Total Conversion Bureau - Divine Salvation

by Dropbear


Oh, A Convertin' We Will Go!


“More tea, Princess?”

Celestia turned away from the setting sun, a smile on her face while she nodded at the servant, Refined Taste. The middle-aged stallion levitated the pearl-white teapot over Celestia’s matching cup, a stream of brown tea soon filling it. A spoonful of sugar later and the beverage was complete, the tan-coated servant bowing his head before retreating with the empty pot in his blue magic field.

Her magic lifting the cup to her lips, Celestia sighed and sat back on her cushion. She found it incredibly relaxing, staying out on her bedroom balcony and watching this world’s sun set by itself. It almost helped her forget the problems of ruling a domain no longer populated by millions, but now billons.

Two months ago, she had succeeded in unifying the suffering humans of the planet, giving them pony forms and freeing them from their own destructive nature and ails. Now, with longer lives, crime and violence-free living conditions, a shared purpose, and a planet wiped clean of pollution and signs of their past suffering, they could finally live in true happiness.

Celestia’s smile faltered a little, remembering some of the reports she had been hearing over the past few weeks. It seemed like the planet was resilient, a number of settlers and explorers losing their lives to vast jungles and forests that had remained untouched by the long-gone barrier.

While most humans had accepted conversion once the barrier had begun to expand, a few had fought to the last. The toll those humans had wreaked was already rivalled by the planet itself, with a few places being labelled as no-go zones due to their danger to pony life.

Celestia still shuddered whenever she heard the name of ‘Australia’.

Pushing the thought of that death-trap out of her mind, she took another sip of soothing tea. Managing six and a half billion ponies was difficult, even with the help of her student and her ministers. Adding to the vastly increased population was the attitude of the majority of the Canterlot nobility, a few even going so far to treat the newfoals as second class citizens. If it wasn’t for the newfoals’ general bliss and happiness, Celestia would’ve taken harsh action. Ponykind had worked hard for months to save humanity, a few spoilt nobles wasn’t going to ruin that.

“Sister?”

Celestia grinned and looked to her left, Luna walking out onto the balcony.

“Luna, have you come to watch the sunset with me?”

“It is indeed pretty,” Luna replied, shaking her head when Celestia gestured to a spare white cushion beside her. “I’m afraid that I cannot stay. I have been requested to attend a meeting of the Nocturne leaders at Nightcrest, they are concerned about the recent influx of newfoals in their city.”

“Of course,” Celestia answered, slightly disappointed that Luna did not have the time to relax like she did. The bat-ponies had been a constant voice against the widespread conversion, stating that the increased numbers would lead to food issues. She also suspected that they were afraid of the newfoals, although why she couldn’t figure out. Still, they looked up to Luna greatly and gave her confidence, so Celestia was willing to overlook their repeated petitions to have the newfoals relocated. She wasn’t going to move anypony, but she decided to send Nightcrest increased food supplies in an attempt to lay their concerns to rest.

“I promise to be back as soon as I can,” Luna replied, giving her sister a brief nuzzle. “After all, you need all the help you can get.”

“I think I’m managing,” Celestia chuckled, returning the nuzzle. “Have a safe flight.”

“I am not even leaving Equestria,” Luna shot back with mock hurt. “I can fly to a city without falling afoul of this wicked planet.”

“Okay, I believe you, good luck with the Nocturnes.”

“They will be fine, I hold sway over them after all.” The clacking of shoe on stone rang out, Luna walking back into the palace. “Goodbye sister, I’ll ensure to hurry back as soon as possible so you do not need to alert the nanny.”

Celestia giggled, Luna never failing to amuse her. Turning back to the view, she sighed and drained her cup. Despite some setbacks, everything was going fine, and everypony was happy.

Nothing could change it, and that filled Celestia with a warm joy.


The inside of the gigantic prayer hall was silent, save for the faint muttering from a figure kneeling in front of a marble statue base with no statue on top.

High Confessor Dietrich Von Schreiber finished his evening prayers, and stood up to walk over to the altar. He was still armoured in his black battle armour, it being a custom for all Mortisum High Confessors to wear battle dress to the services they performed. Candles burned and holy relics rested in the finely sculpted alcoves that dotted the armour, Dietrich looking more like a walking church than a human.

He retrieved his tall helmet from the altar, having removed it to say his final prayers for the day. With a hiss, it sealed around his neck and the red optics lit up, lines of scripture and information dancing across his vision simultaneously.

The evening service to the thousands of members serving on the United Imperium of Planets military base had gone off without a hitch, Dietrich having delivered a flawless performance over the two hours. Surely the Lord would be pleased with him spreading his word to the faithful with such passion.

He began the task of preparing the hall for the night, ensuring that the candles on the altar stayed lit. From altar to statue base he moved, ensuring that nothing was out of place. Stepping up to the large, black podium once again, Dietrich glanced out across the hall.

Hundreds of rows of seats reached back towards the rear of the huge room, paintings of glorious scenes of battle and valour hung up around the grey walls. Everything was lit by candle light, lending the area an eerie atmosphere that was suitable for a place intended for worship of the dead and the Lord that gave and took life at a whim. His armoured fingers resting on the edges of the podium, Dietrich felt a burning fire kindle to life inside of him.

Ever since he was young, he had desired to be a preacher just like his father before him. Upon completion of his compulsory four years of military service, Dietrich had joined the Mortisum Cult clergy without a second thought. War had taught him that death was not to be feared, but to be seen as a gateway to eternal reward. As such, it was his duty to spread the appreciation of death and celebration of life to those who would hear him.

Luckily for him, the Mortisum Cult was the primary religion of the UIP, so he rarely lacked listeners for his sermons.

Dietrich’s right hand brushed the heavy tome chained to his side, the fingers running over the smooth brown surface of the holy book. It was covered with holy signs and ornate gold trim, the leather protecting the precious pages within. His father had been so proud of him, after he had been accepted into the Cult as a simple priest.

The fact that he had even requested his skin to be used to bound his son’s holy tome, while on his deathbed, still touched Dietrich’s heart to this day.

“No time for reminiscing now,” Dietrich murmured to himself, giving the rows of empty seats a final look before returning back to the altar. With a practiced eye, he ever so carefully rearranged the relics set upon it. Holy books, ceremonial incense and silver icons of dead saints were set back into their proper places, Dietrich treating them like a firstborn child.

A golden glow from a side door caught his eye, Dietrich turning in surprise. It lead to the Ossa Domus, the most sacred place in the entire hall. No one but priests above the rank of Confessor were allowed to enter, but the door was open and there seemed to be activity inside.

Dietrich slowly approached a chest to the side of the room and crouched down, his large armoured frame reaching out to grab two objects from within it. He grabbed his handheld flamethrower in one hand, the grey, pistol-like weapon’s pilot light igniting with a clear blue flame.

In his other hand he clutched his symbol of office, the large mace that also served to display his holy rank of High Confessor. The ebony shaft and leering skull head lit up with a green glow, a glow that was sicking to look at for all but those pure of faith in the one God. His two weapons had served him well during his time on the battlefields, administering sermons to lift the spirits of the troops while administering the final mercy to fallen allies and enemies alike.

Whether believer or heretic, all deserved the comfort that God provided in their last moments.

Suitably armed, Dietrich uttered a quick prayer of courage to the Lord before advancing in the door, intent to investigate the unusual occurrence. He was the only High Confessor on the base at the moment, and if anyone lower than him entered than it was considered heresy. Dietrich was confident that none of his congregation would ever dare to risk their souls with such a foolish endeavour, however if it wasn’t a member of the base then it was an external presence.

Dietrich had encountered all forms of beings, some of which only made him grateful that he had his faith to protect him.

Walking up to the doors, his armoured boots tapping on the stone, he noticed that the numerous locks and chains designed to bare entry to those unworthy were unlocked. Not sheared off, not bashed, but unlocked. Dietrich quickly checked his key ring, the set of twenty archaic keys still hanging from his waist. Glancing back at the open doors, Dietrich stepped forwards towards the light.

He entered a corridor that would be considered morbid to most, lined with onyx-black marble and covered with murals of death and all of its forms. Candles and the abnormal light guided him down the passageway, his powered armour hissing slightly when he reached the end door. A solid golden glow shined out from the frame, despite the solid iron door being airtight.

Dietrich was slightly disturbed now, the entire situation getting more and more suspicious by the minute. He took a moment to strengthen his resolve, praying to the Holy Lord before grabbing his key ring.

Silver chain jingled slightly when he lifted the ring up, Dietrich selecting the smallest key. It was a simple metal key externally, but in truth it was laden with many wards and holy enchantments designed to ensure its condition and safety. He inserted it into a small, hidden lock in the middle of the door, the solid iron barrier swinging inwards a soon as the key was removed.

The glow intensified, Dietrich’s helmet optics adjusting to enable him to see. Around the room were numerous suits of holy armour just like his, covered with scripture inscribed with silver ink. The remnants of priests past maintained a silent vigil, twenty-four sets of the armour standing up against the circular wall. In the centre of the room, surrounded by twenty-five caskets, was a more ornate set of armour.

Dietrich slowly approached the glowing set of holy protection, the particular armour having belonged to an arch-bishop long since passed. The warm glow was coming from within, beckoning him closer. He found himself sheathing his weapons at his side, Dietrich reaching out an armoured hand and walking towards the anomaly.

Rather than dread at the unusual sight, he instead felt calmer than he ever had in his life. He drew closer, all thoughts of the repercussions of touching such a revered relic gone.

His fingers touched the armoured breastplate, his own armour tingling with energy. The glow intensified, and for a second Dietrich though that he felt the presence of another, far greater being in the room with him.

A flash enveloped the room, the iron door slamming shut by itself.

When the glow faded, Dietrich was gone. No sign remained of the priest, and the only sound in the room was rapid dripping.
The helmets of the surrounding suits of armour wept blood from their optics, despite not having been worn in centuries.


Dietrich blinked his eyes, his vision black despite his helmet’s advanced optics. His suit informed him that it was rather hot, nothing near the cold climate of the Ossa Domus that he was in just a moment ago. Realising that he was on the ground, and remembering his previous action, Dietrich sat up and glanced around.

He was in the middle of a desert, nothing but sand dunes and the occasional cacti around him. He stood up; making sure that no sand had gotten into his holy items and defiled their sanctity. Finding everything to be in good condition, he focused back on the task at hand.

‘I appear to have been transported to another planet,’ Dietrich mused while he surveyed his surroundings. He recalled no deserts on the heavily-fortified military word that he had been present on, and his armour was not picking up any of the communication signals that dominated the atmosphere of UIP worlds. His fingers tingled, causing Dietrich to glance down at his armoured digits.

‘God must have sent me here to perform a task,’ he thought, a grin appearing on his face under the helmet. ‘I am truly blessed!’

“Thank you Lord!” he praised, dropping to his knees. “I will not fail you; I will prove myself worthy of your trust!” He stayed kneeling in the sand for a few minutes, continuing to utter praise and give thanks for the divine mission that he had received. A beep from his armour broke him from his prayers, the temperature rising while the late morning sun rose in the sky. This presented two problems.

Firstly, the planet that his current parish was located on was in a binary star system, meaning that he was certainly on a different planet. The second issue was that his leather-bound holy book was not suited to direct sunlight, and risking such an item would be heresy of the highest order! Grasping his tome in both hands, the silver chain that bound it to him clinking against his armour, Dietrich searched around for shade.

He found none in the visible area, so he did the next best thing. He chose a random direction and began to walk, his armour supplying him with cool air and live-giving fluids.

“Oh Lord, how glorious your majesty is, your power plain to see!”

Dietrich sang praise as he journeyed, his boots stomping to the sand and his heart filling with joy.

“Our wonderful God, benevolent and wise! Even when our breath leaves our lungs, you watch over us and smile! We sing your name with glorious joy, and you beam back down at our faith so strong!”

His hymns kept him company for the journey, the time passing by quickly. With his own survival concerns overridden by his fervour, Dietrich never stopped or rested. The sun reached the middle of the sky, before it began to descend. Soon, it was set to dip behind the horizon, so Dietrich broke out of his singing to take stock of his situation.

“Lord, guide us with your hand,” he finished, standing on top of a dune to search for a place to shelter for the night. While he was happy to continue walking, his equipment would need rest from the sand that constantly tried to invade it.

“Thank you Lord!” Dietrich gushed, spotting a small cave set into a rocky hill that was covered with sand. “It shall make a fine shelter!” With a faith-powered spring in his step, Dietrich advanced on the cave, humming merrily as he did so. He reached it just as the sun set, the temperature beginning to quickly drop.

The opening was large enough to enable him to enter without ducking, even with his cylindrical helmet and armour-boosted height. His helmet optics adjusted for the low-light conditions, and his boots clacked on the rocky ground while he advanced deeper. With tome in hand and faith in heart, he fearlessly strode forwards past stalactite and stalagmite alike.

‘Hmm, what’s this?’ Dietrich mentally questioned, upon noticing a soft glow up ahead. ‘Someone else already occupies my shelter?’

Taking a moment to ensure that his armour’s alcoves were free of sand, and that his items and objects of his office were presentable, he continued on and prepared to meet possible converts.

The cavern he emerged into was large, his footsteps echoing off the grey, rocky walls. He looked towards the source of the glow, a small campfire blazing with the smoke disappearing deeper towards the back of the cave. It was not the fire that interested him; however, it was the ten pairs of wide, solid-blue eyes that stared at him in fear. Dietrich observed the black quadrupled creatures, looking like the spawn of a terran horse and an insect.

There were six large creatures, which Dietrich assumed were adults, and four smaller ones. All had short curved horns on their foreheads, thin-looking insect wings and grey-black tails. Also of note were the holes that dotted their limbs, gaps where he could see the background through the black chitin. Seeing their fear, Dietrich let his tome dangle at his side, and held his arms out to the sides with his palms open.

“Do not fear, strange creatures,” he reassured, not even considering that they may not speak English in his haste to make introductions. “I am High Confessor Dietrich Von Schreiber, and I merely seek shelter for myself and my holy relics. I wish you no harm, and I hope that you share that sentiment towards me.”

Dietrich waited, smiling at the creatures but forgetting that his helmet was on so the gesture was pointless. Luckily for him, the beings seemed to understand him, the six adults whispering to each other before one faced him and raised an ebony hoof.

“You… won’t hurt us?” she asked, a slight buzz sounding when she pronounced the ‘s’. Dietrich was a little concerned that they thought so ill of him. Whatever did he do to establish that image?

“You have my word as a man of God,” he answered, the creatures returning to their whispering. The female that had spoken before nodded, and looked at Dietrich warily.

“Okay, feel free to take a seat around the fire,” she glanced at the small pile of wood, knowing it would not last the night. “It’s a bit small though.”

“It is of no bother,” Dietrich replied with a joyful tone. “Your hospitality is more than enough warmth for me, may the good Lord bless you.” He settled down upon the cold stone, sitting upon a smooth rock near the fire. The creatures sharing the cave with him continued to watch him, the female’s fear being partly replaced with confusion.

“Um… thanks, I think?”

“Those who provide the servants of the true God with assistance earn my respect, even if you are all heathens.” He settled down and opened his tome, preparing to pass the time by reading his scriptures. But first, acquainting himself with his fellow cave-sharers was in order. He glanced at the female, and for some reason the creature shied away from his gaze. “May I ask the name of the one brave enough to speak to me?”

She gulped; her fellows glancing at her while Dietrich’s stare remained.

“It’s Seraph.”


Seraph stared at the creature that had asked her name, the strange biped sitting down opposite her group. The nymphs remained quiet while Haze, Chitter, Cion, Double and Swift Swap continued to whisper to each other. The visitor was the topic, Seraph able to hear that they thought he was a ‘human’, a creature that the Equestrians had driven extinct with the same method that they had used on her own hive. How many changelings from Chrysalis’ swarm were left was unknown, but it was likely that they were the only ones remaining.

If he was indeed a ‘human’, then her caution was wise. They hadn’t heard much about the outside world once they had gone into hiding, but they did know that the humans had resisted the most out of the species converted which included the Griffons, Minotaurs, Diamond Dogs and Dragons.

The creature in front of her appeared to be focused on his large book, the ‘man’ murmuring to himself as he gazed upon the pages. Seraph used the time to examine him further, her eyes scanning his intimidating form.

He looked more like a walking religious shrine than a creature, what Seraph assumed was black armour covered with alcoves filled with candles and other strange objects. The armour itself was decorated with lines of words in an unknown language, written with silver ink. Silver chains and small skulls were dotted around the figure’s form, and there were numerous runes and pictures drawn on the shoulders and chest with red ink.

Or at least what she hoped was red ink.

Attached to his side were a multitude of strange objects, but the two that stood out were a large mace and a long, grey stick that seemed to have some kind of tank underneath it with pipes and tubing running into the main body. Both items bore skulls and more lines of silver words, indicating that they were important somehow.

“Seraph,” Cion whispered, the other changeling glancing at the biped and flicking her tail nervously. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

“Yeah,” Swift Swap joined in while he poked a stray twig back into the fire. “He’s… kind of strange. Also, what if the Equestrians are looking for him? If they find him, then we’ll get converted as well.”

Seraph shuddered at that thought, reminded of the fate that befell the rest of the hive, including the Queen. Non-royal Changelings only lived to an age of fifty years, the highest recorded, and while becoming a pony upped that to two-hundred and eliminated the need to feed on love, the loss of who you were was something that Seraph couldn’t bear to think about. She may have been just a drone, meant to preform basic tasks, but the pony newfoals were just plain creepy.

Another thing was that while newfoals were in a permanent state of happiness, any love from them tasted… wrong, and wasn’t fit for eating. She didn’t know how long the group of ten would last, normal Equestrians too changeling-savvy to fool after the failed Canterlot invasion. With no love, they had to try and survive off normal food, and even that was sparse.

“I don’t think they’re looking for him,” she whispered back, accidently bumping Chitter and earning a grunt from him. She gave him an apologetic look, and he went back to staring at the biped. “If they were, I don’t think he’d be as happy as he is. Also, he called us ‘creatures’, so he probably doesn’t know about changelings.”

“But after the Canterlot invasion everyone knew about changelings” Haze hissed, a regretful tinge to her voice. “Even the humans knew about us, before they all got converted.”

“Then where did he come from then?” Double contributed, flicking his ears towards the biped.

“I don’t know,” Seraph whispered back. “Still, maybe he’ll be able to help us get some food.” All six looked down at their stomachs, grimacing at their skinny forms.

“I’m not seducing him, no way,” Cion informed after a short silence, Seraph rolling her eyes at the former Infiltrator’s statement.

“I don’t think he’d go for that,” she reassured, glancing at the biped again and finding that he was still engrossed in his book. “He seems far more interested in that book of his. That’s not what I’m talking about though; maybe we can use him as bait to draw in an Equestrian.”

All six adults mulled over the plan, the two youngest nymphs chirping for food while the older pair sat in silence. Seraph sighed and rubbed the head of closest one, remembering that is was her turn to go out and search for something to eat in the morning. Suddenly, Chitter did something unexpected and stood up, walking over towards the biped.

“What are you reading?” he inquired, much to the shock of his fellows. The biped looked up from his book, his piercing red eyes causing Chitter to flinch.

“I am reading the Holy Book of Mortisum; this one is my own personal copy.” Chitter tilted his head at the information, and reached out a hoof to touch the huge book.

‘What is he doing!?’ Seraph thought to herself, frozen to the spot. She and the other four watched on in horror while Chitter ran his hoof over the spine, such was the size of the book that his entire hoof was on the spine at once.

“Touching a Holy Book while being a non-worshiper is considered heresy,” the biped informed, Chitter quickly withdrawing it. “I’ll let you off this time however, don’t worry. I served my required time as a missionary, so I can understand that you didn’t know.”

“Thanks,” Chitter replied with a relieved sigh, his eyes moving from the large mace at the biped’s side towards the book. “What’s that cover made from? It feels nice, um, Confessor?”

“High Confessor Dietrich Von Schreiber.”

“Oh,” Chitter mumbled after the correction. “So, it’s made from…?”

“Chitter, leave him alone,” Seraph finally found the courage to speak up. Chitter withdrew and returned to the camp fire, sitting down with a huff. Dietrich watched him, Seraph giving the High Confessor an apologetic smile. “Sorry about him, he’s always asked a lot of questions.”

“It’s of no bother,” Dietrich responded with warmth in his voice. He left his rock and moved over to the side of the cave, gracefully managing to knell down in his armour while facing the wall. All the changelings watched with confusion while he began to murmur to himself again, his head bowed.

“Are you okay?” Seraph asked, receiving a nod from the High Confessor.

“I am saying my evening prayers to the Lord. You are welcome to join me, Miss Seraph.”

The offer caught her off guard. He wanted her to pray to his god with him? While she was confused, at the same time she appreciated the offer.

“No, thank you. I’m afraid that it might be disrespectful.” She winced at her weak excuse, but thankfully he left it go and returned to staring at the wall. The murmuring restarted, none of the others keen to interrupt him again. All of them shared unsure glances, before it eventually was forgotten and they returned to their normal conversations.


Dietrich stood up, having finished his two hours of prayers. His armour’s chains jingled while he walked back to the dying fire, and he sat back down upon his rock.

His strange companions ceased their talking, seeming to be uncomfortable around him. He quickly dismissed the concern; after all, he did acknowledge that he was probably an oddity to them. Humming to himself, Dietrich opened a waist compartment of his armour, and withdrew a most holy item.

His post-evening prayer sandwich.

He had forgotten to eat it before in all the confusion, but at least he had it now. Technically, it was two sandwiches, but he just thought of it as double the holy sustenance in one plastic wrapped package. He unwrapped it and offered a brief prayer for the food, before he heard a chirp from the other side of the camp fire.

Looking up from his food, he saw that every single one of the creatures was staring at his two sandwiches, with the four small ones sniffing the air. It was then that he noticed just how thin they seemed, even if he wasn’t familiar with their species.

“Would you like to share in my post-prayer meal?” he offered, the female named Seraph hesitantly shaking her head.

“No, it’s okay, we didn’t pray with you after all, and you shouldn’t waste it on us.” Despite her polite decline, Dietrich could see the hunger in her eyes. Remembering his teacher’s advice that ‘the easiest way to win faith with the faithless, is to provide them with proof of its rewards’, he decided to press the issue.

“I insist, after all you allowed me to share your fire.” Dietrich placed the sandwiches on a rock, and retrieved a small, ornate knife from his waist. It was supposed to be used to cut candles to the correct holy length before services, but over the years he had found that it made a fine sandwich slicer. With care, and all eyes upon him, Dietrich cut each square sandwich into five pieces. Finished, he put his knife away and held up a piece in his hand. “Who wishes to take the first one?”

Each of the adults glanced at each other, unwilling to be the first to take the offered food. They were saved, in a way, when one of the nymphs approached Dietrich without a shred of fear. The High Confessor watched the youngster with interest , holding the slice out towards it. The child stopped and opened its jaws, showing him a mouth filled with small, sharp teeth with two fangs each on the upper and lower jaw.

Dietrich chuckled when it sniffed and took the sandwich piece from him with its mouth, the creature sitting back down on its rump while it used its small hooves to hold the food in place while it nibbled.

“What’s in it?” one of the adults asked, Dietrich not yet knowing their name.

“It contains the most holy combination of fillings: Divine ham, blessed pickles, and righteous cheese. I assembled the sustenance myself on the very same table that Saint Celina prepared her own post-prayer sandwiches on, making them truly sanctified sandwiches.” Dietrich paused, a thought occurring to him. “You can eat meat, I assume?” He glanced towards the feasting child; it evidently had no problem with the presence of ham.

“We can eat meat,” Seraph answered with a small grimace. “It’s just not seen as a good thing.”

“I assure you that my ham is sourced from farms blessed by the good Lord himself,” Dietrich reassured with a confident nod. “The pigs are raised in accordance with holy practices, and the particular brand I get my ham from even play them sermons in their pens! How holier can you get without getting a Cardinal to bless a pig, but that’s a moot point. Eat, and enjoy the bounty that God has provided us with.”

The adults didn’t seem convinced at the consecrated ham that he was offering, but one by one they approached. Pieces were passed around to all, and soon only Seraph and Dietrich were left without a sandwich slice to enjoy. Seraph looked up at him, her raised hoof lowering.

“You should have it,” she stated. “It’s your food after all; I’ll eat something in the morning.”

Dietrich would have none of that, he wasn’t about to lose a potential convert to such a trivial thing as starvation.

“Nonsense, you are in more need than I,” he replied, Seraph’s stomach rumbling to help his point. “The act of giving it to you will be far more sustenance than needed for me, and the Lord will be pleased with my charity.” All the other changelings looked towards Seraph, Dietrich awaiting her reply.

“I… no, I can’t,” she tried, before his unending gaze caused her to give in. Dietrich smiled in his helmet when she sighed and took the piece in her forehooves, Seraph sitting down so that she could consume the morsel.

“How about, in repayment, you all introduce yourselves and tell me about your people?” Dietrich was interested in finding out how many potential converts were on the planet. Did the Lord send him here to show these rather nice creatures the path to enlightenment? It was incredibly likely, so he needed information to properly carry out a missionary attempt.

“I’m Swift Swap,” one of the creatures introduced, pausing his eating.

“Chitter.”

“Haze.”

“Double.”

“Cion.”

After all had stated their names, Dietrich turned to the smaller four. “And what about you, little ones?”

“They aren’t named yet,” Seraph informed between chews. “It is traditionally the honour of the Queen to name nymphs, but after she was converted by the ponies we haven’t seen her, so I guess that we’ll have to do it when they mature.” Seraph glanced down towards the largest children, the two laying down after finishing their pieces. “These two are almost old enough for a name, so we’ll have to think of something. I don’t think any other changelings are left, so it’s just us.”

Dietrich nodded, going over the information that he had received. It seemed as if these ‘ponies’ were converting creatures as well, something that he couldn’t allow. By converting them to a different religion not endorsed by the Cult, they were damning souls to a lesser afterlife! It was obvious to him now, the Lord had sent him to change the ways of this planet’s inhabitants and thusly grant them entrance into the afterlife with all of the deserving faithful!

“This ponies you speak of, are they nearby?”

“There’s a town called ‘Appleoosa’ an hour’s walk from here, towards the west. That’s just the closest one though, the ponies are all over the planet.” Seraph paused in her explanation to lick her lips clear of any leftover crumbs. “You shouldn’t go and talk to the ponies, they don’t like humans or changelings.”

“Ah, so you know what species I am?” Dietrich asked, delighted that he might not have to answer all sorts of questions about humans. It would cut into his prayer time.

“Yeah, we do,” the changeling named Cion nodded while answering for Seraph. Dietrich smiled, however the changelings only saw the same, grilled faceplate that was part of his helmet. He noticed that the fire was nearly out, and that his companions were all starting to yawn.

“Well, I think that’s enough questions for now,” he said, Chitter getting up and moving over towards the cave mouth. “Are you leaving?”

“I have to keep watch for the night,” the changeling answered while letting out a yawn. “We don’t want the ponies to come in the night and drag us away for conversion.”

Dietrich left his rock and followed him, Chitter pausing.

“You should rest, I’ll keep watch for these ponies you fear so much. Besides, I have some reading I need to catch up on.” Chitter glanced down to the tome at Dietrich’s side, before looking back up at the High Confessor.

“But how will you read in the dark? Thank you for the offer, but it is my turn to watch-“

“Nonsense,” Dietrich cut in. “I will be able to see fine, and I am the intruder upon your cave after all. I have often spent my nights reading the holy passages, this one will be no different.” He once again smiled down uselessly at the changeling, Chitter shifting on his hooves.

“If he wants to take your watch, let him,” Haze suggested, joining the others as they lay down upon the floor. “You can make up for it by helping Seraph look for food in the morning.”

“Fine,” Chitter relented, giving Dietrich a thankful smile before he moved back to his fellow changelings. Dietrich nodded, his task complete, before he left the ten and departed down the tunnel leading to the mouth of the cave.

Soon the only sounds were his boots on rock, Dietrich quickly reaching the cave exit. He emerged into the night air, still refreshing despite the numerous cleaners and processers that filtered the air into his suit. He chose a spot on a nice, flat rock, the desert quiet save for the whistling of the wind.

Opening his tome on his lap, he took a moment to reflect upon his circumstances.

He had been assigned a holy mission, direct from God himself. Why else would he provide him divine transport to another planet, untouched by his hand? Dietrich realised that he had already been blessed with ten potential converts, and he was certain that he was making ground with them. The sharing of food and conversation was just the beginning, soon he would start telling them about the word of God and how he can offer them the acceptance that they seemed to be lacking.

A smile on his face, Dietrich turned his tome’s pages before stopping at a particular passage focusing on the danger of damnation and the reward of faith in the Lord.

In the morning, he had a pony town to convert.


Seraph snorted, lifting her head from the cold ground and buzzing her wings. She let out a yawn, blinked her eyes and stood up to stretch her legs. Seeing that everyone else was still sleeping, she carefully moved over towards Chitter and nudged his side with a foreleg.

“What?” he grumbled, having far more difficulty than her with waking up.

“Come on, we’ve got to get food and wood, remember? And keep your voice down, don’t wake the others.”

“Alright, alright,” he gave in, slowly and shakily getting to his hooves. “I swear, you’re a harsher taskmaster than Chrysalis used to be.” Both were silent for a few seconds, remembering the fate of the Queen. Thankfully, they hadn’t been in the hive when it had happened.

“Let’s just get going,” Seraph huffed, carefully stepping around the four nymphs that were huddled together on the floor. Chitter followed her, both moving past the remains of the long-gone fire and heading into the tunnel leading to the exit.

“So, this ‘High Confessor’,” Chitter began once they ran no risk of waking the others. “Can we trust him?”

“He gave us food and talked to us, that’s more than most would do. Plus he seems friendly, so I think we can.” Seraph stopped walking when she felt a hoof on her shoulder, Chitter gazing at her with a serious expression.

“Are you sure we can trust him, though? I mean, we’re possibly the last changelings left, and that’s not a great number with only ten of us and no royalty. What if it’s an act and he’s just waiting for us to let down our guard so he can wipe us out? Look at him, he’s covered with skulls and I saw his book, it had pictures of skeletons and other things about death. Do we want to let something like that stay here, if he plans to stay?”

Seraph remained silent for a few moments, before replying to him. “Chitter, what do you think we look like to ponies and other races?”

“Monsters,” Chitter answered, slowly getting what Seraph was driving at.

“That’s right. Now, are we all evil because of how we look?”

“No, we’re not.”

“So there you go,” Seraph nodded. “Just because he looks evil, doesn’t mean that he is evil. Also, that’s only his armour, we haven’t seen what he actually looks like. Who knows, maybe humans look just like ponies, with all of that colourful fur.”

This brought a smile to Chitter’s face, Seraph glad that she had managed to ease his fears about their visitor. While the High Confessor was indeed strange, he was in the same boat as them, so to speak. He had only treated them with respect so far, despite them being heathens to him, and Seraph knew that in the days before the conversion the changelings wouldn’t have been nearly as nice to him as he was acting now.

They needed all of the allies that they could get. It was either work together, starvation or conversion. None of the latter answers appealed to her, so working together seemed right in her mind.

“Come on, food and firewood won’t find themselves,” she reminded, Chitter staring to walk again. The pair reached the cave mouth just in time to see the sunrise, and Seraph looked around for Dietrich. “High Confessor?” she called out, receiving no reply in return.

“Hey Seraph, you might want to see this.”

Seraph approached Chitter, the fellow drone staring at a flat rock. Upon reaching it, she noticed that a piece of parchment was upon it, held down with a small rock. Lines of words in an unknown language were written upon it with black ink, a crude image of what she assumed was Dietrich holding out his book while shouting at ponies in front of him drawn at the bottom.

“Oh no,” she murmured, hoping that he didn’t do what she thought he had done. “Surely not…”

“Look down,” Chitter told her, just as surprised as she was. Seraph did as he said, and it was then that she noticed the pair of footsteps in the sand.

A trail of footsteps that were heading west, right where she had said Appleoosa was.

“What do we do?” Chitter asked, nervously buzzing his wings.

Seraph bit her lip while she mulled over their choices. They could leave and find food and firewood as planned, or they could go and stop Dietrich before he was turned into a newfoal. She still felt like she owed him more for his sharing of his food, and he might even be a way for them to survive a little longer. If he knew of any other humans, something she forgot to ask the previous night, then they might even be willing to take in their desperate group of ten.

“We have to help him,” she decided, following the High Confessor’s large footsteps. Chitter surprisingly didn’t object, and the two started their journey into the desert. They couldn’t risk discovery by flying, so it was a long and tiring trip ahead of them.

Seraph hoped that they managed to reach Dietrich before he found the town; she shuddered to think of what the ponies would do to the friendly human.


Braeburn jolted out of his bed at a knocking on his door, the yellow sheets becoming tangled in his haste to leave.

“Darn it!” he yelled when he landed on the wooden floor with a thump. He grumbled and removed his hind legs from their fabric prison, finally succeeding in standing up to begin his morning. “I’ll be one second!” He quickly rushed to the mirror, slipped on his vest, grabbed his hat from its stand and then hurried out of his bedroom to open the front door.

He was greeted with the town sheriff, Silverstar, and this caused Braeburn to roll his eyes.

“Are some of the townsponies complaining about the newfoals again?” he asked, some of the settlers not being too keen about their new helpers. As the town greeter and unofficial go-to stallion, Braeburn often found himself solving the town disputes. The newfoals were a prevalent theme in these arguments, with a few ponies not trusting the newcomers.

Sure, they were a little overenthusiastic with proclaiming their love for Princess Celestia, Equestria, and everypony as a whole, but he knew they didn’t mean any harm. Being out in Appleoosa, Braeburn didn’t really experience the conversation of either their home world or this one apart from the barrier, until the five-hundred newfoals had been assigned to Appleoosa to help with the apple farms.

The Buffalo were another issue entirely, relations having soured between them. Somehow, the Chief had found out about the forced conversions and the Buffalo had claimed that Celestia and Luna were ‘tampering with the natural order’. This had prompted more than a few visits from government officials sent from Canterlot, sparking some fear in Braeburn. Despite their failure to understand why the Griffons, Diamond Dogs, Minotaurs, Changelings, and Humans had to be converted, Braeburn knew that the Buffalo were good at heart and he’d hate for them to be converted.

Newfoals didn’t really make for good conversation partners, and everything they said seemed forced to him.

Still, there was nothing he could do but try and reassure the Buffalo that the conversions were over, and that everything was working fine. The apple orchards had grown to cover a huge amount of acres, something that was needed to help feed the billons of new ponies. Remembering that he had to hurry up and begin the day’s work of apple picking, Braeburn turned his attention away from his thoughts and back to Sheriff Silverstar.

“It’s not about the newfoals, surprisingly,” the Sheriff drawled, his hat crooked on his head.

“What is it then, Silver?”

“You have to see for yourself, you won’t believe me if I told you,” Silver answered, shaking his head. To say Braeburn was concerned was an understatement, he couldn’t think of anything that would require an early-morning visit from the Sheriff apart from newfoal issues.

Without a word, he left his house and closed the door behind him, Silverstar walking down the porch steps and heading around the corner to the main street. Braeburn followed, and when he entered the main street he saw exactly what the problem was.

A figure was standing in the middle of the town, right in the centre of the main road. Settlers stopped and stared at the motionless biped, while the large numbers of newfoals seemed to shy away from it. From the looks of things, it appeared to be a human, but Braeburn hadn’t heard of any human that looked like he was wearing an armoured black church. He turned to Silverstar to ask just what in tarnation was happening, however the Sheriff must have anticipated the query.

“Yup, I think it’s a human,” he whispered to Braeburn while using a forehoof to muffle his voice. “Although I ain’t ever heard of one that looks like that, they’re supposed to just have skin, some clothes and no fur. This one’s wearing what I reckon is armour, and fancy armour at that. See all of those little window things in it? There’s other things in them with the candles.”

Braeburn looked closer to the stationary figure, and saw that he did indeed have creepy looking things stored in the barred windows. He swore that a few even contained bones contained behind some sort of glass, and the human’s red eyes sent chills down his spine. Also of note were the large book at his waist, some kind of thick stick with a skull carving at the top and another long device attached to him with silver chains. The silver script and red symbols covering the pitch-black armour finished the entire image,

“So, do you want to get the guards, or should I go?” Silverstar made sure to keep his voice low when asking the question, not wanting to provoke the being to violence.

“How?” Braeburn whispered back. “The next train isn’t due for a week, and the Canterlot is a two week walk away.” After the first month, all of the guards meant to assist in controlling the newfoals were either recalled to Canterlot or sent to far-away lands. Princess Celestia herself guaranteed that the newfoals would cause no trouble, and so far they hadn’t. Things were so peaceful; Appleoosa didn’t even have a local reserve force unlike other cities and towns.

“Drat,” Silver replied. “I forgot about that. I don’t know if me and Deputy Tumble can take it down if trouble starts, it’s a big ‘un.”

“Maybe you won’t need to,” Braeburn suggested with a glance to the creature. “I mean, it’s not really causing any problems, or doing anything really. Have you tried welcoming it and asking why it’s here?”

“Welcoming it?” Silverstar questioned with shock on his face. “Braeburn, did you not hear what those humans were like before they became newfoals? Far worse than the changelings and griffons combined.”

“Well I haven’t met a single one,” Braeburn retorted. “Maybe if we’re nice, then it’ll be nice back.” Silver shook his head at the reply, however that didn’t stop Braeburn. He confidently walked up to the motionless human, sparking whispers and gasps from the surrounding settlers. The human didn’t react aside from looking at him with those baleful red eyes. “Howdy Pardner, welcome to Appleoosa,” Braeburn skipped his usual introduction, and kept it short and simple. “My name is Braeburn and I’m the unofficial town greeter, is there anything I can help you with?”

A harsh, electronic noise caused him to flinch, however he soon realised that the human was just clearing it’s throat.

“No thankyou, Mister Braeburn, I am in no need of assistance.” It was a male, and Braeburn was surprised at the warm tone in the human’s voice.

“Oh, I see,” Braeburn replied, stuck for what else to say. “Uh, so did you happen to come here to be converted? Appleoosa never had a place for that but I’d be happy to find you a place to stay until the next train to Canterlot.”

“Converted?” the human replied, seeming to be puzzled. “Ah, I remember now. Miss Seraph mentioned that you ponies are very keen on conversion. While I admire your eagerness and kindness, I have come here to convert you.”

Braeburn had not been expecting that.

“I’m… sorry there friend, but I think I misheard you,” he apologised, flicking his ears and glancing back at Silverstar. He, and the rest of the ponies in earshot, seemed just as confused as Braeburn. The human grabbed the large book at his side in response, Braeburn staring at the black cover which was covered with more silver words and symbols.

“Why, I’m here to spread the word of God, as directed by the Holy Lord himself.” Braeburn stepped back when the human opened his huge book and flicked a few pages. “And the Lord did sayeth to his followers, go my children, and spread my word to the Heathen and the Sinner, the unknowing and the lost! For only through my guidance can their souls be granted entry to the most divine of all the afterlives!”

Such was the force and volume of the reading that Braeburn collapsed onto his rump in shock. The human’s helmet must have had some kind of speaker built into it to project his voice so loudly.

“I am High Confessor Dietrich Von Schreiber, of the holy Cult of Mortisum!” the human announced when he looked up from his book. “I have come to share with you the gift of the word of God, and thusly preparing you for salvation! Come ponies, listen to what I preach and be enlightened! The Lord Himself has sent me to your world to save you from your heresy and wicked ways, rejoice!”

Braeburn was so surprised that he was unable to speak, so he just sat and stared as the human continued to read.

“For all of those that heed these words will be granted compassion that only the Lord can provide! No matter race or wealth, all are welcome under his gaze!” Dietrich, or at least that was what Braeburn was calling him in his head, looked up from the book once again.

“Gather around, gather around and hear these holy words!”

Braeburn didn’t know whether it was the words themselves or the zeal with which the High Confessor spoke them, but he felt compelled to continue to listen. He turned his head as another pony sat down next to him, a mare by the name of Sandy. They were soon joined by another thirty-three ponies, almost half of the town’s population of original Equestrians.

Standing back and looking on in confusion was the Sheriff and the rest of the townsponies. The newfoals had all retreated to the edges of the street, and for some reason they all cowered in fear.

“Hmm, not the best turnout, but certainly not the worst.” Braeburn refaced the High Confessor, the preacher looking out over to the Sheriff and the rest of the townsponies while he made his audible observation. “Are you sure that you do not wish to join us? Your fellows seem keen to listen.”

The question must have startled Silver, the Sheriff jerking back and glancing at Braeburn.

“I uh, I don’t think so.” Silverstar was joined in his rejection with the rest of ponies standing with him.

“Suit yourselves,” the High Confessor replied. “If you wish to miss out on the chance to obtain a better afterlife, then that is your choice.” The pages of the book were flipped again, the human placing a finger down on the fine parchment. “Now for the rest of you, let us read from book seventeen, passages eight to three hundred and eighty-seven: The Trials of the Three Saints…


“What in all of the world…”

Chitter couldn’t help but nod at Seraph’s murmur, both changelings watching the town with a mix of awe, confusion, and dread.
They had followed the human’s footsteps all the way to Appleoosa, Dietrich however must have left long before dawn as they had caught up to him too late. Looking at him now while they hid behind a sand dune, they could see that Dietrich seemed to be fitting in fine with the ponies.

And that was truly disturbing.

“He’s mad,” Chitter breathed, staring at the High Confessor while the human waved his book around and yelled out praise and blessings.

“He’s got the ponies doing whatever he wants though,” Seraph whispered.

“Not all of them,” Chitter pointed out, taking note of the ponies and newfoals slowly moving away from the ones sitting down. The sound of movement alerted him, and when he turned around he spotted Seraph squirming forwards on her belly through the sand.

“Seraph!” Chitter hissed. “What are you doing? Do you want the ponies to get you?” She ignored him and continued on, Chitter watching her close to within a hundred metres of the town. He shook his head, having lost hope of convincing her otherwise. Seraph had always been a little strange, and she seemed to be a little more accepting of the human than he would have expected. He knew that the fate of the hive had hit her the hardest, despite her attempts to maintain control.

Then along comes this ‘High Confessor’ preaching acceptance under someone called ‘God’. It was no wonder Seraph was drawn towards it, now that he looked back over the previous night. All it had taken was some kind words and actions, and Seraph was eating everything up. Still, maybe it was for the best. At least she could find some happiness in the situation, even if it would probably turn out to be in vain.

‘Why do you make me do this Seraph?’ he mentally questioned with a sigh, dropping to the ground and crawling towards her. He reached her just as Dietrich reached a crescendo in his sermon, the High Confessor waving his tome around and reciting the rest of the passage from memory.

“So, even with heretical munitions embedded in his breast, Saint Rostartius strived on with pure faith alone! Not a single one went without last rites that day, and it was only when the battle was over that he finally became one with the Lord! Such was the magnificence of that day, the battlefield maintains a holy glow even after thousands of years! Such is proof of the strength that one receives from the Lord!”

The book was lowered, Dietrich having managed to enthral his audience with the tale. Chitter didn’t really get what the High Confessor was saying exactly, but when he glanced to Seraph next to him he saw that she was just as interested as the pony listeners. He sighed and turned back to Dietrich, the human beginning to read from his book once more.

‘Well, I guess I’m the only one going to look for food and wood then.’ Without a word, Chitter began to sneak away from the town, leaving Seraph behind in the sand.


Sheriff Silverstar approached Braeburn as soon as the human left the square, a mass of questions swirling around in his head. For starters, the entire day was almost over, and half the town had spent the time listening to a human talk gobble-dee-gook instead of picking apples!

“Braeburn,” Sliver called, putting on his serious face in preparation for the conversation to come. “I have to talk to you.”

Braeburn smiled and walked to meet him, the two stopping by the side of the road.

“Silver, what do you want to talk about?”

“I came to talk about why you and most of the town decided to sit down instead of work!” Silverstar was a bit surprised at the angry tone that came out of his own mouth, his voice raised and drawing the attention of surrounding ponies. “This whole human business is making me uneasy, there’s a reason they were converted! All they do is spread strife and chaos!”

“I was only listening so I could find out why he was here, Silver,” Braeburn replied, Silver narrowing his eyes. He had known Braeburn for ages, and the stallion was a terrible lair. “Besides, it doesn’t look like he’s out to cause trouble.”

“Doesn’t look like he’s out to cause trouble?” Silverstar repeated with disbelief. “While he was talking all those fancy words, only half of the town and the newfoals were working the fields! Not only that, but the newfoals don’t seem to like him and I don’t as well!”

Braeburn sighed and lowered his head, Silver feeling his anger die down. It was wrong to blame Braeburn for what had happened, he was just an easy target.

“Look, Silver,” Braeburn replied while raising his head, getting in before Silverstar could apologise. “I can understand why you don’t like him, but I’m just trying to be friendly and all. I’m sorry for not working in the fields today, but he was pretty interesting.”

“He’s down-right creepy,” Silver shivered. “All that talk about death, he sounds like my old Ma when she gets into the salt.”

A second later and both chuckled at the joke, the tension disappearing from the conversation. Braeburn grinned at him, and gestured to the saloon.

“I forgive you Silver. Say, want to grab a drink and a salt block? I can explain to you the things that the High Confessor was talking about so you don’t see him as creepy anymore.” Silver was hesitant, but the smile from his long-time friend convinced him that nothing sinister was going on.

“That sounds good, Brae, but no trying to help him convert me to his wacky religion now.”

“You sound like I’m already singing praise,” Braeburn joked, the two chuckling while they headed to the saloon.

Both missed the plain brown mare that had been staring at them during the entire conversation, the unclothed earth pony turning to trot down the street that the human had entered.


Seraph struggled to maintain the disguise, her low level of love making it difficult to hold. After overhearing the conversation between the Sheriff and the other pony, she had to find Dietrich. It seemed like some of the townsponies didn’t mind him, and she wanted to ask him the secret that he used to have them treat him like that. She had heard that the ponies converted everything they didn’t like, so the fact that he not only stayed a human but also appeared to have made some friends was nothing short of a miracle in her eyes.

She spotted him talking to a sandy-yellow mare with an orange mane, Seraph catching a snippet of their conversation while she approached.

“Yes, Miss Sandy, I’ll be sure to come back tomorrow. However, I hear that you are in middle of the apple harvest and I do love prayer while I work. I may offer to help, and we can discuss the word of God while we pick his bounty.” Dietrich noticed Seraph at that moment, his red eyes turning to look at her. “Well, another believer it seems. Come Miss, I assume that you wish to talk to me about my sermon like many of your fellows?”

It took Seraph a moment to remember that she was in disguise, and she realised that he wouldn’t recognise her. With a nervous glance towards the other mare, who was fixing her with a curious look, Seraph cleared her throat.

“Um… yeah. Is it okay if we talk in private? I have some questions that are kinda personal.” She had to focus to keep the buzz out of her voice. She wasn’t an infiltrator like Cion but a drone, so this blending in thing wasn’t something she was trained for or used to. Dietrich nodded at her request, before he turned back to the earth pony named Sandy.

“Thank you for the interest, Miss Sandy, I hope to be able to share the Lord’s word with you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it, High Confessor,” she replied with a smile. “It’s very interesting, and makes a lot of sense when you think about it.” Sandy removed a wooden basket from her back with her mouth, placing it on the ground and removing the blanket covering it. Inside lay an assortment of breads, apples and apple products, and some corked jugs with a water drop marked on them.

“What is this?” Dietrich inquired, joy in his voice while the pony beamed up at him.

“You said that you were travelling, so I thought you’d like some food and water,” Sandy answered merrily. Seraph’s mouth started to salivate at the sight of the food, there was so much! “You’re a big guy, so I gave you a little extra. I would offer a room as well, but I’m afraid that my sister isn’t very keen on you.”

“Bless you, and thanks,” Dietrich acknowledged while he bent down to make a sign with his hand over Sandy’s head. “Charity is one of the most holy activities possible, and the Lord will surely be pleased with such a display of kindness to his humble servant. This is far more than needed, and your generosity is a most becoming trait.”

“Thank you, High Confessor,” Sandy grinned back, before glancing up at the setting sun. “It’s getting late, I hope you have a good night and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. You aren’t anything like Canterlot said a human would be, you’re so nice.”

“I strive to be a shining example of faith,” Dietrich answered back, bowing his head towards her. Sandy returned the gesture and trotted off, a spring in her step while the High Confessor bent down to pick up the basket of gifts. “Now,” he continued after, turning to the shocked Seraph. “You wished to talk to me, Miss…?”

“It’s me, Seraph.” Dietrich paused, Seraph looking around to make sure no pony was watching. The street was deserted, the only sounds that of the early evening wildlife and the merriment coming from the town’s saloon. She left her disguise drop, a flash of green fire revealing her form.

Unseen to her, Dietrich’s hand went for the mace at his waist, but he relaxed when he recognised her changeling form.

“I can now see why they call you changelings,” he told her, Seraph nodding her head while panting.

“We can transform into pony-shaped forms, it’s something we’re hatched with,” she explained, before taking a large breath of air. “Sorry, just let me catch my breath. I don’t have much energy because there’s no love, and I’m not exactly used to this.”

“What do you mean love?” Dietrich inquired. “I thought you ate food for sustenance, like most living things?”

“We do, but to use magic effectively we need a source of love as well.” Seraph saw his hand go to the large stick attached to his side, and remembered who she was talking to. It seemed impossible, but the humans didn’t have magic. Did Dietrich see it as a bad thing, and thusly saw her as a bad thing now? Seraph winced, guessing that she had just ruined their chance of gaining the High Confessor as an ally.

“Magic, you say?” His voice was low, and Seraph nervously nodded her head. She shrank, hoping that he wouldn’t hurt her or tell the ponies as punishment. Instead of a stick hitting her, or the feared yell of ‘changeling’, Seraph felt a strange sensation on the top of her head.

Looking up, she saw that he had placed his hand on her head, the cool metal somewhat soothing. She couldn’t tell what his expression was due to his helmet, but he didn’t seem as mad as she expected.

“You have no need to fear,” Dietrich reassured gently. “You have proved yourself to be pure of heart, and you cannot help what you are created as. While your magic is unsanctified, I know that you wish no ill will of the Lord and his works. I have faith in you, Miss Seraph, so do not shy from me in fear.” Dietrich’s hand left her head, Seraph gazing up at him in awe. She was accepted by him, and he, a High Confessor, had faith in her? “Besides,” Dietrich added with warmth in his voice. “A species that requires love is hardly one that I’d expect to be unconsecrated.”

“You… you mean it?” Seraph smiled, over-joyed to hear him praise her race. “You don’t think we’re monsters?”

“No, I do not,” he answered, shaking his head. “I know fellow humans far more monstrous than you will ever be, and they still are redeemable in the eyes of the Lord.” He glanced upwards, Seraph also taking note of the coming night. “What questions did you have to ask?”

“Nothing,” Seraph murmured, the High Confessor having answered more questions already than she needed. “Thank you.”

“It is of no bother,” Dietrich answered, gesturing towards the blanket-covered basket of food and drink. “Come now, we must make haste to share our good fortune with the others back at the cave, and I have to make my evening prayers.”

Seraph watched while he began to walk, is words resonating within her. She trotted up to travel beside him, a question that surprised her coming out from her mouth.

“Can you teach me?” she asked, Dietrich stopping and looking down at her. Seraph wondered if she was thinking straight, but she remembered her experience with the holy man so far, and it filled her with the courage to make her decision. “Can you teach me how to pray, High Confessor?”

“Certainly, young Seraph,” he replied, brushing his tome with happiness apparent in his voice. “It is my duty to the Lord, after all.”
With that, both resumed their journey back to the cave, leaving the town behind them.

And for the first time in months, Seraph felt genuine hope in her heart.