The Sixth Age

by TacticalRainboom


2: Ironwood

Subject: Ironwood

Earth pony female. Displays evidence of magic abilities despite being confirmed Mundane.

For the fourth time, Daybreak checked the street address under Ironwood's file, and of course she saw, again, that she was in the right place. Still, though—was this supposed to be a farm? This was a warehouse. An enormous and ugly warehouse, utterly featureless, except for a few windows high above ground level and a metal sign reading "FIRST SEED" in large letters.

Except for the fact that it was facing the street, this seemed more like a service entrance than a front door. Solid steel from the looks of it, and as bland and functional as the rest of the building. There was no doorbell, but Daybreak had called ahead and left a message, and Ironwood was supposed to be expecting her in around two and a half minutes.

Daybreak found herself subconsciously glancing at every dark alleyway and boarded-up window. She wasn't quite in the shadow of the plate, but still, she wasn’t too happy about being made to wait outside in an area like this. She raised a hoof and banged it against the door, tentatively. The sound she made was so soft she could barely hear it herself, so she started pounding in earnest. This time, she thought she heard muffled shouting in response. "Hello?" she yelled back.

A faint whirring of machinery sounded from the other side. The top half of the door suddenly swung inwards, revealing the unsmiling face of a mare with a patchy white and tan coat. Her mane, tied back except for a single stray lock, was a the color of mossy tree bark after a downpour. "Afternoon,” she said with a little nod. “Need somethin'?"

"Hello!” Daybreak smiled and straightened her neck in an exaggerated show of politeness. “I’m Doctor Daybreak. I called ahead about an interview?"

"Sorry, I'm not lookin' for help just now." Ironwood's expression did not change. "Try comin' back when the busy season hits. Starts ‘round the beginning of fall..."

"Oh... I'm not looking for a job. I left you a voice message? It was—"

"I don't wear a headset while I work,” Ironwood interrupted. Except for her mouth, her face remained motionless. “So, you a journalist?"

"No, actually,” Daybreak said, licking her lips. “I'm, um, a professor at Shine—"

"Oh," Ironwood cut in again. "I got a call last week about that."

The top door suddenly closed in Daybreak's face. She heard a whirr of machinery again, a moment before the entire door swung inwards. The room beyond was awash with steely fluorescent light. "C'mon in," said Ironwood from behind the heavy door, her voice echoing in the cavernous space.

When Daybreak entered, she immediately understood how this building qualified as a farm. The place was lined with rows upon rows of identical planters, and multiple layers of catwalks crisscrossed the open air above their heads.

"Want the tour?" Ironwood asked, as Daybreak stood and took in the sights. The same whining of machinery sounded again, more distinctly this time, as Ironwood shut the door behind them.

"No, that's all right," Daybreak replied, turning to face her hostess. "I just need to—" she cut herself off with a poorly stifled gasp when she saw what she hadn't been able to through the top half of the door.

"I get that a lot," Ironwood replied irritably. "Is starin' at me part of why yer’ here? Can ya do that while I work?" There was a whirring sound as she crossed one foreleg in front of the other and leaned against the building's front wall. The tarnished chrome where two of Ironwood's limbs had once been glinted harshly in the warehouse's cold light. Worse, each leg ended in a three-pronged claw, flattened against the sufrace of its leg’s “hoof.” Daybreak had seen artificial limbs, but everypony in the Upper City wore delicate designs made for fashion as much as function. Ironwood's metal limbs looked like weapons—heavy machines grafted to her torso.

"Staring? No! I... Well... Yes? I think." Daybreak's natural pink desaturated a bit as she tried to defuse her own rudeness.

"You think?" Ironwood grunted.

"Um... well..." Daybreak withered under Ironwood's narrowed stare. "The study you’re part of is about extraordinary magic in individuals, so I just didn’t expect...” She spoke quickly, as if trying to get it all out before she lost her nerve. “It’s just, augmentation really destroys your aura, even though you might not notice it yourself being a Mundane and all. To a unicorn, it’s like you’re not... like you’re not completely alive." As soon as the last few words left her mouth, Daybreak regretted them.

"Yer callin’ me a freak," Ironwood sighed.

"I would never accuse... Well, but... No, it’s not quite like that," Daybreak said with a sigh. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to insult your decision. Of course it's your choice to do what you want with your body, but I’ve always believed that your natural body is something beautiful, to be cherished, so I just... I’m sorry." She hung her head.

Ironwood held her cross-legged stance as she watched Daybreak talk herself out again. "You got me all wrong." With another sigh that might’ve been either annoyed or just resigned, Ironwood nudged herself away from the wall. “Follow me,” she said, walking off towards the lift. “I can work and talk. Hear me out for a bit, an' you can ask me whatever you want afterwards.” Ironwood’s natural gait was interrupted by the sharp clack of her front “hooves” against the concrete floor. With Daybreak in tow, she made her way towards a lift in the corner of the main room.


Ironwood’s process in tending her crops was as methodical as might be expected from her setup. Laid along the catwalks were pathways of flattened cardboard boxes that served as carpeting between hoof and metal. Each planter was equipped with a tiny display and a set of dials and nozzles, which Ironwood manipulated with her artificial appendage. Daybreak noted that whenever Ironwood had to prune a plant or touch it in any way, she always used her nose and teeth, never her clawed forelegs.

As the two walked, Ironwood laid out her life story unflinchingly, perhaps trying to get it over with. When Ironwood was a filly, she worked with her parents on land that had belonged to her ancestors since the Old World. By the time she was an adolescent, the family had been forced to sell the business. Her father died of a stroke after a few years working in a factory, and her mother was various sorts of unemployable, so Ironwood found a construction job and moved to the city. The work was hard, but it paid very well, and Ironwood was able to save up while still sending a little home to her mother.

“Tha’s the year I lost my left foreleg,” she tossed over her shoulder to Daybreak, who was still following behind.

“Is that why you—”

“No,” Ironwood said firmly. “Forklift accident. Ended up amputated below the joint. One o’ those hook-legs worked fine. Even if I’d wanted a piece of chrome, it wasn’t worth the money to me.”

Daybreak didn’t reply, so Ironwood kept talking as she moved on down the row. They were high above the ground level now, and nearing a full lap back around to the lift. “Soon after that, I went ‘n busted that hook-leg. Got it caught in a lift that time. Stupid.”

“And then you—”

“No,” Ironwood sighed, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “What I did was get laid off. Insurance wouldn’t cover a replacement, workers’ comp wouldn’t give me leave, and the boss wouldn’t let me work on a leg held together by spit ‘n happy thoughts. I tried findin’ another job, but there ain't much of a job market for a three-legged workhorse. I thought I was screwed, an' then dear ol' Uncle Whitetail went and kicked it. He left me this place.”

“Most o’ this was done for me. UV lamps, walkways, sprinklers.” Ironwood tapped a hoof against one of the planters. “Was a great idea, I’da never thought of it, but the old man din’t know spit about plants. Myself...” She broke off talking as her head disappeared into an alcove. She came away with a mouthful of white flowers, which she promptly swallowed. “I know what I’m doin’ in here.”

She shrugged. “Guy was already gonna cut ‘n run, move on to somethin’ else. Luckiest break I ever saw in my life. He had clients too, people willin’ to pay out the flanks for organic, off-season, local, you know. His problem was, he put out a quarter the yield I do with the same setup.”

“So what about...” Daybreak’s eyes drifted down to Ironwood’s front legs again.

“I got ‘em so I could work this place by myself. Was either this or hobblin’ around on a peg-leg and havin’ to hire full time help.” For the first time since Daybreak had come in, Ironwood was smiling. “Loans’re almost paid now, and the place is runnin' better'n ever.”

“There ya have it then,” Ironwood said as she led Daybreak onto the lift and closed the gate. "Now what kinda questions—Oh for Mother's sake. I'm comin'!"

Daybreak stared in confusion for a moment, until she heard distant clanging—the sound of someone beating on the front door.

"Sorry,” Ironwood grumbled. “I’ll try to make this quick. I heard ya, goddammit!"

Ironwood took the lift down, then galloped for the door as soon as the gate opened and opened the top latch like she had for Daybreak. Whoever had been knocking, couldn’t be seen from Daybreak’s angle, and the warehouse's acoustics distorted the conversation, but when Ironwood raised her voice, her anger was unmistakable.

Daybreak trotted closer, and caught a glimpse of a midnight-colored pony wearing a cocky smirk. Their eye contact was brief, but the impression was made. Cybernetic spheres, cold and appraising, twinkled at Daybreak from underneath a disheveled black mane. Then Ironwood slammed the top door, and this time it wasn’t so she could let the visitor in.

“Who was that?” Daybreak asked innocently.

“Jus' some gutterpunk lookin’ for handouts.” Ironwood’s clenched jaw gave away her unease, even though her tone was dismissive.

Before Daybreak could say anything else, Ironwood suddenly turned to face her. “Anyway. Had enough of my life story yet or didja still need to ask questions?”

“Um, right!” Daybreak levitated her goggles out of her pack and affixed them to her face. She thought she saw Ironwood rolling her eyes as a long set of notes blurred to life.

“Have you ever been told that you have magical abilities by a professional?”

“Nope.”

Well, that eliminated half the list. “Has a professional ever told you that your aura is unusual?”

“Listen, the last one to look at my aura was a pediatrician who happened to have a horn on his head. But the answer’s no, I guess.”

Daybreak bit back a comment about that—no point in lecturing Ironwood about the fact that only a quarter of all unicorns were able to read auras. Besides, it was becoming clear that Ironwood didn’t have useful answers to any of the prepared questionnaire. “I suppose I’ll just see for myself,” Daybreak said tactfully. “Give me a moment.”

With a toss of her mane, Daybreak delicately lifted her goggles from her face, then tucked them into her pack. With a deep, cleansing breath, she locked eyes with Ironwood...

The world dissolved into mist as Daybreak forced her senses to reject the physical world and show her only the world of thrumming, living energy. Ironwood’s natural magic, even despite her grotesque forelegs, burned against the cold silence of the building and the weak glow of the plants. There was a fire to Ironwood that sang beautifully to Daybreak's inner eye. Yes, she would classify Ironwood as an “extraordinary” individual. How could such power live in the heart of a Mundane, and an augmented one besides? Daybreak would've expected anypony with an aura like this to—

Daybreak's musings were interrupted by a deafening sound, like a balloon the size of a small room being popped. The shock jarred her from her trancelike state, and she reeled from the sensation of being forced back into the mortal world. The first thing Daybreak noticed was the fact that Ironwood looked angry and was trying to tell her something. Had there been an accident?

Ironwood leaned forward to snap a command directly into Daybreak’s face. “You need to move, pony girl!”

More distinctly this time, Daybreak heard a rapid, high-pitched popping sound from outside the building. Then came a sharp bang as something struck the metal door. Fireworks, Daybreak thought sleepily. It sounded like the strings of firecrackers she used to light with her father on Hearthwarming Night.

“I’ll follow you,” Daybreak said drowsily, trotting up to Ironwood now that she was nearly able to see straight. They took off at a run, with Ironwood occasionally looking over her shoulder to yell things. Daybreak couldn’t understand a word, mostly because of the distracting racket coming from outside.

At some point they reached a side room, which looked like it had been set up as an office. Ironwood roughly ushered Daybreak in, reared, and wound up to slam the door.

“Wait!” a nearby voice cried over the noise. “Let me in there too!”

Ironwood’s expression was enough to put modern cutting lasers to shame. “You,” she snarled back as she saw who was making the request.

Daybreak’s eyes widened as she made eye contact with Ironwood’s visitor for the second time. The dark blue-green pony had a pair of coldly glimmering cybereyes, a pure black mane that sported an iridescent beetle-shell stripe, and a pair of wings that glistened with chromed implants. This time, though, the visitor’s expression was a sheepish grin instead of a mocking smirk. “Please?”

Ironwood opened her mouth to answer, then shut her mouth and snapped her head towards the entrance side of the warehouse at the sound of a horrible crash and a burst of gunfire that sounded distinctly less muffled than before.

“Crap, they’re inside!” The visitor licked her lips, then grit her teeth as she turned her back to Daybreak and Ironwood. “Stay here, I’ll take care of this!”


The Old World did not disappear; it slept. Those born in the so-called Fifth Age lived in a time without pegasus wings or unicorn horns, true, but not one without magic. A form of magic older than ponykind itself still hummed under the surface of the world. It seeped like a gas through cracks in the pavement blanketing the earth; it shone like a bright light through gaps in the ponies' daily facades.

Ponies today fail to recognize this truth about magic. The fact is, there is precious little difference between an Awakened pony's magic and that of a so-called Mundane. Of this, Ironwood is a living example.

Of all my little ones, I always suspected that she would stay closest to her origins when the time came for her to awaken. I am not saddened by the choices she has made concerning her wholeness of body. Her life has not been easy, but she bears her burdens with dignity and even a kind of pride, just as she always has.