp was. However, a rumbling in my stomach caused me to slow and try and find something to eat. Naturally, I didn’t want to lighten by saddlebag, so I quickly squirmed through the crowd to find something to eat. As I approached one stall, I spotted a basket of rolls perched on the edge of a small wooden table.
“Delivered fresh from Equestria!” The pony merchant proclaimed loudly.
Rolls of all shapes and sizes filled the basket. One in particular stood out, sitting on the edge of the basket, soft and golden brown. I was dead set on that roll. In my mind, it was already mine.
I quickly looked towards the merchant and watched him do business with several other ponies, and even a disgruntled looking boar. I was good to go.
Carefully, I inched forward towards the stall, trying to squeeze between the boar and the edge of the stall. Without drawing too much attention, I pretended to be looking at a bin of various loaves of bread on the other side of the boar, while gradually bringing my hoof to the basket of rolls. As my hoof found the soft roll, I started to cautiously pull the roll out of the basket and down to my saddlebag. I stole a glance at the merchant and noticed with satisfaction that he hadn’t seemed to have noticed, but instead was busy arguing heatedly with the boar.
“I want no less than two coconuts!”
“Two coc’nuts?! Yer tryna swindle me!”
“These are some of the finest breads, fresh from Canterlot themselves!”
“Prolly the only thing Canterlot’s good for, and still not worth sand!”
Cautiously, I slid my out of my spot and started to resume my previous path home when I heard a voice behind me.
“Hey, you gonna pay for that roll, little foal?”
I slowly turned around and saw that both the merchant and boar were staring right at me.
Usually, this is the time to give up and accept you’ve been caught.
I smiled cheekily and high-tailed it out of there.
Needless to say, the merchant gave swift chase after me, yelling at others to move out of the way. As I confidently dodged through the busy market, I thought to myself, it’s just a roll! And yet, I wouldn’t have stolen it if it wasn’t of value. So, maybe it is worth chasing me for?
Quickly looking back, I noticed with alarm that the merchant was not only still chasing me, but he was actually catching up! For a merchant, he can really keep up!
Immediately, I made a sharp turn down another row of stalls and kept running. I started feeling a bit worn out, so I started to look around for good places to hide. As I looked over at a stall, I made eye contact with a filly. Just like that, time slowed down almost to a stop. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Hazelnut brown fur partially covered by slave wrappings. Soft green eyes, innocent and watchful. Her ragged mane seemed the color of the sands. Around her neck was something that hurt me inside. It was a leash, held by another pony. I was so stunned by her that I paused for an instant.
That’s all it took.
I quickly felt a heavy collision steal me away from her stare, but I still remember it as if I never left.
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The Arena came back to focus even though her eyes still haunted me. My heart was hurting from remembering those eyes, always piercing me with their watchful stare. I looked around me and noticed that a group of ponies were rushing to me from the entrance tunnel. I quickly recognized them as ponies I knew. My friends.
Friends, I thought. Are they still my friends? She used to be a friend. And she left. Are they next?
The group arrived at the foot of the mound of bodies, cheering and yelling my name.
“Sand Shift, you did it! You won!” yelled a grey mare.
“We knew you could do it!” yelled a smaller, brown stallion.
I slowly made my way down to them, carefully navigating over all the bodies and looking at each one in turn.
They had friends. They had ponies like her waiting for them, I thought.
I had to win. There was no other option.
They had to win, too. Why not them?
Internally, I had not yet finished in the Arena. The mixed emotions about my victory constantly battled within me. On one hand, I had won. Winning meant freedom. I was going to be my own pony.
But for what cost?
The cost. The cost of all these ponies. These boars. Elks, griffins. What hadn’t I slain to get to the where I was? The cost of freedom.
In a way, I continued, it cost you your life.
That thought chilled me. Who was I, anymore?
I know who I am! I am ---
“SAND SHIFT THE GLADIATOR CHAMPION! HERO OF THE ARENA! A TRUE DESCENDANT OF CELESTIA!”
I looked up to a big Holoscreen mounted high up on the side of the Arena wall. On the screen was a fat, smirking boar. Romulus, I thought. His image and I made eye contact.
“YOU ARE A FREE PONY NOW, SHIFT. ENJOY IT.”
His smirk told me that although I had the victory in The Arena, Romulus Priscus hadn’t lost, either.