//------------------------------//
// Chapter 5 
// Story: All the Lost Pieces 
// by Voltage Drop 
//------------------------------//

        “Aaahh!” I awoke in the middle of the night clutching my head and screaming in pain. My hoof glanced off the bed's rails, rattling them loudly as I blindly pounded for the nurse call bell. Eventually, my I found it, and in the room's dark lighting, the button's soft red glow glared painfully in the corner of my eyes.
        I had suffered terrible headaches before and they had awakened me countless times during the course of my recovery, but this one was different, being cripplingly painful and coming from the very core of my head and not from the surface as many of the ones from before had.
        A nurse rushed in and flipped the switch to the sunstone lights in the room, innodating my sensitive eyes with an ocean of burning light. He came over to my bed where I lay, shaking, curled and clutching my head.
        “What is happening?”
        “My head... Agh! My HEAD!”
        “Are you in pain? Where on your head does it hurt?”
        I groaned in agony. “Everywhere.” I pointed a shaky hoof at my forehead. “My horn, it feels like my horn is in boiling water.”
        The nurse nodded and pulled a pen light from his chest pocket using his teeth. “I'm going to check your pupil responses. Look into the light.”
        When he clicked the light on, it was like having by face slammed into a bed of nails.
        “Your responses are sluggish. Scale of one to ten, tell me how bad the pain is.”
        “Eight before the light. Ten now...” I groaned. “And there's pressure. Lots of pressure...”
        “How much pressure?”
        “It feels like my head is going to explode. AGH!” A sudden bolt of boiling heat plunged through my forehead. “It hurts so much.”
        “I will be right back.” He turned and briskly walked out of the room, leaving the ceiling lamps on. I pulled a sheet over my head and closed my eyes to shade them from the light, but it didn't help.
        When I heard voices coming towards my ward, I sat up, wobbling like I was drunk, and nearly tumbled out of bed.
        I can't balance. The words screamed in my mind. No, NO! I pushed myself back up, grabbing both rails on the bed for support. I quickly lost balance and flopped back onto the bed. No! I've worked too hard. This can't happen! Unthinkable - that's what it was to have been set back after having relearned to walk and take care of myself. Looking to the doctor, a unicorn, who was gently holding me down on the bed with his magic telling me to not sit up, I asked, “What's happening to me?”
        “That's what I am going to figure out,” he calmly replied, flipping a lever on the side of the bed and looking to the two nurses that had followed him in. “Get her ready to move.” He turned back to me. “Tell me everything that you are feeling. Give as many details as you can.”
        “My entire head is being crushed in a clamp.” I pulled a shuddering breath and pointed to my forehead. “It feels like someone is driving a molten spike into my head right here and my horn is on fire and freezing at the same time.” I winced as the pain throbbed some more.
        “Look at me,” he ordered.
        “What is it?” I asked.
        “Your face is moving sluggishly. Try to smile.”
        “I'm not feeling... optimistic... right now.”
        “That's not the point, I am checking for a stroke. Do what I say.”
        My blood turned to ice in my veins, “You-I-wha?... okay...” I bared my teeth and grinned for him.
        “Okay. Can you feel both sides of your body?”
        “Y-yes.” I wrung my forehooves together to reassure myself that I could still feel them, “I can feel everything, but I feel like I am trying to move through water.”
        “Are you having any trouble seeing?”
        “No... I mean, I don't think so... It's just everything is so bright. The light makes the pain worse.” The doctor asked me a few more questions and in that time I began to shiver. My bed covers damp with sweat, my body was unnaturally hot and cold at the same time while my extremities and forehead started to tingle. My headache was quickly becoming worse and I began to feel a very particular phantom sensation coming from my missing horn.
        “I... I feel something.” I said through clenched teeth so they wouldn't chatter together while speaking.
        The doctor gave me an expecting look. “What is it?”
        “I feel like... I am overcharging a spell... a really big one. Like one that's gonna drain my magic for a week.”
        The doctor, being a unicorn, appeared to follow what I was saying. “Is the magical pressure concentrated in your head, or is it spread over your entire body?”
        “It's everywhere. I'm tingling all over...”
        The doctor quickly scribbled a few details down into his notepad then turned to a nurse “Let's get her inside a MEV after a quick CT scan.” The nurses unlatched the wheels on the bed and began pushing me out of the room.
        The movement of the bed as I was pushed down the hallway spun my sense of orientation which, coupled with the passing of bright lights overhead, made even more dreadfully sick. Bringing a hoof up to my face to wipe my brow, my leg was heavy and its movement hard to coordinate. I had started to tremble.
        When the gurney came to a stop to be pushed through a pair of doors into another hallway, I had started to shake uncontrollably. “Wha-” I gulped. “happening?”
        “You're suffering a magic buildup. We had thought your body was discharging the magic created in your praecantor cortex, but it appears we were wrong. We're taking you to a MEV where we'll tap some of it off and hopefully help you.”
        As I was rushed down the hallway, I began to become aware of a creeping lethargy in my extremities. It was subtle, like the weakness experienced after running a short distance, but by the time we were nearing the end of the hallway, my hind legs were numb. The feeling continued to seep farther up my legs and into my body, leaving in its wake a cold lifelessness.
        When I realized something was happening, I attempted to say something to let the doctor and nurses know something; however, all that came out of my mouth was a long trailing whimper.
        “Are you okay?” the doctor asked.
        Trying with all my might to scream, I only managed to muster a moans.
        “Castor?” the doctor asked again.
        Again, I tried to control my voice, but again I only whimpered. My had been tingling like a leg that had fallen asleep, yet, as the numbness spread through my body, up my neck, and into my head, the tingling became a constant, mind numbing buzzing layered over the crippling pain. Locked blankly on the ceiling above, my eyes began to blur and burn with dryness as my eyelids refused to blink.
        “Step it up, she's going into verefictic shock. We need to get her in the MEV now!”
        The bed accelerated, and the sudden change of momentum caused my head to roll to one side where I could only stare blankly at the side of a nurse pushing the bed. The buzzing in my head escalated quickly, and a sudden, aery feeling entered my senses as I felt myself oddly drift backwards in a strange, disembodied fog. My consciousness pulled farther and farther back from my body, the frantic throbbing of my heart fading away as if projected far away from where it should be beating. Outside of my command, my lungs breathed air a thousand miles from my mouth.
        All at once, my vision receded away from my mind, leaving me floating in a silent, black void. My dismembered senses were hazy in their great distance from me and lay strewn about like pieces of a smashed clock in the empty expanse my consciousness had been drawn into. For an unknowable period of time, I floated weightlessly in my own mind, unable to form thoughts in words but rather was limited to the most basic of feelings. Fear, confusion, anger, more fear... It came to a point where those feelings were all I was able to comprehend
        After a span of time which was both an eternity and nothing, this abated and I was able to think somewhat clearly. My mind floated within its own expanse as I struggled to understand the feeling of having no body and what it was like to feel fear disjointed from physical sensation. There was no chest to be tight, no guts to cramp, no beating heart to feel. There was only pure, unadulterated terror and darkness: both existing alone without any sensation which I can define for a reader to understand.
        I again receded into a state of only comprehending emotions and I slowly felt a warm, fuzzy peace spread from my very core and encompass my whole essence. If I were to directly translate my feelings into words, they would form the question Am I dead? To which I answered, in feelings, to myself, I don't care. I can only liken this blissful state to a direct injection of morphine.
        Then suddenly, I became intensely fearful. I was dead. I was actually dead. My mind suddenly became crystal clear Oh Faust NO. I don't want to die! Please, let me live! I don't want this, not if this is what death is. An endless expanse of blackness, forever alone, never to feel my body, nor the warmth of a loved one's voice, nor see the beauty of the sunlit mountains. Faust no!
        As a formless being of pure thought, I let loose the most harrowing series of screams which have ever been heard by mortal minds. I tried to struggle, I tried to thrash, yet having no body I felt nothing other than fear and hopelessness. I just couldn't believe it.
        I was dead, and there was nothing I could do about it. My mind buzzed horribly with the realization for another unknowable period of time, but I eventually settled into a sort of acceptive lifelessness where I felt little and thought even less.
        I can't be quite sure when, but I suddenly became aware of a tiny pinprick of white in front of my consciousness. It was small, like a hole poked in thick paper, but it was there. Naturally, my attention was drawn to it as it was the only other thing in the void with me, and I pondered if I was in some sort of transitional state between life and death, and before me lay some unknown realm.
        There was a natural fear what it may be, but even though I kept my distance from it, the pinprick of light was drawing ever closer. As it came closer, I began to see small details within as if I were peering through the wrong eyepiece of a telescope. Suddenly, the light rushed towards me and engulfed me, the feeling of my body returning as I was overtaken.
        I was in some dark chamber. A coffin? But then why was I restrained and in so much pain? “HELP!” I screamed so hard my throat hurt. “Faust! HELP” Thrashing against the straps which held me down, I failed to loosen them. A masked figure peered over into my view and we locked eyes. How was someone in a coffin with me? How could I see him? Was he dead too? Above me was a bright light, but what was it?
        “Where am I?” I cried out, yet I didn't understand the reply I was given.
        The figure reached towards my face and grabbed my head. Feeling something moving on my head, my head erupted in intense pain. He was pulling my horn off! I wriggled and thrashed with every ounce of my strength, trying to both break free of my bondings and kick him. “Stop! PLEASE STOP!”
        He pulled back, yet, the pain continued. Why was it continuing? He said something again, which I didn't comprehend, but I got the feeling he wasn't trying to hurt me.
        “Where am I?”
        He said something incomprehensible again; however, there was one word I did understand: Castor.
        It was... it was familiar. That's right, it's my name. I was Castor, I had been sick, or was it hurt? I couldn't remember, but the familiarity with who I was and that there was something wrong with me struck within me with a queasy feeling.
        “Where am I?”
        “Castor, you're in the hospital.”
        I ruffled my brow and tried to fully comprehend the doctor's words and form my reply. “I'm hurt?” It was more a statement than a question.
        “Yes, you are. But we're making you better.” The doctor hardly glanced away from where he was looking at something else.
        “What happened?”
        “You had a buildup of magic, so we're siphoning it off.”
        “D-did I-” I swallowed hard. “Did I die?”
        The doctor suddenly stopped what he was doing, turned from the machine he was at. “No, you didn't.” Silently looking at me from the corner of his eye, he turned fully back to what he was working on.
        “Oh,” I finally said a few seconds after the statement would have been appropriate. My mind was hazy and it was so hard to comprehend anything that was going on. “Where am I?”
        “You're at the hospital.”
        “I'm at the hospital?”
        “Yes Castor, you're at the hospital.”





        “-and that's why I haven't been around these past few days.” I finished relating my story to Dante.
        “That sounded horrifying,” he replied, walking beside me with a clumsy gate.
        To an outside observer, we, in any typical place, would have been quite the sight to behold. I, with my wobbly, choppy steps and Dante with his hind legs goosestepping wildly could have been likened to a pair of grounded birds as we plodded another lap around the small courtyard in middle of the hospital's facility. Yet, those who surrounded us -patients with their own physical difficulties to grapple with- gave normalicy to our oddities.
        “I've had nightmares about it every time I've slept. Well, no, that's not right. I haven't been able to sleep right, not since...” I trailed off.
        “Not since it happened?”
        “Yeah. That.” We finished the lap in silence before I spoke again. “I just can't believe it, you know...”
        “Yeah?” Dante gently asked.
        “I had a seizure – a bad one – and they don't know what caused it.”
        “I thought you said it was because you were magically overcharged.”
        “Yeah, and why was that!?!” I snapped. “They said my magic was draining normally, that I wouldn't have any of these problems. Now, they've run tests one me, poked me with a dozen needles, and they can't figure out why I'm not radiating away my magic. If they can't figure it out, I'm going to have to come to the hospital at least once every week for the rest of my life so they can sap me of my magic which will leave me feeling half dead just so my magic doesn't kill me! Of course, I could just have a lobotomy where they cut out the part of my brain which makes magic, then, I'd only have to come once a month so they could artificially charge me with an aura. At least then, I'd only live a decade – tops – before this killed me! Ugh!” I slumped my shoulders. “Now, they've put me on some anti-seizure medications. They help with the headaches a bit, but I just feel... wrong.”
        “Well,” Dante thoughtfully started. “With the alternative being another seizure like that, isn't it better this way?”
        “Only because it scares me so much. I don't like the idea of getting messed up by this stuff, especially since I'm already on pain meds, plural, that I know aren't the best for my liver, some alchemist's healing tonic to help with my concussion, and then this. I can handle stuff that might mess up my body, but not my head. I'm already messed up enough there...” I trailed off.
        “This is just for a short time, I'm sure. You're barely two weeks out of this injury, so there are going to be a few minor complications from something like what happened to you. Once you've healed a bit more, I'm sure this will pass.”
        “But that isn't even the worst part of it!”
        “Oh. Um, well... then what was?”
        “When I was having that seizure, what I experienced was so terrifying... they say I didn't die, but I came so close... dear Faust, it was so close. They told me out of body experiences are to be expected in severe seizures, and they tell me that what I described fits, but this was different. I've had out of body experiences while spellcasting, doing it on purpose is one of the ways we learn to see the thaumostatic field. But this was entirely different.” I shivered. “I was so scared, terrified! I was certain I died, and even now, I can't shake it off.” Dante was silent. “It was terrible,” I eventually continued. “Blackness, nothingness. No sounds, no body. You just exist, and mostly in a state of terror and confusion. I don't want to go back. I-I can't. It is so terrifying.”
        “Well, then try to focus on how good it is to be alive.”
        “I don't know if I can. What if that is what death actually is? I don't know what I really expected it to be like. I had hoped, maybe I would wake up in Faust's embrace, or maybe I would just go 'poof' and not be anymore. I could handle that because at least I wouldn't be driven insane by the cold, empty, unfeeling nothingness of that horrible void.”
        We both fell silent as we walked another lap.
        “Let's not forget,” Dante said. “that this may have been part of the seizure and nothing more.”
        “I wish I could share that sentiment. Ugh.” I rubbed a hoof along the side of my neck. “I'm sick of dealing with all this. Why did this happen to me? Why can't I just go back to the way I was!?!”
        Dante put a hoof on my shoulder, “Castor, please, calm down. You can't let yourself get so upset. It doesn't help anything.”
        “Yeah?” I snapped, “Well, you know what, it's hard, alright!”
        “Like I don't know?”
        “Well... I mean... That's different! You didn't lose your magic.”
        “And you think it was any less hard for me that it's been for you?”
        For a moment, I couldn't meet his eyes and I looked away. “Your legs might have been a part of your body, but my magic was a part of me. A part of my being.”
        “And I was a cartographer and field researcher.” Dante laughed lightly, “Tell me, how am I supposed to go out and do my job with a pair of false legs? But this doesn't matter anyway. The point I was getting at was that you can't go around being bitter just because something bad happened to you. It only makes your life needlessly miserable.”
        I rolled my eyes. “You sound like Silver Lining.”
        “It seems like he is a pony who knows what he is talking about.”
        Sighing, I offered no further reply, to which Dante eventually said, “Just remember you're not the first pony who has lost something dear to them, and you won't be the last.”
        Wanting to grumble something snide in reply, I realized that I had certainly lost Silver Lining as a friend and that I would rather not risk pushing Dante away too.
        It was late summer and even in the relatively drab courtyard which was surrounded on all four sides by the hospital, there was much green. Trees and decorative shrubs lined the brick and glass walls of the building while the grass, a deep, lustrous green, carpeted most of the ground which was not part of the cobblestone walking track. It was a gorgeous day with the sky above, from which the sun shone onto my back, colored a welcoming pale blue, but, to me, all was ashen.
        The colors were pale and the gentle summer scents were less soothing to the soul. I felt like a mare with her eyes closed, being unable to see the beauty which I knew to be there. The placid breeze on my skin was spiritless, lacking the life it normally bestowed.
        “Castor? Are you okay?” Dante asked, suddenly in front of me.
        “Huh?” I replied, startled back to reality. “What?”
        “You out of the blue stopped walking and started staring at nothing.”
        “I was just... thinking.”
        “Are you okay? Do I need to get a nurse?”
        “I'm fine.” I said.
        Dante was still skeptical. “You sure?”
        “Yes.”
        “Well, okay...” his gaze lingered in my direction a fraction of a second longer than was comfortable before he dropped the subject and we continued to walk around the track.
        “Back to the subject from earlier,” I began after a short lull in conversation. “I was worried during two days I couldn't come see you in therapy that you wouldn't be here when I came back. After all, you said that you were leaving the hospital in a couple of days.”
        “At long last too.” He exhaled. “I've been stuck in this place for months healing, getting skin grafts, healing some more. They don't let you move a lot either, not that I would really want to because it usually hurt, a lot. I'll still be coming back for several more weeks though because I'm still really sensitive to temperature where I got burned. They tell me that sitting in hot water will help my body readjust, but it hurts like Tartarus while I'm in the therapy tub. Besides, I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye.”
        I nodded in response, “That relates to what I am asking about. I don't want us to just drop away, so I was wondering if we could exchange addresses so we can keep in touch.”
        “Sure. I don't have anything to write with right now, but I will be sure to give you my address sometime sooner or later.”
        “Same here. You live in Canterlot, right?”
        “Yes,” he said. “And you live just outside the city if I remember correctly.”
        “Yes.”
        “Okay. Good. Like I said, I will be leaving here in a few days, but I will be staying at my older brother's house because it is closer to the hospital than mine is and, well, I still have a lot of trouble standing again when I fall down.”
        “I didn't know you had a brother.”
        “Yeah.” Dante grew pensive. “I have a younger brother and sister as well... but Mom doesn't want me around them anymore.”
        “Oh. What um...” I trailed off into silence.
        “You're wanting to ask me what happened. Don't worry, I was going to tell anyway. The right time hadn't come up yet, but now it has, so don't worry.”
        “So... what happened?”
        “Well, you see, it happened about three months ago...”





        I had just gotten off in Canterlot Station from an old train hailing from the deep south where I had been studying the local plantlife and fauna in the most vicious place I’ve ever been.
        It is here that I shall let the uninformed know that paper and water don’t get along very well, and, mind you since I was returning from an extended research expedition, I had lots of paper and journals. The 131st Canterlot Weather Division, on the other hoof, provided the water because, naturally, it just so happened to be raining when the train arrived. No, I mean really raining, and it was the kind of rain that isn’t friendly. This is important later, so remember this.
        My saddlebags would only keep out so much water - and by so much, I mean none; therefore, I was running as soon as my hooves hit the station’s tarmac because my house just so happened to be all the way across town. If I had had any presence of mind, I would have waited out the storm in the station. But I, being far too clever to have packed an umbrella, decided to brave the weather.
        The short story is that I lost. By a block down the road, I was soaked, and my notes only a little bit more so. Then, my common sense, winded because I had left it back on the train and it had to run to catch up to me, finally told me to get inside. There just so happened to be a coffee shop beside me at the time, so I went in.
        The owners of the establishment, a charming couple from Mainhatten, were less than pleased to see a full grown stallion, drenched head to hoof with water, making a mess as he waited in line to buy an overly priced hot drink and cookie. Upon confronting me, I smiled like an idiot and played the part of someone completely oblivious to the fact that he was soaked.
        They were less than amused, so I purchased the most expensive drink on their menu to appease them and asked for five hundred napkins because I am a notoriously messy eater... or maybe because I had several hundred pages of wet journals in my pack.
        Anyway, I sipped my drink, promptly scalded my tongue, and meticulously soaked up every drop of water I could. Three hundred ink stained napkins later, the entirety of my journals were as dry a bone - that is to say a as dry as a bone at the bottom of a river.
        Stepmother nature, being the homicidal loon of a parent she always is, parted the clouds against the weather team’s permission and turned the day absolutely gorgeous.
        Once I was done using the napkins to sop up my tediously gathered research, I tentatively exited the establishment -much to the owner’s happiness- and looked for a dark raincloud reserved especially for me. Instead, I was given a sign from above. It was a plaque from the lingerie store next door, more precisely, and it fell squarely on my head as prompted by a generous gust of wind. Stunned for a bit, I eventually stood up and counted my lucky stars that I had not barged into there instead because, knowing myself, I would have immediately asked for five hundred pairs of frilly panties to dry my notes, some of which detail the reproductive system of the endangered hag snail. Don’t ask why I found it so fascinating to study, please, I don’t remember nor do I wish to do so.
        Being the drenched, ink smeared wreck I was, I decided to clean up at my parents’ house which was only a few blocks away instead of trekking across the city and receiving condescending glares from the more snooty citizens of Canterlot.
        I soon arrived at the house and knocked at the door. Mother opened it and only raised an eyebrow as opposed to the most logical reaction of calling the police when she saw my drenched, ink covered, unshaven mug.
        “I told you to take an umbrella this time,” she said flatly, well knowing from experience what had just happened.
        “I opted to buy waterproof ink and then forget it at home,” was my reply.
        “Clever boy.” She replied, patting me on the head.
        “Thanks mum.”
        As you can tell, this sort of thing happens regularly.
        I went to the upstairs bathroom and grabbed the white shower towel to wipe the ink from my face, then put it back remembering the bulging veins on mother neck last time I had used it to wipe- shall we say- slug ‘puss’ from my entire body. It wasn’t really puss so much as it was something else, but I am sure you already figured that out. Again, I request that you don’t ask about my more questionable fields of research or any of the disasters which inevitably accompany them.
        Denied the pristine white fabric, I therefore opted for the microfiber hoof towel instead because, after all, it’s probably already dirty and a little ink wasn't going to do much to hurt it. The screams which issued later proved my hypothesis wrong. However, in respect to the events later that night, I could have used the towel to collect the blood of a sacrificed chicken and the outcome, as judged after 3:47am of that night, would have been the same.
        Still blissfully unaware of the now black hoof towel, mother invited me to stay for dinner and spend the night in my old room. Naturally, I would never expect such generosity from mother and would have never purposely appeared on her doorstep because I was hungry but lacked the motivation to prepare anything other than burnt toast. Don’t judge me.
        It was three fifteen, and my brother and sister, thirteen and fourteen respectively, arrived home from school. I told them about my adventures in the ‘Fire Swamp of Death’, to which they corrected every single exaggeration I made to enhance my story. I tell ya, kids get smarter every day.
        I was going to show them who was the adventurer in the family, I swear, but dinner spared them the humiliation I was going to bring down upon them once I had figured out what it was and how I was going to enact it. It was just that I was slowed down when father joined in on their critique of my story when he returned from work.
        Gathering around the table, a delectable array of food was prepared before us. Baked potatoes, peas, fried... I’m not sure, and salad whose dressing tasted suspiciously a lot like some slug 'puss’ I had taste tested to determine its acidity levels. I will have you know that I correctly estimated the PH to be 7.5 on the standard PH scale, a result that can be backed up by a surprisingly expensive test I had run on the ‘puss’.
        I looked to mother as soon as I tasted the salad dressing, to which she responded innocently with a simple ‘What?’ which I knew was her way of saying ‘The ball is now in your court. Top me if you dare.’ I then regretted telling my family about my endeavors and took another bite of the salad without making eye contact with mother because the dressing actually tasted really good.
        We finished the meal and, while mother was putting the dishes in the kitchen sink, I contemplated hiding razor blades into her lemon meringue pie, then realized that would be too subtle a retort.
        The family went into the living room, played a few board games, and then ejected me from scrabble because I played the word triskaidekaphobia and ironically beat mother by thirteen points. To this, I shrugged to her and responded guilelessly with a plain ‘What?”, which I knew will only escalate the invisible war we were fighting.
        I swear, one of these days, I am going to wake up with my room filled with a shrine made only from smiley face balloons. Inside will be a card that says “I hope you like the flu” and a picture of the time I shaved my entire body because I was certain there were tiny little bats living in my hair.
        For a few minutes, I sat mortified as I watched my father furiously beat mother and my two siblings at a series of games of go-fish, knowing that one of these days, he is going to eat a bowl of salad that tastes like slug ‘puss’, and he is going to like it almost as much as I did.
        After watching him dig his own grave, climb into it, and hand mother the shovel by winning the third, fifth, seventh, and eleventh games he played, I decided to go upstairs and see how wet my notes still were.
        Seriously, though, the first four primes after I won by thirteen points on the thirteenth game (which is the fifth prime) by playing a word that means the ‘fear of thirteen’ which makes like... three thirteens, and three is another prime...
        Celestia help us. I was certain mother was going to bury us both when she finally bothered herself with getting back at us.
        Now I was well and truly concerned for my life because I shall no longer be able to sleep without fear that she had sneaked into my bedroom and swapped my pillow with an exact replica of one that had been starched into the firmness of a rock. Sure, it only happened once as a filly, and she had the excuse that she unknowingly spilled an entire box of starch into the washing machine... But you flop down on your bed once and smack your face on a rock that looks like a pillow, and you stop trusting reality.
        I opened my old closet and pulled out a set of sheets stained with blood from this one time I broke my nose on a pillow, laid them flat on my bed, organized my wet notes on them, and sighed because of how wet they still were. I felt compelled that it would be easier to brave a fire swamp than to decipher these irreparably smudged journals, but I suppose my life insurance agent would flip out - again - if I were to go back there before I rolled over onto my next bi-monthly allotment of ‘dangerous things you shouldn’t do but technically can and still keep your policy’.
        Salvaging my notes was really my only choice, and the old fan on my desk looked promising, the only problem I noticed was that my journals smelled like someone lit a bonfire on them (because of the fire swamp) which would make my room smell like someone lit a bonfire it it. Naturally, if something is going to make a room smell like smoke, one should put said thing in the bathroom because, after all, every bathroom in middle and high school smelled like smoke, so that must be the natural condition they gravitate towards...
        I... don’t know if that is sound logic.
        Ignoring that, I dropped a soaked bag of seeds I had collected at the bathroom door, promptly forgetting it, and placed my notes in a good spot in the tub where the fan, when oscillating, would blow over every single open notebook.
        I spent fifteen minutes tending the notes doing what I could to salvage them. I don't really know why I was bothering at this point – they were already hopelessly damaged and anything I did then was not going to be able to fix that. I had them mostly memorized, at least, but I was compelled by laziness to not spend two weeks reconstructing something that I had already made. It was a welcome break when mother, carrying a load of towels up to the bathroom, let out a tensed squeek when she saw the ink stained towel next to the sink.
        “DANTE!”
        Ah yes, that word... how many times have I heard it said like that, particularly from mother? Yet even after all those times over all those years of my life, it never fails to strike the same fear into me as the first time I heard her yell it.
        I jumped, startled, and turned eyes wide in fear to look at her, veins bulging, as she dropped her load of towels next to the bathroom door.
        “Yes?” I asked sheepishly, knowing I would face execution tomorrow for whatever crime I had absentmindedly committed.
        She gave me a deathly glare. Without a word, she reached out and lifted the once yellow now black microfiber towel which rested on the sink's counter.
        “Oh... Well, hehe... you know...” I timidly started “You could just... run some water over it to get the ink out? I mean... it worked for my notes here....” Mother was not happy. “Oh shoot.” A more abrasive sound alike for this word would have been more appropriate for this situation had it not been my mother standing right there.
        Not a syllable was uttered by her. She telekinetically lifted the towel, turned and left, leaving me there knowing I was well and truly dead. I was only still alive at that moment because my body had been so immediately expunged from the realm of the living that it had been knocked dumb and therefore oblivious to that it was no longer alive. If you have had your mother angry at you, then you understand this state of purgatory.
        I was hesitant at first, sitting next to the dropped pile of laundry listening her vent loudly to father about what I had just done to her towel. She eventually cooled down, and I shyly walked downstairs and poked my head into the kitchen where she was using some ammonia, an excellent improvised explosive material, in a partially successful attempt to remove the ink.
        Knowing better than to confront her directly, I approached father and got his opinion on his situation. He jokingly said. “You'de better be glad that you don't live in this house anymore, because you certainly wouldn't be living here after this stunt.” Then again, I never am sure when he is being serious.
        Now, I wasn't about to let this situation pass me by without sticking my hoof in my mouth and thoroughly chewing it, so I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen like I were stepping into the den of a bear. Now, in the fireswamp, I spent many tense moments lightfooting around the fierce animals which inhabit the Faust-forsaken place, so I had a lot of practice being quiet. I have become quite good at that sort of thing, my being alive speaking to you right now being ample evidence of this, yet it wasn't good enough to evade my mother's 'Mom Sense' despite her back being turned to me.
         “It's not coming out.” She immediately informed, nearly sending me reeling backwards like I had come face to face with a cerberus. Instead, I thought of an ingredient of homemade plastic explosives that just so happens to be very good at removing stains.
        “Have you tried using bleach?”
        Remember what mentioned about sticking my hoof in my mouth?
        Mother glared at me and I smiled like an idiot, hoping that she would take the stupid thing I just said as a joke.
        “Oh Ha-ha,” She mocked a laugh. “Why don't I just set it on fire as well? That'll be sure to remove the stain.”
        I held my stupid smile, still having not figured out why using bleach on the towel would be bad. “Yeah.” There was a long silence when she returned to washing the towel. I had to find something to say to mitigate this situation, “Umm... Do you think you can get the stain out?”
        “I don't know.” Mother gritted her teeth and scrubbed harder with the brush, clearly giving a threat display.
        “I'll buy you another set if you can't clean it.”
        “That never was a question.”
        “I'm glad you trusted me.” The actual meaning of what mother had implied flew strait over my head and would have smacked into a china cabinet if it (the implied meaning, not the china cabinet) was physical.
        Mother let out an exacerbated laugh, crossed her forelegs on the rim of the sink, and gently thumped her head against them. “Dante, that wasn't what I meant,” She laughed harder and thumped her head harder against her crossed front legs, “You are impossible. I give up.”
        “Oh, you meant I would be buying a new set because you were going to make me do it, right?”
        She thumped her head again and said irritably, “Yes!”
        “Oh.”
        Behind me, I caught a snicker from my little brother and dad. If I hadn't lost my dignity years ago, I would actually have cared that they were watching me make an idiot out of myself – again.
        I stood by another minute to watch the stains rinse out, hoping that I wouldn't have to spend a coinpurse worth of money on something as simple as a hoof towel. Eventually, she finally grumbled to herself, wrung the tow, and held out in front of her. “Looks like that's all I'm getting out.”
        I knew then was buying a new towel.
        I called upon the entirety of my lightfootedness to edge my way out of the room, hoping that mother would not notice me leave.
        “Don't think I've forgotten what you promised.”
        Shoot! I really need to figure out how she knows what I am doing even when her back is turned to me.
        She needed some time to cool down, so I asked father if I could borrow his saddlebags to run to a nearby store in town to replenish my supply of paper. He gave me a curious look, and I promised not to lose or damage his bags in any way. He agreed, and pulled them out of his bedroom for me while I chuckled to myself that I could still modify, augment, or use the bags as a weapon, and there was nothing he could do about it.
        The walk to the library was pleasant in the early spring weather, and it went briskly by as I pondered to myself how hard it would be to beat a dragon to death using only a saddlebag filled with paper. With the exchange of a few coins, I now had enough paper and ink to reconstruct the entirety of my notes if I needed to and still have enough left over to make an entire airforce of paper planes. I mused upon the novelty of conquering an empire using only origami as I walked back.
        There was a small study adjacent to the living room where my family had resumed playing games. I sat down at the writing desk and began penning some of the more esoteric parts of my research in the fire swamp, lest I forget them later.
        “Folds, Rips, and Tears – How to cripple an empire with paper planes.”
        That was a good title, now for the preface.
        “If the pen is mightier than the sword, then onlookers should wet themselves at the sight of paper.”
        A little too pleased with my handiwork, I pulled out another piece of paper and actually began working.
        “Edgar's Laughter – Assumed to be mythical until year 950 of the common era, this bulbous shape of the white heads of this fungus strongly resembles a skull when viewed from behind. Growth patterns expand radially outward from the parent mycelium as the fungus expands to produce new bulbs of growth. Commonly, the new growth extends in one particular direction, each new bulb being roughly uniform in size with its neighbors. When viewed at the proper stages, the ring of smaller bulbs might appear to the untrained viewer as a row of teeth, thus further extending the association of this fungus to a dismembered skull. Bulbs mature into large, multichamber spore pods which, when disturbed, release a cloud of gray spores similar to disturbed wood fire ash but the particles are finer and more uniform in size...
        This was going to be a long night of writing, but at least the subject was interesting.
        I continued writing well into the night until I fell asleep with my head on the desk.
        At some point, I awoke to the smell of smoke in the air. For a few confused moments, I blearily believed myself to be back researching in the fire swamp having fallen asleep doing some important task. I sat back up in my chair, my back and neck stiff, and slowly recognized my surroundings. I was back home, yet I was choking on smoke and heard the distinctive crackle of fire, making me almost certain that I was either dreaming of having some sort of hallucination. Either way, I realized that I should be working, so I tried to awaken myself.
        Everything stayed the same.
        Suddenly, I was jolted to life by a shot of adrenaline and snapped my head in the direction I heard the crackling come from.
        Fire!
        My body was in my parents' room awakening them before my mind could catch up.
        “Mom, Dad, Fire!” I yelled, shaking them.
        He slowly roused, then shot strait up in bed, eyes wide. Mother followed suit and they both were out of bed in mere seconds.
        It was then my younger siblings' began screaming for help.
        We froze in soul rending horror as our eyes searched the ceiling above for the source of the screams, barley audible over the roar of fire. Judging by how the roar had grown from the softer crackle of only a few seconds ago, I realized that the fire was spreading ravenously. I didn't even give my parents time to break from their frozen stupor where they stood, transfixed at the ceiling for precious seconds. I grabbed them telekinetically and pushed them to the door of their room, breaking them from the hypnotic terror they were gripped in.
        They ran out in front of me into the main livingroom. A fierce orange blazed from up the stairwell adjacent to the livingroom, sending my body into cold shock. “Windy! Tink!” My mother's terrified scream stood my hair on end, something about the yell making this nightmare suddenly more real.
        I bolted into action, charging to the stars but falling loose in the legs when I looked up and was blinded by heat and light.
        “I've been through hell and back, almost literally, I can handle this.” I assured myself, remembering the months of preparation I had made before delving into the fire swamp. I turned to mother who was shifting her weight frantically between her legs as she looked up the stairwell. I yelled, “Get out of here, get help.”
        Father was a half second from bolting up the stairs in front of me, but I reached out and caught him before he threw himself into the flames. “No, I can handle this.”
        “No.. you..” His face went from incredulous to understanding. “Go, Now!”
        I didn't bother replying as I closed my eyes and focused a spell that would give me basic protection from fire. Spellcasting isn't my thing – I've never had any kind of special ability that set me apart, but I had learned this spell for if I was ever in a tight spot while doing research at my most recent venue.
        My horn was enveloped in its normal pale carmine color as I drew my mind away from the immediate threat and focused upon the building blocks of the spell. The heat on my face and body was intense as the spell began to fall into place and my body was enveloped in a tight orange aura, not unlike an ethereal skin, which expanded outward from my horn. As the skin spell slid over my body, it cast a cool shadow over the regions it protected like I were holding a physical barricade between me and the flames.
        I had managed to hold this spell for several minutes while practicing it, and then for a full seven minutes the one time before that I had needed it. I could do this.
        I had to do this.
        Once I had the spell fully formed, I locked it in place with the most stable binding I knew and took several deep breaths. One small problem with this spell is that, though it protects you from the heat, you can still walk into the middle of the fire then instantly suffocate. Holding my breath and batting the smoke out of my eyes, I charged up the stairs where blinding light glowed menacingly.
        This was like no fire I had ever been through, my spell which had worked perfectly every time before, was letting an uncomfortable amount of heat pass into my body as I reached the top of the stairs. Suddenly, I was eye to eye with a flower of fire, and I am not speaking metaphorically. Literally, it was a flower made out of fire. Its stem and leaves were hot orange tipped with white while its bloom was an indescribable cobalt blue licked with traces of purple at the tips. And it was hot – very hot.
        Despite my shield, I felt my skin begin to blister in its presence in the half second I stopped to understand what I had just seen. The bloodcurtaling screams of my sister snapped me back to reality and I charged into her bedroom.
        There was the pungent stench of burnt hair, hers and mine, and then another scream, worse than the last.
        My eyes jumped to where she thrashed about on the ground and-
        Great Celestia! Her wings were on fire!
        My heart stopped despite my body leaping to her as she thrashed about in the only corner of the room not burning, futilely trying to flap the fire from herself and screaming all the while. I tackled her to the ground and bear hugged her to snuff the fire. She only screamed louder.
        I pulled Windy up and focused my skin spell to flow onto her. It didn't work and instead, the entire spell failed, bathing us both in scorching heat.
        “You're okay, you're okay.” I hugged her and comforted her as she cried in fear. I was stalling for time, trying to regain the stamina to cast the spell again so I could cast it on her and carry her out. It didn't matter what happened to me; I was aware by this point that all of this was my fault.
        Suddenly, my eyes fell upon a window. Without a moment's hesitation, I hit it with the hardest telekinetic slam I could muster, which was just enough to blow out every shard of glass and dislodge the wooden frame. “I'm going to levitate you out and down.”
        “Okay...” her teenage voice replied with sound of a much younger child.
        Her body was enveloped in my magic and I strained to lift her out the window, but lifting her weight was within my capability. I could have managed levitating her out, I really could have, but the floor at the top of the stairs caved in the moment she was out of the window, which startled me and I lost my grip.
        I heard her scream, and I knew she fell at least fifteen feet to the stone alleyway below, but I couldn't hear the ensuing dull thud because of the raging fire. Between me and the window was flaming carpet and floorboards, I couldn't run over to see if she was okay. I needed to tell Dad she was out there, but I couldn't do that until I had recast my fire resistant skin, which I feared was outside my stamina and concentration to do.
        I closed my eyes and tried to block out the chaos surrounding me as I slid into rebuilding the spell. The closest thing I can liken the difficulty of this to is solving a four variable second order differential equation using a Laplace Transform and partial fraction decomposition.
        I failed and tried again, then failed again.
        The only benefit is that for simpler spells like this one, you are solving the same problem over and over again so that, even if you don't understand it, you can memorize the steps and eventually muddle through it.
        That's what happened the third time I cast the spell.
        My body again was physically cool again, and I charged out of the room to the top of the stairwell.
        The floor had collapsed completely in that area of the house, and continued to do so at an alarming pace, but that proved to be the break I needed. The fiery blossom had fallen into the basement where it had grown larger and produced an unbearable heat which pierced my shield despite being a full story and half below me.
        Carefully, I balanced across the gaping hole upon two floorbeams which had remained largely intact until I was on the other side of the foyer at the top of the stairwell and standing at my little brother's door.
        “TINK!” I yelled reaching his door. He always locked his door because he didn't like his siblings barging in on him. “TINK! YOU IN THERE?” I yelled, my lungs burning as they filled with smoke. “I NEED YOU TO OPEN THE DOOR!” Why did he have to lock the door!?!
        No reply. I couldn't wait for a reply. In many places, the door had already been burned away, and I could see where the fire had spread into his room.
        Even now as the door burned, I couldn't get through. Unlocking the door from the other side with my telekinesis was out of the question – I have never been good enough to grab something I don't have direct line of sight with my normal vision, my extra senses just aren't that strong.
        I am strong, however.
        I turned and bucked the door. My hind legs were powerful, they had always served me well. This time was no different as the door splintered. I kicked at the where the wood connected to the bottom hinge. The door splintered more, breaking clean off at the bottom hinge and tearing loose at the two above. It was enough to dislodge the door's bolt and let it swing open.
        I coughed, hard, and looked in to see my brother collapsed on the floor in the far corner, laying motionless.
        My blood turned to ice.
        I didn't even check if the floor was safe as I rushed to his side. I wish I had.
        It caved in underneath my weight by the time I was halfway across the room. I screamed as my body punched through the fragmented, burning wood and plunged into the room below. I was fortunately stopped from falling all the way through when my shoulders caught in the hole and I strained my front legs to hold me in.
        My skin spell does nothing to protect from punctures, so sharp splinters of the wood cut long gashes into my skin and muscle. Further, those splinters which were hot embers punched through the protective layer and into my flesh, sering me – the spell does nothing to stop heat that is already inside of it.
        I was in serious pain, but my body was so high on adrenaline that it only served to rally my strength to first save my brother and then get myself out.
        I pulled myself out of the hole, digging some shards of wood deeper into me than I would have liked, but if I didn't press the initiative, both my brother and I would die anyway, so it had to be done.
        Once I was out, I stood and plucked several very large pieces from me using my magic, not noticing the pain as they came out leaving behind inch deep punctures in me. I charged over to my brother who was – Thank Celestia – still breathing, and cradled him using my telekinesis. I charged to the window that pointed out towards the street and began lowering him down to the ground.
        Both my parents were outside along with many of the neighbors as they all stared up in awe at the inferno which was the house.
        “Windy's in the alleyway, go make sure she's safe!” I yelled at no-one in particular, making sure they heard me. Dad and two of our neighbors immediately ran out view into the alley as Tink safely reached the ground and was immediately scooped up by Mom.
        She looked up at me, eyes frantic, and yelled, “Now it's your turn, get out!”
        I looked down at her and then at the ground below. I hesitated, knowing that Mom might not be able to catch me with her magic. This being a townhouse in a city, there was no first story roof to get onto; it was a plummet to the cobblestone two stories below. It was a long jump, and I couldn't telekinetically lift myself down. Technically, when you lift something or someone, their weight is transferred into the floor you stand on so energy is conserved. Trying to lift yourself telekinetically with basic level spells like what I know is like trying to pull yourself up by your bootstraps.
        “I think I can make it back down the stairs, I'll be right back to jump if I can't.”
        Mom looked pensive and was about to to say something as I turned and left the window.
        I made it across the room to the stairs by moving around the edges of the room where there still was support for the floor. I poked my head around the door frame and looked into the foyer at the top of the stairs.
        It's funny how in moments of pure terror where every thought counts, you still have frivolous little distractions which, given even a slightly different situation, might delay you long enough that they get you killed. I spent more than a few seconds with an odd sense of realization of how the house was laid out, never having given it much thought until the holes in the walls had been created by the fire, letting me see into several different rooms at once.
        Snapping back to the moment, I decided it would be better to chance jumping out of the window onto the ground than to try to get out normally.
        I turned and went back the way I came when a lurch in the floor threw me to the ground. Before I could stand or even react, the entire floor gave way and I fell into the dining room, landing painfully on my side and cracking several ribs. If I had been only a few seconds faster, I would have made it to the window.
        Instead, now I was immobilized with pain, having been winded when my lungs already didn't have enough air. Then, my spell started breaking.
        Drawing back to the math analogy I made earlier, when your spell is breaking, it is like you just solved the problem incorrectly and now have less than five seconds to both figure out what is wrong and how to fix it.
        I am not that deft, but I managed to reinforce the foundations of the spell that held the field around most of my body and wiped clean what I couldn't reconstruct in a few seconds. Basically, this served as a soft reset as the spell essentially was recast without the cost on my stamina.
        The only problem was that I was forced to wipe half of the control portions of the spell, unshielding half my body. Everything from the naval down (minus one extremely tender part of my anatomy which I explicitly saved) was unshielded, and I happened to by lying in the middle of a fire.
        If my body would have let me, I would have screamed as my skin instantaneously cauterized, but I was still winded. This most likely saved my life since I was lying in a fire and breathing in anything would mean breathing in a mouthful of deadly air. I didn't have the air to waste on screaming.
        I managed to hobble out of the fire and drag myself to safety using my font legs, but not before my hind ones were thoroughly cooked.
        Fortunately, where I crashed through the ceiling into the kitchen was close to the front door which was wide open. I somehow found the strength to push past the pain which made me want to just die and, on shaky legs, I hobbled out the kitchen door and into the front foyer. I briefly made eye contact with someone outside, then, I collapsed and passed out.”





        “Someone dragged me out of the front door, and the house eventually burned completely. It was several days before I was fully conscious. By then, my hind legs had been amputated.”
        “Oh.” I gasped. “Dante, I... I'm so sorry for you. Are your siblings alright?”
        “Yeah, mostly,” he replied, his face for the first time turning truly melancholy. “Tink had a lot of burns, but not as many as me. Windy though...” he drew a hard, wavering breath. “She broke a lot of bones in her fall, some of them in her wings. They haven't healed right yet, we don't know if they ever will, and she has enough burns that many of her feathers aren't coming back in. From what Dad has told me, she's seeing a specialist who is good with pegasus wings, but he sad that she may need to get artificial implants to replace some of the feathers that don't grow back.”
        “She'll be able to fly again, right?”
        Dante sighed deeply. “She'll... Yes... maybe, we really don't know. Bless her heart though, she's been a little jewel the entire time. So bright and optimistic, she says that she's fine even if she can't fly again.” As Dante spoke of his sister, I could see such a heartbreaking twinkle in his eyes that told me how much he loved his siblings and how much their injuries pained him. “The times I've seen her since the fire, she's been so bright and peppy even in all those casts. Those times where she was at my bedside smiling and joking with me, I could forget that we both were wrapped head to hoof in casts and bandages. I could~” Dante's voice broke. “I could forget it was my fault. It's my fault her wings are like they are, it's my fault Tink is covered in scars.”
        “It was that flower in the stairwell that caused this... wasn't it?”
        Dante nodded with grim affirmation. “I found those seeds in a pile of ash, couldn't identify them, so I packed them in my bag and carried on with my research.” Dante stomped his hoof, “Why wasn't I more careful? Those were Phoenix Orchid seeds, they lie dormant until they get damp, then start making heat. Blasted things burn everything around them to ash, feeding off the heat and fertilizing the soil with the ash of the plants around them. Except, these seeds bloomed in the house, underneath a pile of laundry that served as kindling.” He swore again and stomped his hoof harder. “If I hadn't been so careless, I wouldn't have picked those infernal things up! If I had been more patient, I would have waited for the storm to pass before barging outside! If I hadn't been so forgetful, I would have moved those seeds some place where it wouldn't have started a fire! If I hadn't been so lazy, I would have gone home and it would have been my place which burned down instead!”
        “But you risked your life to save your siblings. That was very brave.”
        Sighing, Dante let his head droop. “I know. I've had three months of monotony laying in hospital rooms to come to terms with this, and I had, at least I think so. But you're the first pony I've really talked to about this, and I'm letting a lot out a once.” He exhaled, “And yesterday, I spent some time with my sister again. The bandages were off her wings, and I could see how they were physically deformed by her injuries.” He rubbed a hoof through his mane, “I haven't been able to get that picture out of my mind. I keep seeing her, standing there, smiling at me and our older brother with those bare spots on her wings where I could see her mangled... I don't even know what you call the fleshy part of a wing underneath the feathers.”
        “How is she handling it?”
        “Wonderful. Simply wonderful. Every day I see her, she's all smiles and not for one moment have I ever seen her the least bit sad for herself. She loved flying, but she's said she's thankful to be alive, and if losing her wings was what it took, then she's content with everything.”
        My throat tightened as a particular feeling of self loathing took root in my guts and I suddenly felt childish for becoming so absorbed in my own problems. Momentarily, I remembered the little pegasus foal I occasionally saw in therapy, though she wasn't Dante's sister. I never once saw her cry, even as I was driven to the point of tears because I was unable to walk.
        I couldn't form words for several seconds as my mind was momentarily staggered, but I eventually managed to cough out a reply to Dante. “She's been through a lot, like you I guess. How's the rest of your family?”
        “Well... Tink hasn't spoken to me since the fire. Both him and Dad are really angry at me, but otherwise are fine. Tink's staying with our aunt where Mom is at. Windy went home with Dad so she could come visit me: Mom and I aren't on the best of terms right now, and she doesn't want Windy to ever talk to me again.”
        Shards of glass settled in my stomach, “Your parents... they're not... divorcing? Right?”
        “They had an argument about me a few days ago – needed some time to cool their heads before they tore eachothers' throats out. Don't worry. I don't think it is anything permanent. Dad said it was just so they didn't say anything too hurtful to eachother.”
        “I'm glad. I couldn't imagine...” I shook my head, cringing and pulling a sharp breath at a spike of pain struck me.
        “You okay?”
        “Agh...” I was breathless for a moment, “Yes it's just... well you know. There's always pain, you get used to it, but sometimes it gets really bad and catches you off guard... Sorry.”
        “Don't be, I understand. Okay now?”
        Wearily, I blinked my eyes and choked out, “I've got my guard back up. Let's keep talking, get my mind off it. What... agh... what was the argument about?”
        “That's kind of the kicker. Mom's really angry at me for nearly killing Tink, Windy, and to a small extent, myself. After it was clear I was going to survive my injuries, she fell away and has barely said anything to me. What she has said, though, kind of makes me wish she just stopped talking altogether.”
        “What did she say?”
        “...” Dante didn't reply.
        “Oh no, that was too much. I didn't ask. I'm sorry.”
        Dante flashed a sad smile. “Don't worry. If I wasn't open to answering questions, I wouldn't have mentioned it. It's just... hard to acknowledge. Just give me a minute.”
        “Okay. Can we... sit? I don't feel well.”
        “Yeah, yeah, sure. How's that bench right over there?”
        “That's good.” It was a short distance to the bench, onto which we both climbed with some difficulty: I because the intense headache had come with nausea and a slight loss of balance, and Dante because of his limited mobility in his hind legs. Finding something about our shared plight to be uplifting, I laughed grimly and said, “We're quite the sight, aren't we?”
        “These sure are clunky.” He said, looking at his prosthetics as he struggled to get them in a comfortable position where he lay. I myself sat on my haunches, propping myself upright with my front legs planted on the edge of the bench between my knees and letting my hind legs stretch off the bench. I felt like I could lose my balance at any time. “Well, you do just about as well with them as I've been managing with my real ones these last few weeks.” I looked to his legs, then to his horn. I subconsciously rubbed the empty space where my horn should be and where, instead, a coal hot pain glowed. “What did we do to deserve this?” I sighed to myself.
        “Isn't it ironic? I spent three months in a fire swamp, sleeping in tents, nearly getting blown up in firejets, but didn't get hurt, then, I nearly die in a housefire when I got back.”
        “That is a bit ironic. Come to think about it, I lost my-” I couldn't bring myself to say 'lost my horn. “When I got hurt... it happened at a foalhood favorite picnic spot.”
        Dante chuckled. “It's settled then, it's too dangerous to be someplace safe. We all should start living in the most deadly place we can think of, and everything will be okay.”
        “I don't know. I mean, you still have the option of using protection spells.”
        “Hmm.” He held a hoof to his chin. “I don't know any of those spells.”
        “What? I thought you said you knew a fireshield?”
        “I mean, I know that one, but that's a ward and not a protection spell.”
        I furrowed my brow. “Well, yes, I know, but in layman's terms, it is a protection- oh.” I blushed then said in a raised tone, “That Wasn't What I Meant!”
        “Sure it was, you just didn't know it!”
        My face burning, I turned my head away and glared at Dante out of the corner of my eye while he chuckled to himself. Filthy minded gutterbrain.
        Chuckling a bit more to himself, Dante sighed and stopped smiling. “Well, as I was saying.. Mom told me that she didn't want to see me again, that she didn't want me around my siblings. At least, not until I had become more responsible.”
        I thought to myself what it would be like to go through his recovery with one of my parents so angry at me, and I suddenly felt my heart go out to him. Face still uncomfortably warm, I was drawn back to the somber conversation we had been having before. “I'm so sorry.”
        “She was right, you know,” Dante wistfully said. “I seem to be a magnet for trouble.”
        “Really? Aside from an obscene sense of humor, you don't seem like it.”
        “Well, I never do anything 'illegal', but I've done a lot of stupid things. When I was nine, I mixed some household chemicals to see what would happen; nearly killed myself because they were ammonia and bleach. Two years later, I found out how to make explosives using detergent and some other things. Tested the concoction in the alleyway and blew out every window on the block.”
        I snickered. “Seriously?”
        “Yeah.” Dante laughed back.
        “I've done a few stupid things too.”
        “Like what?”
        I looked around as if someone was watching, then said in a low voice, “I've always had a fascination with warspells.”
        His eyebrows lifted. “A meek little thing like you? You sure don't look the part of a battlemage.”
        “Oh, no. I'd never be good at that, but...” I grinned, “It's always such a rush going over those old tomes, reading their contents. I've always fancied the air and ice spells.”
        “Ever cast one? Cuz, if you haven't, then I don't really know why you are bringing up reckless actions,” he chided in jest.
        “Ehehe...” I rubbed the back of my neck and looked nervously about, “Well, you know, I should really be careful about what I say in public.”
        “But you didn't answer my question.”
        “I can trust you, right?”
        Dante returned with a wry grin.
        “A year ago, I was visiting the Canterlot Royal Library for some research when I decided to just start browsing the archives. After all, it is the largest library in the kingdom and some ponies can only dream about going. Anyway, I was passing by the different rows of shelves, pulling a book here and there and skimming the summary at the start of each one. Eventually, I ended up wondering through the older sections of the library where a lot of old, outdated tomes are stored. I doubt people go back in there very often because it is only open to those with a class 4W practitioner's license, or else are a graduate of Princess Celestia's School and have a perfect tract record – everything was kinda off limits. Anyway, I came across an entire shelf of books with dark titles. Things like, 'Calciphus - A Mortician's Guide to Bone Magic', 'Eternal Flames, the Consuming Fire', and other stuff like that.”
        “So naturally, you snatched all those tomes up and took them home, right?”
        “No. Never!” I was suddenly serious, “There's no such thing as benign dark arts, no matter how mundane they might seem. I wouldn't ever tamper with anything like that, but I did find a book with a safe title. It was called 'A Whirlwind Tour of Aer and its Components'.”
        “So what did you do with it? It sounds like a pretty normal magic guide.”
        “That's what I thought too, and so must have the librarian because she let me take it home, but that wasn't the case. The entire thing was an instruction manual for, eh... dismantling your enemies with Air and Wind magic. There was a spell that let you conjure a scythe made of compressed air that could throw tornadoes. Oh! And another that created a compressed sphere that explodes on impact when hurtled at the enemy. It has the power of a small bomb and was said to be able to dismember violently!”
        Dante leaned away from me. “You ever cast those?”
        I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you think I am mentioning them?”
        “And how do you know the airbomb dismembers?”
        “I told you, I read it.”
        “Just read it?”
        “Yes.” I said, barely keeping a smile from breaking through my mock threatening face while Dante feigned being scared. “I got pretty good wielding the scythe, and that thing was sharp too. Could split small rocks in half if I tried hard enough. Then, I got the bright idea to cast the airbolt, as I called it, and try to slice it in half. It exploded in my face and left my ears ringing and nose bleeding. I was too afraid to cast it since.”
        Dante broke out laughing and I quickly joined in. “Agh... It hurts to laugh!” I grunted while grabbing my head, still chuckling and altogether not too put off by the pain. Altogether, I think we found the moment a little too funny, but it was a delightful release from the dour atmosphere which had been settling upon us a few minutes before.
        “Hehe...” Dante snorted, “You sure we aren't related?”
        “Who knows.” I snickered, then became serious. “Look, you can't tell anyone about this. Even with my credentials, spells like that are to be read for reference only. I have a Class 3-General, 4-Special permit, and war magic isn't covered in that. If it gets out that I was using those spells, I could have my degree revoked and-” I stopped short.
        “And what?”
        “And, well, my ability to use magic taken away. But it's a little late for that.”
        “Eh, I don't know. I'd like to see some of those paperpushers spin their gears over taking away magic when that's already happened. I bet they'd just sit there with steam coming out of their ears till they fell over.”
        “Maybe.” I realized what Dante said was supposed to be funny, but I didn't feel like laughing.
        “Whelp, anyway...” he continued lightly. “Long story short, because I've done so many stunts like, well, splitting an airbolt with a scythe,” he gestured to me, “my mother doesn't trust me around my younger siblings. Honestly, I don't know how much I can fault her on that point. I guess I need some time to let things simmer down between us before I talk to her again.”
        “She is your mom. Surely she can't give you the cold shoulder forever.”
        “Yeah. I'm sure everything will work out fine... But I guess it's time that I finally got my act together.”
        “Hopefully she'll warm up to you again and everything will be better soon.”
        “I hope so.”
        We sat beside eachother for a few more minutes before one of the nurses whose task it was to watch over patients as they walked the track came over to us. “Just checking in, are the two of you okay?”
        “Just resting,” Dante answered.
        “Actually, I feel pretty lousy right now. I want to go back to my room and rest.”
        “What's the issue?”
        “Severe headache, nausea.”
        “What's your name so I can get in touch with the nurse on duty?”
        “Castor Star.” I turned to my friend, “I'm sorry Dante, I really feel like I need to sleep this one off.”
        “It's fine,” he replied warmly. “Will you be back tomorrow?”
        “I don't know.”
        Within a few minutes, my therapist came with a wheelchair, helped me into it, and was kind enough to fetch some paper and a pencil so Dante and I could give eachother our addresses. That done, we bade eachother goodbye and I was returned to my room.





        How many times in the last three weeks had I been anxiously awaiting some information, prognosis, result, or something else of dire importance, only to become increasingly stressed and overburdened by my imaginings of the worst possible outcome? I at the time would have rightly guessed no more than a half dozen times, but the nervous anticipation of each instance spilled over and filled in the gaps in my memory such that the lines were blurred and I could only remember a perpetual dark cloud which hung over my head.
        This marked yet another such instance in my life where I bristled with worry and dark speculations, only to find myself a nervous wreck by the time the news actually came.
        Doctor Apple, being a specialist with unicorns with magic problems, had told me the day prior that a prognosis was in the works, thus justifying the countless tests, the multiple humming machines I had been hooked to, and the four magic transfusions I had endured where part of my energy was captured and sent off for testing. Now, my parents and I sat in my hospital room, eager, nervous, and altogether ready to hear whatever news there was to come.
        The door clicked, my ears picked up, and I saw the doctor entering the room. “Good evening,” he said.
        “Hello Doctor Gurney,” I answered with a tight chest. I had been hoping Doctor Apple would be the one to give me the news – I liked her – but someone else had come instead. “Is everything okay?”
        “Yes.” His single word baited me to listen for more, yet he turned away with nothing further to add as he pulled some paperwork off of his clipboard and neatly set them on my bedside table. Taking his fair time, he then flipped back several pages on clipboard, muttering something to himself as he quickly read them over. He finally addressed us again. “As you know, three days ago you suffered a severe seizure resultant from the injuries you had sustained several weeks ago. At the time, we had correctly assumed it to be caused by the misfiring of your praecantor cortex due to over saturation of thaumic energy; something caused by your distinct lack of a horn.”
        “Thank you for reminding me,” I groused.
        “Right, well... As I was saying, a unicorn's horn is singularly responsible for controlling and directing the energy harnessed by your body; however, that means you have no way to regulate how quickly excess magic is radiated away. In nine out of ten cases of keraectomy, the result is an opening of a pony's thaumic reserves to the outside environment, causing an equalization of energy. Typically, this means a slight weakness of body and sickliness for the pony in question, but little more of consequence as they have slight deficiency in their natural magic field.
        “However, in your case, it appears just enough of your horn's root, or vis radix, has survived to maintain closure of your thaumic reserves, meaning a buildup of energy is inevitable. With normal unicorns, the rate of energy buildup would lead to T.H.S.S. or Thaumaturgical Hyper-Retention Stress Syndrome by no earlier than four weeks, but in your case, because you have spent your life developing your spellcasting, your body is accustomed to generating a very generous amount of energy.
        “We've calculated that at the rate of buildup in your body, you would have reached the threshold for suffering this syndrome within only a few days if you could only store the typical amount of magical energy. However, again, you have trained yourself to have what is, frankly, a staggeringly large reserve of energy; something that has very likely saved your life given the rate of energy generation. Nonetheless-” He adjusted his coat. “You still have reached the threshold for T.H.S.S. far earlier than the average unicorn, at which point your praecantor cortex became saturated with energy and began operating improperly, resulting in what we believe to have been a widespread seizure which would have killed you if we had not gotten some of the excess magic drawn away from your body using a series of energy diffusers.”
        “Killed?” Dad asked with eyebrows raised.
        The doctor nodded grimly. “Yes. Because of the large amounts of energy present in Castor's body, the thaumic energy began overflowing into her regulatory systems and interfered with the very sensitive magic which, in addition to her nervous system, helps her body keep her heart pumping and lungs breathing in.”
        Voice wavering, I asked, “This is going to happen again, isn't it?”
        “That is one of the reasons I am here.” Doctor Gurney produced from his pocket a small cloth bag with pull-strings. Pulling the neck of the bag open, he gently pulled out a small, torrid shaped piece of metal from it.
        “What is that?” I asked.
        “A magic siphon.”
        I stared at the small amulet held in the doctor's grip. As far as magical devices go, this one looked completely mundane. With no ornate decoration or sense of aestetic, it was a simple, bronze colored ring with violet glass filling the center. At its edges were small brackets like that on a watch where bands attached at the edges and, said bands, permitted the siphon to be strapped onto one's head almost like a cycloptic set of aviator's goggles.
        “So, this will pull away my magic when I put it on? If I use it, I won't have to worry about T.H...”
        “T.H.S.S. And yes, this will alliveate the symptoms. With proper use, this will perfectly augment your natural radiation of magic.”
        “This feels so... wasteful. Just throwing away my magic like this.” I could be using this to cast spells... but it's just going to be wasted.
        “I realize what it must seem like, but this is magic that would have been dissipated by your horn anyway. It isn't that much energy after all, and you need to do this, otherwise, you would suffer another saturation event in no sooner than a week and would most likely die.”
        Such a waste of ability. Squandering energy like this. I shook my head to clear it; I needed to focus on something that actually matteredd and ask questions while I could. “This will keep me from having seizures?”
        “Yes, assuming that you are in fact suffering from T.H.S.S. and that you use this like I am prescribing you. However, this will alleviate other symproms of T.H.S.S as well. The most immediate will be the headaches and nausea you are suffering from. Mind you that your discomfort will not be removed in it's entirety as there are other factors causing the symptoms I just mentioned: your concussion, the phantom sensations you've mentioned, and perhaps even some of your medication, but I believe this will be a tremendous help for you.”
        “Really?” I said, suddenly feeling a jolt of enthusiasm, “You really think it will help that much?”
        “We'll just have to see.” Placing the device gently on the bedside table, Dr. Gurney picked up the bedtray I often took meals on, unfolded it, and set it over my lap. Upon it, he sat the small stack of paperwork he had previously sat upon the bedside table. “This is the release form for the siphon. All you need to do is sign it, and I can begin instructing you on how to use the device.” The doctor pulled out a pen and set it on the table. I picked it up, holding it in my mouth and glancing over the contents of the page as I skimmed each paragraph, flipping back through pages to read them as well.
        Suddenly, my eyes fell upon one number and the pen slipped from my grip, clattering to the table. “I-I-I can't...” were the only words I could utter.
        “Castor, what is it?” Dad asked, pulling in and looking at the sheet that had left me in a stupor. “Oh.” He immediately jerked his head to the doctor and demanded, “Is this the right price?”
        He nodded grimly.
        “No, it can't be. Surely there is some mistake!”
        “As per procedure, I checked the papers as I came in. I am certain that is the correct price.”
        “It's so expensive~” My voice shook so much to be almost unintelligible.
        Doctor Gurney nodded. “I know.”
        “C-c-can-I rent it? Or... let you keep it and I come when-when I need it?”
        “You must understand that after this device has been used, it becomes imbued with your magic, after which, it will not work on anyone else. It, in every sense, becomes yours once you use it, so the hospital cannot allow you to rent it.”
        “What about alternatives? Isn't there anything that doesn't cost this much?” Dad asked.
        “The only other device in the hospital capable of radiating away latent magic is a MEV, which costs ten times as much and is not suited for prolonged use because it causes severe deterriation in the spell nexus which helps regulate your bodily functions. Further, it can only handle a fraction of the energy that would need to be dissipated, making it inferior to this siphon in every imaginable way.”
        Choking on a knot in my throat, I managed enough control to utter, “I can't afford this.”         Mom and Dad pulled close around me and Mom whispered to me, “It's okay, we'll pay for it, honey. Don't worry, we'll make sure you can get it.” I latched my front legs around them and embraced them for all I was worth, and then some. I didn't want to let them pay. I couldn't! They've done so much for me, raised me, loved me, paid for so much... But I couldn't imagine forcing them to lose so much of their money on my behalf when they had nothing worldly to gain of it. But... I didn't have enough money to pay for this either, and I knew I would die without it. I Had To Have It, and there wasn't a single thing I could do otherwise.
        Hugging them tighter, I couldn't utter enough thanks to tell them what they meant to me, so I didn't even bother and instead held onto them for just a little bit longer.
        A minute later, with misty eyes and a tight chest, I turned my attention back to the release form on the table and slowly picked up the pen. The price, though just another figure among a field of ink, stood out as brightly as the sun in the noon sky. All I had to do was scribble my name a few times over a few pages, yet as I leaned in to bring pen to paper, it was like sticking myself with a needle. I flipped back to the page with the price, a knot forming in my gut as my eyes once again were magnetized to the price which amounted to over six years full pay at my current job – a job I was no longer able to perform.
        I pulled away.
        “I can't.”
        “Castor, don't worry,” Dad assured. “We'll find some way to pay for this.”
        'Some way to pay for this'. Oh Sweet Celestia! He doesn't know how we will be able to afford it. The words jumbled around in my head as the realization struck me. “It costs as much as a house... I can't do that to you! It's not fair!”
        “Castor, it's okay.” Mom put a hoof on my shoulder and gave me a caring look. “We will get through this just fine.”
        “Yes, it's okay,” Dad added.
        I whimpered and picked the pen back up, leaned in to write, but failed to keep my resolve. Casting a dirty look at the doctor, I rolled the pen to one side of my mouth and growled, “Do you want me to sign in blood as well? Cause' I'm already selling my soul.”
        “Castor!” Dad scolded.
        Doctor Gurney looked offended. “These siphons are not all that common,” he chided in a gruff tone. “You should count yourself lucky that we have this one, because it's the only one we have. If we didn't, it might take weeks to get another and by then you most likely would be dead.”
        I felt like I had been kicked in the gut, but worse, I felt violated. I HAD to have this, which meant I was going to commit to paying for it no matter what the cost. But it was so expensive...
        Taking a breath, I steadied myself and wrote my name in the blanks. A stifling chill flushed through my body as I finished the last letter and gazed at my name on the line, signifying that I bore responsibility to pay for the siphon. It felt like I had been kicked again. “That's it.” I said.
        The doctor picked up the device by the strap and began loosening a knot. “I know it was an impossible decision, but you had to make it. Your life is worth a lot more than what it costs to get this.”
        Somehow, that statement made me feel like a hostage who had just paid an exorbitant ransom. The doctor gripped the siphon at the end of his hoof and told me to unstrap and remove my protective helmet. I complied and set it on the nightstand.
        “Alright, so do you see the red band that runs along the circumference of the ring here?” The band was on one of the flat sides of ring.
        “Yes.”
        “This edge needs to be face down against your forehead and should be placed directly where your horn was, directly over your praecantor cortex.” The doctor delicately placed the siphon over the bandaged part of my head where my horn had once been and then fastened the band behind my head. “Until we replace the bone in your skull, you will need to be very careful using this because the only thing between your brain and everything outside is a thin layer of skin we grafted over the injury.”
        “Okay. I will be.”
        He stepped back. “Alright, the rest should be very simple for you. All you do is channel magic like you are casting a spell, except you Do Not want to structure the magic into a spell because you don't have a horn to sculpt it. Doing that will only put strain on your body because it is expecting the feedback from your missing horn.”
        “What happens if I do try to cast a spell?”
        “You will experience a sensation very similar to motion sickness, except accompanied with intense, burning pain. The onset will be nearly instantaneous.”
        “Right. Can I try using it now?”
        “One last thing, then certainly. As you focus your energy, it taps the reservoir that your horn normally taps, and then dissipates it. Have you ever tried to cast too much magic at once?”
        “Yes.” I momentarily was reminded of one of the war spells I had told Dante about.
        “Then you know that a unicorn's horn can only process so much magic in a given period. The same is true for this device, though it can process a lot more because in the same period because it isn't shaping or sculpting the magic like your horn would – it's only dumping it into the surrounding environment. However, since it isn't a part of your body, you will not feel pain when you are using too much magic, so you must use your own good judgment in the amount used. Keep in mind that you don't want to deplete your reserves, just skim off the excess which has been accumulating. Venting out too much will leave you athaumic, which can cause just as many problems as hyper-thaumic.
        “Okay.” I felt cold at the thought I could damage this lifeline – or worse, myself – but I assured myself that I could still control my magic well enough to not let that happen. “I can give it a try now?”
        Doctor Gurney nodded.
        “Alright.” I let a trickle of energy seep from my reserves into the front of my mind. For the past three weeks, an eternity it seemed, since I had been injured, my magic had been stagnating inside of me like stale water held for hours in my mouth. This trickle, though, was not only like spitting the warm, stale water out, but also refreshing like taking a drink of cold, pure water as well.
        In response, I let loose a torrent of energy.
        “Ah.” I let out a gasp which sounded like a whimper of pain instead of a moan of delight.
        “You alright?” Mom asked tensely, but I was too preoccupied to answer as I closed my eyes and rubbed the temples of my skull.
        “Mmmm...” I hummed dreamily and smiled. The energy flowing out of me left me feeling like I was receiving a massage of the best kind as much of the pain in my head melted away, leaving the most heavenly of delight in its place.
        “Good, good,” The doctor commented. “Looks like that is helping with your headache, isn't it?”
        “Mmm hm.” I kept my eyes closed, reveling in the soothing rush pouring out of my body. The sensation was so right. Magic was flowing freely as it should, and in this moment, I felt whole again, almost able to feel my horn and see through my magical senses again.
        Stopping, I opened my eyes and looked up at the siphon on my head. “This is wonderful.” Oh, how wonderful indeed, I felt to be positively beaming with happiness.
        In that moment, the siphon felt to be worth its steep price.