Chapter 12: The Inevitable
Chapter 12: The Inevitable
They sought the woman.
They sought her across the great, barren deserts. They shielded their eyes as the sands blew around in great, vast storms that reached to the horizon. Their magic lifted into the air, bridling the winds until the sands quieted and the scorching sun alone remained.
The mages pressed on, moving ever towards their goal.
They sought the woman across the fetid swamps. They sought her as alligators eyed them hungrily, as great pythons coiled around trees and insects the size of birds buzzed around them.
The mages led their mounts, the long lizard-like creatures, through the brackish waters, their magic leaping out at times to chastise those things that looked upon them with greedy eyes.
The mages sought the woman. They sought her amid howling canyons where great beasts lay hidden, regarding them from dark crevices where their many eyes flickered as they went past. Their mounts bellowed, fearful of the things unseen, and by night shadows moved in the darkness at the edges of their camps.
The magic of the mages erupted in the forms of wards, great circles of protection whipping into the night as lashes, sending dark things streaming back into the darkness with cries of pain that lingered on the winds.
The mages sought the woman across jagged mountain peaks where the snows blew on and on, chilling them until their magic erupted as blue flames, sustaining their lives.
The mages sought the woman across lands flowing with wild rivers, their magic calming the waters so that they might pass.
The mages sought the woman across great fields of grass and wildflowers, oceans of buckwheat and clover, their magic lifting instruments and carrying their songs wide across the plains.
They sought her, following their lord, his will, and his word. They followed him until they found her.
The mages found her in her keep, inside the tower built into the very face of the volcano, the molten rock streaming down its sides. Their magic alerted the guards, and the vast gates came open before them.
The mages found the woman deep down in places where light seldom shone. Their magic flickered around them, warning them that a power greater than their own was at work. Their magic warned them that the woman was not to be trifled with.
The mages found her not in her vast chambers. They did not find her in her studies or upon her throne.
No, when they found her she was in a humble room hewn from the very roots of the mountain. They found her in a room made of interlaced stone, a place cool and dark.
They found the woman sitting before a pool, slowly drowning a young mare and then drawing her out again.
As the mages bowed to the woman, she slowly pressed the pony back into the waters, small sounds of confusion and fear lifting from the filly as she slipped beneath the waters… hacking, sputtering sounds lifting from the little pony as she came back to the surface.
They supplicated themselves before the woman who cooed at the pathetic little creature as she lifted her from the cold waters. The mages scraped low, bowing deep, and to their eternal damnation they did nothing as the filly looked back to them with pleading eyes, begging them for help.
The mages had sought the woman, and they had found her, and even in the hearts of the most just and kind among them, there was no pity. The hatred, wrath, fear, and racism that sat in their hearts kept them bowing low as their lord presented them…
…and their magic did nothing to aid the child as the woman pressed her below the surface of the frigid waters once more.
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“Does the mockingbird make music on the winds?” asked the stallion.
Spike arched an eyebrow.
“I dunno. Maybe?” he said.
The stallion blanched in place. “Well, I is… that is being. It is being that… does the mockingbird make music on the winds, little comrade?”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” Spike said, swatting his own forehead, making the tassels on his new fez bounce in place. “Oh, yeah, it’s one of those passphrase thingies. Why didn’t you say so?”
“That would be in defeating the purpose of passphrase, comrade,” the stallion said, looking up and down street. Spike pondered the accent. It seemed to be Stalliongrad, but faked or forced, like the mustache the stallion was wearing.
“You seem, how they say… very not good,” said the stallion. “You look ill, little comrade.”
Spike sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was becoming something of a new posture for him, almost zen-like in its form.
“So, ummm… do you want to give me the books, or should I get Call?” Spike said, running his eyes up and down the figure that stood in the doorway.
More and more of these couriers arrived at Call’s house each day, bringing tidbits of information. Call, true to his word, had been calling in favors. What type of favors, he did not say. In the two weeks and three days that Spike had been coming to Artificer Call’s home, he had discovered much.
He’d also fallen asleep in Call’s big chair only to have awakened to a darkened sky, a fact that had sent him running through Canterlot’s darkened streets in an effort to get back to the hospital.
Now, not even Call could be trusted. Now, Call was trying to get him to sleep, to rest… to stay away from Twilight. Now, the endless sea of wooziness that was sloshing through the dragon made his head rock back and forth, making him feel seasick if he stood still too long. The tones in his head played their pitches seemingly at random, going from steady tones to ringing chimes.
This soundtrack played around him, hovering over his faded scales and the deep black rings that sat beneath his greying eyes. All in all, Spike had the peculiar feeling of losing himself, as though his body were an oversized sweater that he was wearing.
Spike shook his head, driving the sensation of floating queasiness from him.
He couldn’t trust Call? That stole more life out of him, and he implored the historian for forgiveness under his breath. Call was doing everything he could to help, he was calling in these favors.
“Oh,” Spike said, looking back up to the greasy-looking stallion that stood in the doorway, suddenly remembering that he was there. “Do… do you want me to get Artificer Call?”
“That would be perhaps for the best, little dragon boy whelp,” the stallion said, pushing a bundle of papers, along with something heavy, into Spike’s arms. The brown paper that they were wrapped in was stained with an unknown liquid, making the surface go transparent and making it smell like a deli on a hot day.
“Oh, it’s quite alright, Spike,” Artificer Call answered as he trotted down the hallway. “I’ll deal with this… gentlecolt. Why don’t you see what we’ve discovered? I shall join you shortly.”
“Best of luck to you, little comrade boy,” the stallion said, grasping Spike’s hand in his hoof, making the package and its contents wobble around as he vigorously shook the dragon.
“Y-Yeah,” Spike answered before nodding and turning away. As he walked towards the study, Spike wiped his hand across the surfaces of various objects, trying to wipe the sense of greasiness and unease that hung over him from his encounter with this newest courier.
As he settled into the study, Spike listened to the muffled conversation from beyond. There was the sound of bits being passed along, and something joined the restlessness that already sat in his stomach as he thought about what Call was doing.
Spike opened the package, doing his best to avoid the greasy bits, and laid out what he found in the package on the small space left on the desk. There were some books, a scroll, and a stack of letters.
He carefully opened the books one by one, checking their titles and authors. His face creased as he realized that one was a book he’d already searched through.
Artificer Call returned to the study and, perhaps thinking that Spike’s disapproving grimace was a commentary on his methods, answered Spike’s concern.
“I can assure you, dear boy,” he said, placing the bag of bits back in the drawer, “that there is nothing illegal or immoral in my means of procuring these primary resources.”
Spike wavered on his feet, his vision going blurry for a moment as he attempted to recognize what Call was saying. When he was able to piece it together, he turned his eyes up to Call and waited for an explanation.
“It is merely, I suppose… unusual and questionable,” the stallion answered.
As Call trotted through the room, Spike took another item off of the stack of newly delivered treasures. It was a book… or, he thought it was a book, at least. It was unlike any other type of book that he had ever seen before. The binding was two pieces of wood, clamped down and held in place by thin, fine cords of what seemed a golden braid of fine wire. The pages weren’t so much bound to the binding as they were clamped into it. The cover was also wood, and intricately carved.
Like all the works, it seemed ancient, and he opened it slowly and carefully. Inside the cover a fine jade bookmark sat where it had presumably sat for centuries. He gave it a cursory glance. The fine mineral didn’t draw much of his attention. Usually he’d be licking his lips and wondering if he could get away with making a quick snack of the minty treat. But the sight of the mineral brought no rumbles to his stomach. In the same way that he was too tired to sleep, Spike was too hungry to eat.
An unusual type of paper lay across the inside of the cover, and when he pulled it back, familiar eyes met his.
Spike gave a gasp, and he let the book slide back to the table. He shook his head, chasing out some cobwebs, and then stared at the book once more. He slapped his head with both hands before he lifted the book again, opening the cover gently to greet the figure that lay there in the lithograph.
The same massive male griffon that he had seen in the painting in the library, in the special collections room that he had “opened”, stared back at him in a stylized image. Though the technique and style were far different, there was no mistaking the sharp, deep outline of the face and the distant, deep grey eyes.
Spike placed the book back on the coffee table, and his eyes flew across the words beneath the picture… words that he knew for fact not to be the writing of the griffons.
“Whoa,” Spike said, lifting the book. He looked it over as Artificer Call approached. After a moment of thought, Spike decided that it was odd that a griffon would appear in such a work. If he was right, the book seemed to come from the other side of Equus rather than like anything he’d ever seen griffons make.
“Ah!” Call said, sitting next to the dragon. “Neighponese, unless I’m mistaken, lad… either that or something very close to it. Aha! Rice miasma paper, fold it over and take a look at the spectacular effect!”
Spike reached back for the fragile, brown paper that he had lifted before. As it settled back over the title page, something happened. The words, which had only been faintly visible through it, began to change. The words morphed from being written horizontally to vertically… and changed into Equestrian.
“Wow, just… wow,” Spike said, watching the words appear.
“Indeed,” Call said, smiling. “The rice miasma is captured in the paper, so it is easy to enchant. It’s completely harmless, and is used here as a translation spell. Very clever. Well, read it, dear boy.”
Spike looked back at the page…
The Peace of Aarne: The Unification of the Griffons
“Ah,” Call said, pushing his glasses back up his face. "It appears that you have a centuries-old history of the griffons written by a Neighponese historian. At some point somepony, or creature, inserted the miasma paper. Well, do be careful… the communications were not the best back then. If you encounter anything about griffons with their heads in their stomachs or rumors of them eating ponies alive or anything of that nature, recognize it for what it is.”
Spike turned to Call, giving him a knowing nod.
“Total garbage, right?”
“That’s the discerning historian’s assistant!” Call said with a laugh.
As the stallion trotted to the far side of the room, Spike looked back to the title page once more. The words were still in their long, vertical lines, and the ones he had read faded into a purple on the rice paper before disappearing entirely.
“Cool,” Spike said, turning back to the picture of the griffon. The big male seemed very powerful, and his frame seemed to hold all of the better traits of the griffons as a species. There was strength in the drake, and Spike gave the image one last close inspection before moving deeper into the work.
The dragon flipped forward a few pages before stopping to let the rice miasma paper fall across a new page, a similar sheet on the back cover allowing him to do the same.
Flickering bits of the griffon’s history sat there, revealing the best that the ancient Neighponese knew of a foreign race. Spike casually glanced across the tales of some of their clans, across their settling in the high mountain aeries, the rise of their nations… and a unifier.
“Huh,” Spike said, flipping another page.
His tired eyes fell across another image, and as he reached for the rice paper something clicked deep within the corridors of his mind.
Ten thousand memories struck him at once, and his eyes flew back to the page, his emotions racing. He fell to the floor. The chair toppled over and his fez went flying from his head as he gave cries of panic and alarm.
The Pillar of the Sun leapt at him from within the painted page.
The hollow oval where the eye had rested stood there in stark relief. The shimmering onyx stood out in a well of black, erupting forth from where some unknown hand or hoof had painted it centuries before.
“Call!” Spike cried, his arms flying through the air as he tried to both shield himself and lift himself off the floor. “C-Call!”
The stallion spun about, putting aside the works he had been reading. Seeing Spike on the floor, he offered a hoof. Spike, though, just pointed back to the book.
Call’s head swung back to the page. “Oh my,” he mouthed, his eyes settling across the image that lay there. “Well, dear boy, it seems that you’ve made a discovery.”
“Y-yeah,” Spike answered. The stallion helped him to his feet, and as they adjusted the chair, Spike took deep breaths, as though steeling himself, giving him the strength to look at that thing once more.
Spike slowly climbed the chair, making his way back towards the book as though it were something that wished to strike at him, as though he were coming close to something hot enough that could burn even his draconic flesh.
He reached down and picked the fez off the floor, never taking his eyes off the book as he gingerly swept his hands across the braided rug. His hands finally folded around the fez, and as he brought it slowly back to the top of his head, he made cautious steps back towards the page.
The Pillar of the Sun, drawn in a distinctively Neignponese style, remained affixed to the page. It hovered there, floating in the image. His eyes narrowed as he beheld it, and a feeling that normally did not hold sway over the dragon soon found purchase deep within him… a feeling that, in his young life, only this accursed thing had been able to lift from him.
I hate you, he thought. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…
Spike drew a deep breath, and as the emotion floated away he looked up to find Artificer Call staring back at him, any number of emotions floating in his features.
“Well, my lad,” Call said, clearing his voice, “nothing for it but to read on and see what it has to say, I suppose…”
Spike drew another breath, forcing himself to calm. He opened his eyes to find himself staring down over the loathsome image of the Pillar of the Sun. Artificer Call made his way back over to his notebooks while Spike regarded the image with a cold, contemptuous stare. The historian opened this notes to a new section, and then Spike heard the stallion lift his voice.
“Well now, dear boy,” Call said, watching Spike lift the tassels of the fez out of his eyes once more. “Let us get back on track, as it were. Read to me what it says, and I shall add it to our findings.”
Spike settled back onto the tall, thin chair. After making sure his fez was safely back in place, he scowled at the pillar. A low rumble escaped him, making the tassels vibrate on his forehead.
An animalistic instinct, the need to protect, had arisen in him. Like so many other parts of himself that he had once kept in check, the swearing, the anger, the hatred, the lying, it was now sitting close to the surface. It was bubbling there, threatening to boil over and consume him.
Spike growled once more. Forcing caution into his motions, he lifted the rice paper and laid it across the page where the image of the detestable object stood. As he watched the haze of purple returned, and as it formed words his eyes swept across the secrets it revealed.
Aarne’s Talon
The pillar had another name. Spike blinked, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head before looking back to the page.
Aarne’s Talon, the book read, long used to keep the enemies of Kotkankoto at a distance, and was used by him in his quest to unify the griffon clans.
… kept at Aarnenlinna and enshrouded with enchantments…
… a powerful weapon…
… rallied behind Aarne…
Spike’s eyes brightened, and as he read the name again and again, a shadow of hope began to creep into his perception. “Call?” he said. “Who is that? Who is this guy the book keeps talking about?”
“Well, Spike,” Call answered, placing the pencil back down, “do you remember the portrait in the Special Collections Room?”
“Y-yeah,” Spike said, lowering his eyes. Despite the weeks that had passed, his lie remained a sort of open wound, a breach in the trust between them.
“Well, lad,” Call continued, moving past the sore topic , “that griffon is none other than Aarne the Undying, the unifier of the griffons, and their greatest leader.”
Aarne the Undying. Suddenly, Spike’s mind came alive with the possibilities. He must be thousands of years old, like Princes Celestia, Spike thought, his eyes filling with light and energy of a kind he hadn’t felt for weeks.
Aarne the Undying. Suddenly, there was an answer. Hope filled the boy’s frame. All that it would take was a chance to talk with this griffon drake. Certainly, this Aarne, this big, strong griffon drake who looked like the picture of every hero Spike had ever seen drawn, he would help.
Aarne the Undying. Spike lifted his face back to Call. Aarne would help. He’d reveal the secret of the Pillar of the Sun. He’d know how to defeat it. He’d know every little detail that the princess was refusing to share. He’d be able to tell the doctors what to do. It was that simple.
“We… I have to write him a letter right now!” Spike called, rummaging through the papers on the desk, grasping for scraps that he had doodled on and even the greasy wrapping paper from the books… anything so that he could begin his message to his new savior.
“He can do it, Call!” Spike said. “All we have to do is write to Aarne the Undying and we’ll have everything that we need to help Twili–”
“Oh, well, dear boy, I’m sorry,” Call said, dragging Spike out of his euphoria, “but we can’t do that, I’m afraid.”
“B-but, why not?” Spike asked, frozen in place with his quill hovering just above a sheet of paper he had chosen, the one least marked by doodles of hearts with Rarity’s name written in them. “Why can’t I ask Aarne the Undying for help?” the boy pled.
“Well, Spike, my good fellow,” Call said as he cleared his voice, “you can’t because well… he’s dead.”
There was the resolute thud of a dragon’s head hitting the desktop.
Aarne the Undying. What a waste of time.
“Well, there’s nothing for it, lad,” Call said, trotting back over to the desk. “He’s been gone for over a thousand years, it seems. My goodness, what are they teaching you children in the schools these days?”
“Twilight home-schooled me,” Spike said, lifting his head. “Believe me, if she had thought it important for me to know, she would have had me learn it, write an essay about it, and figure the statistical probability of it happening and that kinda thing.”
Artificer Call chuckled and, running his hoof across the boy’s frills, spoke to him softly.
“Do keep in mind, dear boy, that we now know more than we did yesterday,” Call said, making his tones go soft. “Just imagine, Spike, what we will know tomorrow!”
Spike gave a small sigh, and then went back to reading the few pages that concerned the Pillar of the Sun… or Aarne’s Talon. Whatever. The scratch of Call’s pencil arose from the notebooks, marking with each stroke the tiny, almost imperceptible progress that they were making.
Spike felt the tiredness returning. It had seemed a breakthrough. It had seemed so real… so tangible. It had seemed like progress, like he was inches away from helping Twilight wake up. With a few words, that had all disappeared. Aarne, who ever the griffon was, had proven to be a false hope. Instead, all that Spike was left with was “what he would know tomorrow”.
Spike’s eyes closed once more, and his head spun on the waves of nausea that had begun to accompany his exhaustion. Tomorrow? he thought. I don’t think I have much hope in “tomorrows”…
“Oh, for crying out loud, check in already!” called the receptionist.
Spike strolled right past the pony. He had forgotten if he was intentionally ignoring her or if he was simply too consumed by other matters to have even registered her existence in the first place.
He kept walking, making his way back towards the West Wind Annex for the Cure and Treatment of the Magically Enchanted and Unresponsive. His motions were automatic now, and with his haversack pulled up tight against him he made his way forward, not noticing the bustle of the hospital around him.
Making the final few turns, Spike made his way towards Twilight’s room.
“Hey, Twi,” he said, but quickly placed his hands over his mouth. Even through the hazy fog of his fatigue, he still remembered the consequences that he had imagined if he was caught talking to her this way.
He leaned back out the doorway, fearful that some of the ponies that still lingered around the ward might have heard him.
There was some movement in one of the patients’ rooms… more activity than he had remembered seeing in there since he’d come to the hospital, actually, but it mattered little. As soon as he was certain that nopony had heard him, he went back to Twilight’s bedside.
So, Twi, he thought, how much do ya know about the griffons? Turns out, the Pillar of the Sun, that thing that hurt you…
He grimaced as he thought the words, as he thought the unhappy name. As he did he imagined that a scent caught across his nostrils, but he ushered it away.
... it has another name, Twi! It’s called “Aarne’s Talon”, after this big griffon dude who…
The scent wafted across his nostrils once more, and he shook his head, trying to free himself of it.
… used it to defend the griffons against somepony. It turns out, it was given to him, but we don’t know who did it, or what it is doing in Pursopolis or…
The smell met him again, momentarily making him lose track of his mental conversation.
… or what we can do right now. But, but that’s progress, right? I mean, we… we…
The rancid odor leapt at him, and his tired mind made connections, ones that led him to an unfortunate conclusion. His eyes went wide, and as he gave a single hack, he reached forward.
Coughing, Spike lifted Twilight’s mane, and then peeled back the sheets, walking alongside the bed until the single thin sheet and blue blanket fell to the floor in a soiled pile. The smell lifted heavily, no longer smothered under the blankets, but now free to creep around the room in a rank cloud.
He lifted his eyes to the lower parts of her body, and there he saw the source of the stench.
“Oh, Twi,” he said aloud. “Oh, Twi…”
Whatever the source of the dark magic that had enchanted her, and whatever the effects of the magic that Gossamer Gauze had used to put Twilight into the induced coma, Twilight’s body had been locked in its own battle.
Tubes, wires, and magical apparatus linked her physical body to a battery of machines. He had tried his best to ignore them. He had done his best just to concentrate on holding her hoof, on brushing the hair out her face when the air conditioner blew it astray.
Now, one of the intrusions, one of the tangible pieces of proof that they were separated from one another, had failed Twilight.
The catheter tube lay crimped and broken as though it had been forced into place. At some point, even the tiny amounts of waste that Twilight’s body was producing had been enough to force it to come lose, spilling its contents across the crisp, white sheets, and staining them a telltale color.
“Oh, Twi,” he said. “It’s okay, Twi, it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. I’ll get you cleaned up. It’s okay, Twilight, you’ll be okay…”
The dragon pulled away the evidence of her disgrace, broken tubes and all, and went to the sink. There he fetched some water, and his hands began to shake.
His hands shook as he tried his best to remove the sheet from beneath her, carefully lifting her mane and rolling her from side to side, apologizing each time. He shook as he wiped the dripping remnants of the catheter from the floor, telling her not to be embarrassed, that she hadn’t done anything wrong.
His body shook as he ran soap and water across her, cleaning her off.
“I’m not mad at you, Twi, you didn’t do anything. It’s okay, really. It’s my turn to take care of you now, that’s all. I’m not mad at you…”
But he was mad. The little dragon was furious.
The whelp was furious at a hospital that would let this happen. He was furious that nopony had been here to help her. He was furious at libraries that had booted him out. He was furious at Special Collections, and cryptic messages, Pillars and frogs, Mairsy Dotes and red tape. He was furious at days upon days upon weeks of not knowing how to help her, of being so weak, of being so useless…
“Spike?” came a tired voice from the doorway. “What in the world is going on?”
Spike turned his head, and there he found Comfort standing in the doorway.
“Oh, nothing really,” he said, turning the washcloth over in his hand, wringing it out so that the drops fell loudly into the basin he had been using.
“You know, I’m just cleaning up my best friend because she pissed all over herself!” he said, adding a hiss to his words. “It’s not like the staff of the ward had any other job today apart from making sure she was taken care of or anything!”
He threw the washcloth at the floor, making it land among the pile of sheets and blankets at the nurse’s hooves.
He drew a towel across Twilight, making parallel strokes of the type that he knew that she preferred. “Ya know, Comfort,” he said, turning back to the shocked mare, “I had hoped that somepony in this ward was taking care of her, that there was one, maybe two ponies in here that I could trust with an alicorn best friend motherly sister princess, but I guess not, huh? I guess that you’ve given up on her now, too, huh? I think that I’m the only creature left in the whole damned world who cares if she’s covered with piss or not!”
Spike leapt down from the bed, flinging the towel in front of him. He strode over to the nurse, his ears filled with not only his own roars but the now constant chiming of his exhaustion.
“I had thought that if any pony in this whole bucking hospital would…”
Spike had been about to lift his finger up to the mare, to jab it at her accusingly, but his tirade broke apart as she simply stepped to the side, exposing the expanse of the hallway to him.
There, in the middle, sat a gurney. Atop it lay a blanket… one covering a still, unmoving form.
Spike went silent as he looked up to it, and then his face flashed back to Comfort.
“You will forgive me, Spike. I am sorry that happened. I truly am,” Comfort said, obviously trying to restrain her own emotions. “I wish that I had known, and I would have taken care of it as soon as possible. But, I was preoccupied today. As you can see, I had another patient whose needs superseded Princess Twilight’s at the moment.”
Spike’s hands crawled up over his face, eventually covering his mouth. “W-what happened?” he asked, his voice shrinking to a shadow of what it had been just a few moments earlier.
Together the whelp and the nurse walked a few steps out into the hallway, moving closer to the gurney.
“Brake Dust came to us when he was just eighteen years old, Spike. He was a firestallion on the Central of Equestria Railroad. One day, as he was shoveling coal into the firebox of a locomotive, an ancient fragment of earth magic that had lodged among the coal seam eons ago was thrown into the fire…”
The mare took a deep breath.
“The engineer was killed instantly, and Brake Dust was thrown into his magically vegetative state,” she said, her voice becoming weak. “That was over two decades ago.”
Spike’s hands remained over his mouth as Comfort looked across the sheet.
“His friends, the employees of the railroad… even his family,” she sighed, “they all stopped coming years ago. I… I was the only one with him when he died today, when… when he finally gave up.”
Spike was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of guilt. He lifted one of his hands towards her, but she had already taken a step down the hallway. She began to turn her eyes towards the different rooms, concern painted in her face as she peered from one door to the next.
“In this room is a filly, not even ten years old, who came to us three years ago,” she said. “When her parents found her, she was lying still next to a silver chalice, a pink liquid dripping out of a gem within.”
She lifted her head towards another room.
“Here is a young stallion who experimented with magic far beyond his abilities. They rescued him from the fires, but the notes on his experiment went up in flames. If… when he wakes up, he’ll have to live with the burns for the rest of his life.”
She walked past Spike slowly, and then lifted her hoof towards the room right next to Twilight’s.
“This mare simply fell out of a portal in the sky right into a fountain at the palace. We don’t know her name or her identity. We might never know.”
She turned back to Spike.
“Each one of them is locked inside their own thoughts and magic, Spike. Each one is perhaps sleeping peacefully, adrift in dreams… or fighting demons or facing cruel fates. All that I can do, Spike, is hope that in some small way I am helping them… that taking care of their bodies is doing them some good.”
She reached forward, placing her eyes squarely in his.
“Princess Twilight is special to you, Spike,” Comfort said, forcing him to look up into her eyes. “You love her, and she is very special to you. We all know that. We can all see that. But, Spike, everypony in this ward is special to me.”
She lifted her hoof.
“I am doing all that I can. I am only one mare, Spike, the only full-time nurse in the ward, but I am doing all that I can for them. They all deserve somepony who still believes in them. I still have that hope, Spike, that I’m doing some good.”
Comfort lifted her face from his, and with a deep breath, she awaited his response.
“I’m, I’m sorry, Comfort. I-I didn’t realize…”
“I shall go and fetch a new set of sheets for Princess Twilight,” she said, turning away from the dragon whelp.
He listened to her go, and soon new hooffalls approached. Two large stallions appeared. They each gave him a curt nod, and then took the gurney containing the still form of Brake Dust away.
“I’m sorry,” Spike mouthed at the retreating shape beneath the blanket. “I’m sorry.”
Spike walked the hallway of the hospital. The mattress had been soiled, and as such they would have to undo all of the wires and tubes and move Twilight to a new gurney bed. They would have to wash her again, and then place all of the needles, tubes, and wires in her once more.
He didn’t want to watch that. He didn’t want to watch any of that. So, he walked.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do!”
The voice was that of a mare, and it startled Spike with its shrillness and worry.
Spike looked up to see that he was once again in the nursery wing, back among the pastel colors and copyrighted cartoon characters. To his surprise, he realized he was outside the very room he had stumbled across when he had returned from the archive the first night he had gone there with Call.
He shrunk back against the wall, and as he did the chiming in his ears decreased enough that he could make out the voices that filtered out of the room. To his surprise he recognized the voices. It was the young couple who have been birthing their child that day he had first walked down the nursery corridor.
Whoa, Spike thought. That was, like, two weeks ago, right? How can they still be here? Usually a foal’s ready to go home after like, what, two days?
“We’ll… we’ll think of something, Rose. It can’t be as bad as it seems, it never is. Something will happen, I know it,” the stallion said.
“Oh, but, Stick, we’re already behind on the mortgage! Now, with these bills, we… we won’t be able…”
“Yes,” the stallion said in a desperate tone, “yes we will. We just have to believe we will. The only thing that matters is that the baby is alright, that the surgery was a success. Do you believe me, Compass Rose? Do you believe me that everything will be alright, Rosy?”
“I… I want to,” the mare said. “I want to, Stick. I love you, and I know that we’ll find a way…”
Spike shrunk back against the wall farther, his concerns suddenly seeming very small indeed. “Wow,” he whispered to himself. “Wow.”
He slowly lowered his hands into the ductile pockets that sat inside his flesh, that baffling part of him that he never really came to understand. He jumped when he found something within.
He pulled at it slowly, afraid of what it might be. Once he had found a sandwich in there that had long expired. It had been a wonder that he hadn’t come down with some odd lunch-based disease. What he pulled out this time though was nothing startling, but instead beautiful.
It was the blue sapphire that Joe had returned to him, and it shone even in the dim fluorescent light of the hospital hallway. It had been in there for weeks, and he’d never noticed. He ran his tongue across his lips and opened his mouth…
…and the sound of a mare gently sobbing lifted from the room behind him.
“Shhh, it will be okay. I promise,” said the stallion, his voice uncertain.
Spike took a deep breath, and then closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked at the many reflections of himself that sat in the surface of the gem.
I’m still your great little guy, Twilight, he told himself. I am.
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”
“It means so much to us.”
“Not a problem. Really. It’s all yours.”
“Really, Mister Dragon, sir, you can’t know…”
“Heh! Hey, it’s just Spike.”
“Please, Mister Spike… won’t you hold the baby?”
“Wow, really? I…”
“Please.”
“I’ve never…”
The sapphire slipped into Compass Rose’s purse, and as Walking Stick sat Spike in the chair, she lifted her child into Spike’s arms. The infant gave a little yawn, and as the parents looked on, more than subtle signs of relief sitting in their features, they smiled upon the dragon and their child.
The eyes weren’t even open yet, and a frailty sat in the baby’s frame. It was small, even for a foal only a few weeks old. But, as the tiny breaths escaped it, Spike felt himself calming, letting some of the horribleness of the last weeks drain out of him.
“If you ever need anything… anything, please let us know,” Walking Stick offered.
Spike’s mind, though, was already far away. As he looked down across the child, his mantra went through his mind.
I’m your great little guy, Twilight. I’m your great little guy. You won’t wake up to a monster, I promise. I promise…”
Most of the other staff had left by the time Spike returned to Twilight’s room. Only Comfort stood there, the gauze at the ready for their nightly ritual, preparing to protect Twilight’s sight from the dry hospital air during the night.
The two looked at one another, and proceeded in silence.
Together they tenderly wrapped the artificial tears to her, and Spike watched Comfort finish laying the new blankets, her dexterous earth pony hooves tucking them with a hospital tuck.
In the end, Spike met Comfort’s eyes once more, and he began to speak.
“Comfort, I’m so, so sorry,” he began. “I didn’t realize, I didn’t even stop to think that…”
Before he could even conclude, he felt the nurse wrapping him in a hug. This was not the simple, politically-correct, lawsuit-preventing, one-foreleg side-hug that the nurses were instructed to give. No, this was a full embrace, one that drew the whelp close to her body.
It felt good. It honestly felt good. He had last been held like this weeks ago, back when a weeping Fluttershy had said her goodbyes. He needed a hug like this now. He needed it desperately.
It felt wonderful, but it still lacked something. It still lacked that familiarity.
It didn’t feel like Twilight’s hugs…
…it just didn’t feel like Twilight.
“I forgive you, Spike,” she said after a good long while. “I just hope that you know that we all want what is best for Princess Twilight… and for you. Do try to get some sleep now, alright?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”
Comfort smiled at him, and then made her way out into the hall. As she did, the smile fell from her face. She made her way to the desk, noting the absence of the night nurse and her radio.
She signed out, and then her hooves turned and she made her way out of the hospital. As she did her face fell down further, and a realization that she had made when Spike had lost his temper bloomed in her mind.
There was nothing else for it. It was for Spike’s own good.
She had made a promise.
She had a message to send.
Despite the nurse’s implore, Spike did not go to sleep.
He did not even make his little nest, bring Twilight water, or arrange her boots and crown.
Instead, he stood there at her bedside for an hour, two hours, maybe three.
Every once in awhile, he would turn, go out to the hallway, and look diagonally across the way towards the now vacant room where the railway stallion had lost his battle.
“I’m sorry,” Spike would mouth, and then he’d turn back into the room.
The night air of spring bobbled into the room, making the air conditioner fight between heating and cooling the space, causing wisps of Twilight’s hair fly around. He lifted them out of her face, away from the protective gauze, and then went back into the hallway for a moment, staring at the empty room.
“I’m sorry.”
More time passed, flitting by as the dragon leaned across her bed. Finally, as the hour became late, the long story of Spike’s vigil at Twilight’s bedside reached its inevitable end.
“Twilight,” Spike said aloud. “You have to wake up now.”
Silence hung around the pair, only the sounds of the air conditioner meeting them.
“Okay, Twi,” Spike said. “You’ve got to wake up right now.”
His body began to shake, and his hands went up to her shoulders.
“Twi? Twilight? Please, please wake up,” he said, his voice lifting. “Twilight, I’m serious, really.”
He put one of his hands on her face, trying to lift her hidden eyes to his.
“Twi, please, Twi, wake up, please,” he cried, his voice breaking into a whine as he did so. He pled with her more and more, forgetting his need for silence.
As he called for Twilight to come awake, his voice shredding, all that his mind’s eye recognized was a gurney, an unmoving form beneath a blanket, and a few strands of purple mane falling from beneath a white sheet.
Grasping one of her forelegs, the dragon gave a tug, as a child would when trying to make a parent come chase the monsters out from under the bed or back into the closet.
“Twi! Twi, please, you have to wake up!” he cried again, giving the foreleg another pull.
“This isn’t a place for getting better! This isn’t a place for ponies who are going to wake up! Please, Twi, you have to wake up! You have to get out of here!” he yelled, his voice filling the room.
“Twilight! Twilight, this is a place for dying ponies! You can’t stay here! You’ll die! Please, Twi, please!” he called, giving another firm tug. “You can’t die! Please, Twi, please!”
He pulled upon her once more, giving a shriek as his instincts told him to drag her to safety, to get her away from this horrible place. With that, he gave another pull, crying aloud as he did.
Princess Twilight Sparkle teetered, tossed, and fell out of the bed.
She spilled across the body of the dragon, the whelp catching her head and shoulders, giving a shout as he struggled to lift her once again. He struggled just as hard as he had when he had tried to save her from the drowning pool, as he had when he had tried to protect her from the rocks that had bashed against her as the pillar’s magic had dragged her along, the serpents pulling at her.
Every one of the emotions that had sat in him one month ago returned. The fear, the uncertainty, and the pain came alive once more. Twilight was dying again, dying here in this sanitized bedroom as tubes and wires sat stuck in her. Once again he was fighting to keep his promise to her.
“Twilight! Twilight!” he wailed, and as her head sat in his arms, his tears fell over her, catching in her mane. He pressed his face to the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her.
“Twi, you have to wake up now! Please, Twilight, please, please, please! You have to…”
“Spike!”
Spike’s eyes came open, and suddenly silence filled the room once more. The only thing that remained was the dragon, Twilight, and the newcomer who had shouted out his name. As Spike raced back into rational thought, the voice hung in his head, and dread fell through him.
No. Not her.
Spike cast his gaze up to the bed, down to Twilight, and back up to the bed again. As if only just realizing what he had done, Spike’s eyes went wide, and his mouth came open.
No, please, not her. Of all of the mares in Equestria, don’t let it be her.
Spike slowly turned his head towards the door, towards the pony that had shouted his name.
There in the doorway stood Procer Celestia Invictus.
Shoot, he thought, it’s her.
“Spike,” she said, disappointment hanging in her voice, “I can not believe what I am witnessing! What in the world do you think–”
“Why?!”
Celestia’s face went blank for an instant, and the young boy’s plea took precedence over her question. As the dragon held Twilight, his implore once more rang out around the room.
“Why?!” he cried. “Why aren’t you helping her? Why aren’t you helping me?!”
The dragon stared at her for a long moment, and then buried his face in Twilight’s mane once more.
“You’re the only pony in the whole wide world who even asked me what I saw! You are the only one who knows what that horrible thing is that did this to her,” he said in a whimper, his voice catching among the strands of Twilight’s mane. “But, but you’re not helping! You’re just… don’t you love her? Don’t you love me? Why aren’t you helping us?! Please, Princess, please…”
“Oh, Spike,” Celestia whispered as she walked into the room on silent hooves. “Oh, Spike…”
The magic of the Firstborn Alicorn draped itself around the pair, and Spike felt Twilight gently lift out of his arms in the currents of Celestia’s magic. For the second time that long, difficult night, Twilight was lifted back into the bed, this time tenderly, and by her former mentor.
The various bits of medical equipment all found their way back to their prescribed places. The sheets and blanket swathed the sleeper once more, and Twilight once more lay peacefully on the sheets, her face emotionless, her mane bouncing gently on the currents of dry, sterile hospital air.
This left the two standing there, staring at her. The alicorn and the dragon, side by side, gazing over the forlorn figure on the bed.
Celestia turned her head, looking across the ruins of the child. She began to plan her words, to gently chide him for acting so rashly. She let the motherly part of her open up, and as she prepared her understanding side, her mouth came open.
It quickly closed as the dragon dropped to his knees, his hands held to his chest, looking like a parishioner in prayer or a supplicant begging for his life.
“Princess, please,” he mouthed, the words dripping out of him on currents of tiredness. “Please, you have to tell me. I need to know. I need to know anything. I’m so angry. I’m so tired. I’m so scared. I’m goin’ crazy. Please. Please, if I can’t do anything for her I… I don’t know what I’ll do next. Please…”
The boy whimpered a little, and an unhappy sort of croak rattled in his throat.
As Spike continued to kneel, Celestia’s eyes looked him over. Her earlier thought, ruins, came back to her. A month ago, she had defied some very good and logical arguments and had let him stay here at Twilight’s side. In that month she could have sent him back to Ponyville, where the boy could have experienced the spring. She could have sent him to Twilight’s parents, given him the comfort of a familiar place, one where he’d first had something akin to a family to watch over him.
Celestia could have sent him back to the nursery where he’d spent his very first years. Though he’d certainly be the largest and oldest child there, it would have been a homecoming of sorts. The Princess of the Sun could have sent him to be with Cadance and Shining Armor... ponies that he knew and cared for.
She could have taken him under her own wing, recapturing something of those few times when she had been able to hold the child close, when he had fallen asleep huddled against her warm, white coat.
She would have liked that. It would have been good for him.
But she hadn’t. She hadn’t, and now the pitiful, broken figure before her was the end result of her choice. She had been forging a chain of sins. Her action here in this room had assured that it would happen. Each day after her choice, each day that he decreased, a new link had been forged.
Forgive me, Spike, she thought as she slowly lowered herself to her knees.
With that, she began to pull on the chain.
Spike jumped a little as the head of the Daybringer gently fell across his shoulder, the face of the massive alicorn pressing against his. She gave a little sigh, and then rubbed her face against his, calling on him to do the same.
The dragon whelp gave a little nuzzle in reply, his implore for answers still hanging around them.
“Princess, please…”
Celestia’s head remained across his shoulder, and the dragon lifted his hand, placing them around the massive neck the best that he could.
“Please…” he repeated.
“Spike,” Celestia said, slowly nuzzling against him, “I know that you are angry, tired, and feeling very lost right now. I want you to know that Twilight is very dear to me. You are very dear to me.”
The alicorn sighed.
“Spike, I am going to ask you three questions. I need you to answer them as honestly as you can. There is no wrong answer to these questions, as long as you answer them with sincerity. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” the dragon said, his voice squeaking. “Yes, Princess, I understand.”
There was a momentary pause, and Spike felt a little shudder go through the jaw of the princess, a tremor that betrayed a larger shake that ran the length of her large, graceful body.
“Spike,” she asked, “are you loyal to me?”
Spike searched through himself. He recalled all of the times that he and Twilight had answered Celestia’s call. He thought of all the amazing things they had accomplished on Celestia’s behalf.
“Yes, Princess,” he answered, “I’m loyal to you.”
Celestia took another breath. He listened as it filled her, and the feeling of her ever-waving mane dancing across his chest and stomach added a surreal sensation to the waves of nausea that his exhaustion lifted through him.
“Spike,” Celestia whispered, “do you serve me?”
Spike’s eyes fell to the floor. In his mind he remembered dutifully burping up letter after letter, returning them to Twilight as Discord’s enchantment sat over Ponyville.
The very first one had said that it would hurt, that it would burn in his guts, but that he was the only one who Celestia could turn to at that moment… that he was a worthy subject, servant, and friend.
Spike nodded his head. “Yes,” he answered, “I serve you as best I can. It’s not much, but I do what I can, you know?”
A small chuckle filled the room. The feel of her laughter fell through him, tumbling through his body through the contact of her face, jaw, and coat.
The princess nuzzled him once more, and then began to lift her body away from his. In a moment the alicorn had returned to her tall, graceful stance. The stark whiteness of her coat stood in contrast to the darkness gathering around the room, making Spike lift his eyes and follow her like a lost mariner searching out a pinprick of a lighthouse’s beam on a darkened sea.
“Spike,” she said.
The boy’s head wobbled around, anticipating the question. Their eyes met, and he watched as Celestia’s head panned from side to side, searching through his eyes, looking for something. He felt her searching him, perhaps probing to make sure that there was something in the faded husk that still sang of the bright young boy she had watched play with Twilight in the gardens.
“Spike,” she repeated, “this is the most important question. Not just in the matter at hoof, but one of the most important questions anyone can ever ask of another. I only ask that you tell me the truth… that is all I have ever asked of you.”
Spike nodded.
Celestia smiled.
“Spike,” she asked, “do you love me?”
The dragon’s eyes answered her soft, unmoving ones. Images of toddling along palace hallways as tall, white legs fell beside him flitted through his memory. Remembrances of deep, calming magic falling around him as he cried, of his flame consuming his first message, a gentle voice giving him praise… all of these fell through him.
Memories of falling asleep against her as papers rustled, of Twilight, Celestia, and himself sitting together and watching the waters of a stream burble through the garden… these sat on him heavily.
A smile went over his face, sitting in deep contrast to the haggard, worn appearance that had sat over him for the last few weeks.
“Well, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “You’ve always been there for me, and… and if there was any pony other than Twilight that I’d ever call…”
He stopped himself. There was no need to go that far. No, she had asked a simple question. The dragon smiled again and met the eyes of the alicorn once more.
“Yes, Princess,” he answered, “I love you.”
Celestia reached forward, letting her nose come close to his. The dragon leaned forward, and their noses brushed against one another. The nuzzle, an act common to the Equestrians, that much more than a hug, that much less than a kiss, and today shared between an ancient alicorn and a “baby” dragon.
“Thank you, Spike,” she said. “You can not know how much that means to me.”
The two stood there, smiling at one another, and for the first time in weeks, Spike dared to dream that everything would now be fine. With the great, towering presence of the Princess of the Sun standing before him, smiling upon him, the feel of her nuzzle still sending happy reassurance through his body, he dared to dream that she would now reveal all that he needed to know.
Everything would be fine, now. It had to be. It must be.
And, with that, Celestia turned and began to walk away.
It took Spike’s mind, body, and soul a second to register what was happening. His head shook a little, and his jaw moved up and down of its own accord.
“N-no…”
Spike forced his body to move, forced his mind to do something other than fumble around in shock.
“N-no!” he called, lurching forward.
The boy watched as Celestia slipped out of the doorway, her hooffalls slow and deliberate. His hands went out before him, clawing through the air as though he were drowning, clutching for a bit of driftwood on a storm-tossed sea.
She was leaving. The princess was leaving. She was simply walking away. She was walking away from him, from Twilight, taking all hope with her.
Spike skittered out into the hallway, going down on all fours, once more some animal part of him rising up.
“No, no! No, Princess, please!” he called, leaping forward.
His claws ran themselves through the silky threads of her tail. Gathering them into bunches, he clung to her and wrapped himself deep in the sparkling cords.
“Please, please, Princess, you have to tell me what the pillar is! You have to tell me anything, please! Please!”
He gathered up more of her tail, clinging to it, burying himself in it like a burr in a dog’s coat after a run through a field.
Celestia stopped moving, her last hooffall echoing up and down the empty corridor of the hospital wing. All that remained in the hallway was the whines of the boy, his voice going up and down in shrill tones as he clung to the princess.
“Please, please,” he whimpered between cries. “Please, please, please,” he repeated over and over, imploring her again and again. Eventually, some small movement drew his attention, and he dared to lift his eyes towards the face of the ancient sovereign.
He gasped, dropping her tail.
Celestia looked back to him with a look across her face that he had never seen on any living creature. The only word that his frayed, confused mind would allow him to use to describe it was “melancholy”. Yet, even that word seemed to pale. Her face at that moment seemed to reflect each millennium of her troubles, and the little dragon fell backwards at the sight of it.
Celestia looked at him for a lingering moment, and then her head dropped low.
Wordlessly, the Daybringer began to make her way out of the hospital wing once more, leaving the little boy sitting there in the darkened corridor, his arms outstretched towards her, beseeching her once more. The alicorn moved along slowly, never turning back to face him again as her hooffalls echoed up and down the hallway.
Finally, she left the Ward of the Living Dead, entombing the phantom that had once been a happy child there once more.
Spike sat there, his feet splayed out beneath him, his arms still lifted, as long as he could.
When the tears began, he fell to the floor.
Spike hobbled back towards the room, not so much walking on all fours but crawling. His legs gave out one by one, and, hefting himself back onto his feet, he gave small sobs of utter dejection as he fought his way back into Twilight’s room.
His head spun, his throat burned, and his stomach gnawed in pain and hunger. But none of these physical sensations could be more horrible than the realizations that were sinking through him as he crawled back towards the bed.
Celestia would not help him. The books were not helping him. There was no hope. Hope was dead... burned away.
Twilight would lay here until she died.
He grabbed ahold of the blanket, attempting to lift himself up to see her, to prove to himself that Twilight was still breathing.
The blanket slipped in his hands, and he went to the floor hard, striking his jaw on the linoleum. As the new pain joined the others, he began to roll around, wrapping the blanket to him as sobs and wails began to lift from him.
It was in that wretched state that he lay there, pools of tears forming beneath him.
Celestia made her way back through the city streets, Simple Script and Morning Mist falling in behind their sovereign.
To their surprise, the Princess of the Sun said nothing, and she seemed to wobble every other step. More than once they looked at one another in alarm, but neither said anything. At one point the two lurched forward, trying to catch her as she seemed about to fall to the cobblestones.
“My lady?” Simple Script asked as the two trotted forward.
Celestia lifted herself, taking a few deep breaths before opening her eyes once more and looking back to the guards. The smile that she wore was falsified, as garish and painted as a child’s art project hanging on an icebox.
The guards nodded to their counterparts as they entered the palace. The other Royal Guardponies saw it too. They saw the cloud of unhappiness that was lingering over the sovereign, and they looked to the two earth ponies for answers.
They had none, and they were as surprised as any when Celestia made not for her own apartments, but instead back towards the throne room. Silent Script and Morning Mist stumbled along, trying to regain their proper places, their minds full of concern.
Thestrals stood before the doors of the throne room, and their own eyes went wide as they bowed to the Princess of the Sun, opening the door for her.
The night court was in session, and the few ponies that lingered about the Throne of Fides had been leveling their attention upon the alicorn who sat in her proper place when her moon was in the sky.
“Presenting Princess Celestia,” the Vice Chancellor called in surprise, juggling the parliamentary mace that sat in his hooves, “Princess of the Sun and High Sovereign of the–”
“Sister,” Luna spoke, lifting herself away from the stack of papers. At her word, the other ponies present turned to look at the approaching alicorn, and with that they fell to their knees.
The Vice Chancellor, disappointed that he had been interrupted in one of the few duties that he had and which he enjoyed performing, could only watch as Luna made her way down the steps from the throne, two more thestral guards joining her as she made her way down the carpet.
“Sister?” she asked, probing through the face of her larger sibling. “What ails you? What vexes you?”
Celestia simply stood there, her eyes falling through those of the other alicorn, of her younger sister. In a moment, Luna knew.
“Come, then,” she said, turning towards a secluded balcony nearby. There was a rush of hooves, and the four guards seemed ready to follow.
“Leave us be,” Luna commanded, her voice strong and forceful. As the guards fell away, Luna led on, Celestia falling in beside her, still unspeaking.
Together, the sisters made their way onto the balcony. The deep magic of the Nightbringer closed the doors behind them, draping the curtains so that the prying eyes of the aristocracy, politicians, and guards could not see what was to transpire.
The Sister Sovereigns of Equestria stood there, the chilly air of a spring night wrapping around them. Celestia wavered on her hooves, next to her little sister, lifting her face to the moon and stars overhead, as though searching her sibling’s domain for some answers.
The smaller alicorn seated herself beside her sister. Moments passed before Luna finally spoke. “Sister,” she said, “will you reveal to me what has so upset you?”
Luna turned to Celestia, studying her face as it sat turned up to the night sky. After a moment, a trail of tears began to appear on the face of the older sister, running down her cheeks and leaving shimmering traces along her neck.
Celestia collapsed to the floor of the balcony, her head seated against the chest of her younger sister, making the smaller alicorn gasp before pulling her sibling up into her forelegs. “Luna!” Celestia cried. “Luna!” she repeated, whimpering the word.
“Luna, I have done something awful. I have done something terrible…”
Procer Luna Revenio lay still, listening to her sister’s sniffling, running her hoof through her mane. In the long millennia of their lives, there had been many things that had tested the pair. They had seen war, famine, plague… a litany of terrors had been draped around them.
Yet, if there was one thing she knew, it was what Celestia was capable of. Luna knew what constituted the fine line between good and bad, right and wrong in her sister’s mind. She had been subjected to it herself, and deservedly so in retrospect.
Whatever was reducing her sister to these tears, she knew it was no small matter.
“Tia,” she said, invoking that small, intimate name that few had ever earned the right to speak, “will you tell me? If we are to deal with this, then I must know.”
Celestia whimpered. She forced her head to lift slightly, turning it so that it lay alongside her sister’s chest, still embraced by the only other living being on this side of the Well of Souls who had seen the wonders, and horrors, that she had seen.
As her breath left heavy, warm words across her sister’s coat, Celestia revealed all.
Moments passed as the confession settled across the balcony. At intervals, Luna’s eyes went wide as remembrances of names, places, events, and other ancient secrets fell around her.
When, finally, Spike’s role was revealed, the alicorn sighed deeply. As the whimpering form of Celestia still sat in her forelegs, Luna continued to draw her hoof across her sister’s mane.
“Shhh,” she whispered, making her voice go as soft as possible. “We knew it was only a matter of time, Tia. It was but a matter of time.”
Luna looked up to the night sky, drawing strength from her moon. Already her mind was at work, and she knew what must follow.
“Gold Army Group is here in Canterlot, waiting in reserve,” she began. “Red Army Group has encamped in the Northwestern Reaches. Brown Group shall come at our heed from the East Coast. There is also a division here in Canterlot under General Black Arrow which has yet to be attached to any corp.”
She looked back down to her sister, casting her gaze across the tear-stained monarch who sat in her forelegs.
“That gives us twenty-eight divisions which we can call upon at once, my sister,” she said. “Will that suffice for our needs?”
“It will have to, Luna… it will have to,” Celestia whimpered. “Oh, Sun, Luna! He is going to hate me! He is going to hate me…”
Luna closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then turned to face her moon once more.
“Yes,” she answered, still running her hoof through the sparkling, shimmering mane of the mare that lay pressed close to her, “he shall.”
New tears erupted from the Daybringer, for she knew that the simple answer was laden with truth. It had been as easy to see as the very moment millennia ago when the inexorable march towards this day had begun. It was as apparent in her eyes as the tiredness and brokenness that had seated itself in the frame of a little boy whom she loved. It was as clear in her ears as his wails. She pressed herself against Luna that much more, her misery running down her face as her sister stroked her.
It was in that wretched state that she lay there, pools of tears forming beneath her.
So it was that Canterlot saw two figures pass the spring evening in tears, one an ancient alicorn sovereign heaving against the chest of her sister, the other a young child sobbing by the bed of the pony he loved most in the world.
Two days had passed.
Artificer Call had witnessed the deep change that had come over Spike. Whatever it was that had transpired two nights ago had changed the boy, and Call did not like it one little bit.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get you, dear boy? Some milk? Some cookies, perhaps?” he said, watching the gaunt figure of the child make his way across the room.
“Naw,” Spike answered, the word dripping out of him as he slowly crawled up the tall chair.
Artificer Call scowled a bit, and then turned back to the piles of papers, books, and other primary resources that sat on, over, and around every flat surface in his study.
The dragon had only been responding in single words. His frame was frail, and there seemed to be no life in his eyes.
In short, it was more than just the exhaustion, confusion, and fear that had been there before. Now even the constant approach of couriers had not lifted any new joy through the child.
Something had been stolen out of the child, something important.
“Are you ready to examine the newest arrivals, my lad?” Call asked.
“Yeah,” Spike answered, lowering the fez onto his head.
Call looked at him once more, and then grumbled to himself. Well, this won’t do, he thought. You can’t just let him sit there like that, you old fool. He’s not well! If… if you must call Child Services, then you must, and there’s no excuse if…
Call’s eyes fell across a stack of resources, ones that he had gathered the night before. A flicker of hope went through him. Perhaps these, and the discovery that he had made within, could lift the boy’s spirits.
“Oh, Spike, my fine fellow,” he said, lifting the items into his hoof. “I do have something of a surprise for you!”
“Yeah?” Spike said, slowly lifting his head. The boy barely reacted as Call wiped the desktop free of the items they had been preparing to examine. Four new texts were settled before him, but Spike hardly even reacted, his head simply rising and falling on the chimes and songs that lifted through his perception, rising and falling on the waves of his exhaustion.
“Well, dear boy,” Call said, flipping open a massive text, “we’ve certainly not gotten very far researching this Pillar of the Sun, or Aarne’s Talon, as it were, have we?”
Spike shook his head, acknowledging their lack of progress. The admission sent new waves of nausea through him.
“Well then, my fine lad, we’ve been ignoring something very important, haven’t we?” Call said, a small smile creeping across his face. “We’ve forgotten something…”
Spike slowly lifted his head once more, examining the books, papers, and then the stallion. “Forgot?”
Call flipped open the book, a massive, heavy tome of minotaur construction.
The hero went to claim the Pillar of the Earth, but the Zenith he had not…
The word struck Spike like a slap across the face.
“The… the Zenith?” he asked in weak tone, one that became stronger as he said it.
“Indeed, my dear boy!” Call said with a laugh, happy to have gotten two words out of the child at once for the first time in days. “I came across all of these references to it last night, as a matter of fact. It was in a pile left on the doorstep, of all things…”
Spike had barely heard. Instead, he gathered all four of the items into his claws and leapt off the highchair.
Zenith…
The Zenith…
Zenith…
Spike arrayed the treasures around him. One was the massive, heavy minotaur book, one that told of the journey of one of their large, hairy heroes.
The hero went to claim the Pillar of the Earth, but the Zenith he had not…
The next was a document, an official one that was yellowed with age. It held the seal of a griffon clan.
We demand that you reveal the nature of the Zenith, it began.
Attached to it was a simple note, written in a familiar hoofwriting.
No, it answered.
Zenith…
The Zenith…
Spike’s eyes flew around, drawing these different cords together. As he did a smile began to go across his face.
He lifted another paper from the ground, but to his dismay he found that it was written in their own language, rather than the common speech that all of Equus shared.
“Well, the rice paper, boy, the rice paper!” Call laughed, pointing to the Neighponese book. Spike raced over to it, throwing the cover open.
“Careful now, lad!” Call chided. “That’s quite old!”
Spike ignored him, lifting the rice miasma paper across the griffon document. The purple lettering swirled a bit, as though confused by a language different from the one it had translated for centuries. After a moment, it began to collect, and Spike’s eyes flew across the words.
It was a legal decision, one seemingly unrelated to anything even remotely reflecting on anything they were researching. His eyes coasted across every line, searching out whatever Call had found. He stumbled, tripped across the reference…
… not in the defendant’s possession at the time, and could not have been since before Aarne was presented with The Zenith. As such, we are forced…
Aarne. Aarne the Undying. The Talon of Aarne. Aarne had The Zenith. Aarne had been presented with The Pillar, and The Zenith.
Spike smiled, an almost manic glee going through him. Connections were being made. He spun around, and there on the floor sat the last document.
He ran over to it, Call smiling as the boy showed more life than he had in days, weeks even.
Spike lifted the next document. A small gasp went through him as he realized what it was. It was a declaration of war. The weighty matter of the words that lay there calmed him for a moment, but soon the smile returned to his face as he panned the old scroll for any more revelations.
The tassels on his fez bounced as he found the words.
Whereas you have declared war on Lumina and her kind under the pretense of claiming The Zenith for your own, claiming that her power over it is a threat to you, we must in turn rise to the defense of our ancient ally…
Spike went shock still. He slowly turned towards Call. “L-Lumina?” he asked, his voice breaking.
“The ancient Wapiti name for Princess Celestia,” Call said, reaching down to retrieve one more document. Call congratulated himself for having snapped Spike out of his funk. The boy stood there, his head spinning back and forth, taking in all of the new information that these few documents had presented him.
“And, dear boy, just to top it all off, here’s another bit about Aarne’s Talon that we missed. It’s a trifling thing, but I’d thought that you would like a look at it,” he said, laying it close to the dragon.
Spike looked down, and in his tired, blurry eyes the confessions of a soldier of the Crystal Empire came into view. Spike ran his eyes across it, leaning down to find the truth behind what seemed to be an unfinished remembrance of a war.
Call chuckled happily, knowing that Spike would soon be dancing about, happy to see so much new information lying before him. Call hummed a bit, thinking that, perhaps, with so much progress in one day, he could convince the boy to come out with him for some dinner… even sleep in the chair the whole night through.
A tearing sound shredded the stallion’s thoughts, and he spun about in surprise.
“Spike, did you just… tear a page out of that manuscript?” he said, aghast. “My boy! I’m disappointed…”
A hiss rose around the room, and Call stumbled a bit.
Artificer Call crept to the side of the room, and when he looked at Spike his hoof went over his mouth.
The boy still stood there, the small smile across his face, but not willfully. It seemed frozen there, as though the child’s mind was dealing with too much at once, as though it were unable to do anything other than tremble and shake.
Inside his mind, Spike made connections. As his body began to convulse, a deep, utter realization sank through him.
His eyes went to the minotaur’s book.
They went to the diplomatic demand.
His body slowly turned, and even as he shook and trembled he looked back towards the legal document, still sitting behind the rice paper.
The declaration of some ancient, forgotten war still sat at his feet, just beyond his quivering knees.
“Spike…” Call said, his hoof still over his mouth, the historian watching in horrified wonder as a change went over the child.
Spike’s eyes turned downward, back to the single, lonely page of the soldier’s manuscript that sat in his hands. The ancient paper began to flake away, but the one horrible line of text remained, taunting the dragon.
The truth there bit at him, gnawed on the last parts of Spike that made him who he was.
The smile finally cracked away, falling in pieces to the floor as the shivering, twitching body of the little drake finally revealed a snarl. The white of his canines shone against his faded complexion, and a look of utter disgust and betrayal began to play across his features.
The Zenith…
…claim over…
… presented…
Zenith…
The Zenith…
“Oh my,” Call whispered, backing away a step as the fez upon Spike’s head turned brown before leaping into flames. “Oh dear…”
Spike read the words one more time, and then let the paper fall to the floor.
Before it even hit the fine carpet of Call’s study, a transformation encompassed Spike. His eyes came alight, shining in green, and his arms stood out at his side, as though he were struggling to lift some great weight.
All of the anger, wrath, unhappiness, fear, and worry of the last month erupted through him. All of the unhappy parts of him that he had been struggling with in that time overwhelmed him, and words sprung from him in a cry of utter contempt, marking this all as the fault of one pony.
Only one pony bore the blame for what had happened to Twilight, and his words rose to decry the one who had maligned him.
The good little dragon that Twilight had raised fell away as a monster took his place, throwing his denunciation around the room in a massive, pained roar that rattled the lamps and sent papers tumbling to the floor.
“That… bitch!”
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Oh fuk...
Spike just snapped.
Celestia is screwed in oh so epic a fashion...
~Skeeter The Lurker
YEEEEES UPDATE
HOLY crap I am ready for the next one. Nice job again, Descendant, but there is a small punctuation error here,
A quote should be before, "it".
Somehow, I just knew that Celestia knew more then she was letting on. There is something that Spike has to be ignorant of to achieve. Perhaps it has something to do with the mysterious nature of 'The Zenith' that Celestia once possessed. Never-the-less, there is something to be gained from all of this, and I don't know what. I can hazard a guess, and one just jumped into my mind.
CRACKPOT THEORY!
The Zenith is an artifact that 'attunes' itself to an individual. It could fix Twilight, but it is currently attuned to Celestia. If he wishes to attune it to Twilight, its bearer must be slain. Celestia could never tell Spike, because he would be unable to do it if he knew. Celestia considers Twilight's fate her fault, and so she sets this plan in motion to engineer her own demise to save her student.
Her own death at the hands of her 'son'.
Like I said, crackpot theory. But I like it, AND this story. This is probably one of the best ones I am following.
PS: Good to see the plot kicking into high gear.
-Lumino
And while I don't typically like to see curse words in literature (the only time before being in the seventh Harry Potter book), this uses it perfectly. And of course, leaves the reader screaming for more. An excellent, excellent chapter. I can't wait to see what happens when Spike next sees Celestia.
This is the greatest characterization of Spike I have ever seen. It's just incredible. You have almost mastered the capture of emotions.
Also, any idea how many chapters this might finally be?
And you used is twice in the A/N
Oh wait, I totally forgot this.
WHA-BAM!
24.media.tumblr.com/a257ad5165644b1f79354634dfdee284/tumblr_mqo61uYbwk1rj6vd5o1_400.png
And so it begins. The greatest shitstorn of our time
Great chapter
I'd be lying if I said I didn't see something like this coming.
A volcano lair? That's a little supervilliany.
Hmn. And that's a little reminiscent of the experience Twilight went through.
Finally, a reference to the Pillar!
So, a gryphon connection. Hmmnn...
Gah, I don't know whether to be more upset about Twilight's bed being soiled or depressed at the reminder that a lot of the patients in this ward leave in a casket.
Gah, and now that encounter with Celestia!
Youch, I have a feeling that the next conversation between Spike and Celestia is going to be very unpleasant.
Hoooo man, that was worth the wait. Although you left us on a doozy of a cliffhanger.
...... Mrrrrrrrrrrrgh. I'm going to pining like hell for the next chapter.
Side note: I noticed your use of the word 'drake' to describe a griffon, which I found very intriguing, considering it's more commonly employed in the context of dragons. I'd love to know what the reasoning or mythological precedent/thingy behind that was, just out of curiosity.
EDIT: Also, I'm anticipating "*The Line*" so badly it's almost painful.
Dear sir or madam,
I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU,
but I love you because you make me hate.
Sincerely,
My brain
The sun vs. emerald fire... who shall win? I vote for team
!
Is Spike mad? Oh, he mad. Geez, if this chapter doesn't constitute as brutal, what exactly will be in the next
? Can't wait!
Also, what a great chapter end. I've never actually shivered after reading before.
It's clear the bitch in question is Tia, but I desperately need to know why that is so. A thousand curses upon you for leaving such a cliffhanger.
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Assuming of course that the divisions aren't going to be used to stop rampage!Spike.
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I'm pretty sure she was screwed a long time before this.
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True enough. The second Twilight fell into a coma she was screwed.
~Skeeter The Lurker
Dude, as much as I love your writing, this is getting hard for me to read. I know there's a reason behind it, but watching Celestia destroy Spike while barely allowing him the information he needs is PAINFUL!!!
'nuff said, carry on.
I am so exited!!!
And I think The Descendant is the perfect author for this story.
I just spent the last thirty minutes with a dopy grin on my face.
You evil, evil person.. That bit with the parents worrying about money.. uuugh. I was fine until I read that. Then.. huuuuuuuuu
Good job with that, dude. Good job.
Oh boy, let me start off by saying, greatest intro so far, the mages journey, the woman, all those elements just make me wants to scream "give me more information" but i won´t
i´m a fairly patient guy (unless you want to secretly PM me about it which would cause me to love you forever, who am i kidding i already do 
)
Also, greatest quest of their lives, fighting monsters, traveling across the world to meet a "possibly tyrannical woman/goddess/demon,
"Screw it lets play some music at this amazing place and chill a little"
That part had me laughing like a mad man
and i needed that a little, a breath of some sorts, as last chapter was pretty heavy, and this one was even more so.
Moving on to the rest of the chapter, the whole time when Celestia was with Spike i knew that she would just walk off, a gut feeling, but when she actually did i was, and i´m being completely honest here, shocked beyond belief, it took me a little to gain my bearings.
Nice to see Spike finally get over being sad and miserable i guess... Canterlot is so screwed, if a rampaging dragon just going with lust as motivation took care as if it was nothing of a strike team (my head cannon is that the wonderbolts are a military group, or at least one that functions as one, some sort of Blue Angels that also do military stuff
), how in the name of Gaia (i´ll explain why i said that name a little ahead 
) are they hoping to stop a fully enraged dragon with nothing but hate as his motivation, Canterlot is so royally screwed, well i suppose it would be a fully enraged dragon that is painfully weak after weeks of malnutrition, deprived sleep, and major depression combined with PSTD, but still one pissed dragon bent towards destruction.
Now for the name Gaia, i know i´m completely off the mark here, but somehow in this chapter with the woman, and Celestia and Luna reactions just made me think of the Greek
, like Celestia being something like Zeus, killing/sealing his father/mother, leading the world to a new order, and as i think of that an image of Celestia ripping the womb of another Alicorn and freeing a filly Luna enters my mind 
, it makes me wonder how many little references you are using and how many more you hoped would spring from us to confuse us 
P.S. Don´t think i didn't noticed that you used the term "woman" instead of "mare"
P.S.S. You are awesome
P.S.S.S. Sorry for the humongous comment
Wow TD, just wow. Tia more or less broke Spike on purpose, stole away his innocence to prepare him for some goal... At least you showed that she isn't really the heartless bitch that Spike is seeing right now. Folks sometimes forget that Machiavelli always had a higher purpose and even the puppetmaster cries... Especially when it feels like her own chain of sins is strangling her.
She definitely did all of this to Spike to harden his heart against her just to give him a better chance of moving around amongst the enemies of Equestria while he finds what is needed to restore Twilight. Well, that's my theory at least. I'm really looking forward to the next chapter!
Good, change.
So... Spike is Zenith? I think that's about all I can process right now.
Ooer...
FUS ROH DAH!
Oh, wow. At the very least let Artificer Call survives Spike's rampage?
...
What was that? Celestia? What about her?
Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay. Alright.
*hangs the phone* Oh, and Celestia, too.
Oh, I almost forgot. Was that really "woman" I read up there? HiE injection? Other world?
Pffft... Who am I kidding? I'll just wait for the next chapter.
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As in, flames-everywhere-Celestia-and-full-pissed-off-Spike-fighting-on-rubble-of-Canterlot unpleasant conversation?
*before reading chapter* That title...I got a feeling that
Edit: I... I...KNEW IT! I EVEN CALLED IT! Yes! Precisly what I was waiting for. Should have expected the feelz tough... Oh well. Here it comes old sins catching up and new ones being made by the minute. Draconic rage. What a nasty, beautiful thing it is! Finally he erupted.
Now when I got that off my chest... I got real angry and curious while reading this... I think I made 2-3 scenarios in my head with one of my characthers questioning Celestia while reading this... Oh and one were he got pissed. I do that sometimes when a story makes me mad at it, I just put that character in there and make him interact.
I'm getting waves of feels without knowing the context. I'm not piecing it together.
About to get brutal? As if it isn't, already!?
You make him choose between Twilight and Celestia?
T.D., the only monster here is you!
I wonder what they will need the army for.
Maybe dragons do not grow from greed alone: "Spikezilla vs the world"?
Well well well... I can't wait to see where you take this. 100 k words culminating into this moment, and Spike's quest hasn't even started! You weren't joking when you said this was going to be an epic. Keep up the amazing work!
Oh, and Spike? Go easy on Celestia. She's hurting just as much as you are.
...
Probably.
Finally got to reading this after a long day in work... oh shit!!!
That griffon wanted something, Celestia said no. War broke out, Pony kills griffon. Griffon's soul is somehow 'placed' in the Pillar Of The Sun.
Twilight and Spike find Pillar a thousand years later. Griffon's soul recognises an alicorn, get's pissed. Tries to kill her.
Ergo, Spike levelling Canterlot Castle in a very justifiable rage.
Now what the hell have the humans (that's what I assume they are) got to do with this?
Well, I was wondering what Celestia would need over 200 THOUSAND Soldiers for....Now I know.
I like how the story gets darker with each new chapter.
I have no words, I really enjoyed this chapter... and that conclusion
theblaze.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/achmed-the-dead-terrorist.jpg
So we now know that Tia lied and have kept lying, but also that it was not a complete lie... Oh so many delicious questions!
Im fairly convinced the pillar is Celestias, at least originally. Regarding when it was in the talons of the undying i dare not even speculate with the miniscule amount of information, But im convinced it was twisted by Sombra when he had it and seemingly declared war on Celestia. Making her say its his, while its still hers and likely tied to her... So little we know, so many speculations and oh so many potential events!
Anyhow, mind racing... Thank you for the excellent and much needed distraction!
th01.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/f/2013/235/8/8/this_is_not_a_game___natgiii_day_8_by_whatsapokemon-d6jdchw.png
My view of you being "only" the second best at capturing spike has been shaken, with time it may even change to take first place.
Regardless: It will be very interesting to see what he develops into and Im wierdly at the edge of my seat, whilst still content.
Marvelously slow, yet rich pacing. Cant wait
This thought goes against everything I've thought Celestia to be, but it must be voice......
The Pillar of the Sun....The Sun.....anyone think that maybe Celestia made this thing as a defense against the raising of new alicorns? That the woman we see as drown the pony in the first is in fact Celestia? It obviously fell into different hands eventually, but it does fit.
What would her subjects think of her if they knew she committed this great atrocity? What would Spike if he knew it was HER creation that took Twilight away from him? This is not the action of a mother trying to protect her child. No, this is the action of one who's entire world may crumble about her and she will do ANYTHING to prevent it.
Ouch this was an emotional roller coaster.
You really know how to make Celestia hated don't you, although I suspect its a greater good thing.
Come on Spikes got to hit bottom sometime, he just got to start coming back up again sometime.
He's got to.
Please?
Watch out, here comes spikezilla!!!
Well congratulations Celestia, you broke Spike. Was it worth it? WAS IT!?!
Okay in all seriousness though, you deserve major props for knowing precisely how much information to withhold in order to keep your readers on the edge of their seats. Because holy cow! Here we are 12 chapters in and we still don't even know what the Pillar of the Sun actually is, and are only just now getting the barest threads of information regarding this story's namesake MacGuffin. By all rights my interest should have stalled out several chapters ago. But of course, here I am on the edge of my seat. So again, hats off to you for your excellent story telling. You big Jerk...
If I had to guess, I'd say that Spike has just discovered that Celestia is at least partially responsible for Twilight's condition, and has been deliberately with-holding the one key piece of information that can help save her life. I have to say if that is the case, then Celestia is probably fully correct in her belief that Spike will never be able to view her the same way again.
On the other hand, it's pretty clear from Celestia's conversation with Luna that whatever has been set into motion has been a long time coming. I get the distinct impression that in order for Spike to achieve his given role in the events to come, he must first be purged of any and all connections, save for his connection to Twilight, so that he may become a "pure vessel" for the Zenith or something along those lines. So in that light it would seem Celestia's treatment of Spike, however harsh, is also entirely necessary (it also helps that she clearly isn't enjoying it).
At any rate, it looks like Spike has now found all the clues he needs to begin the first leg of his epic journey, which will no doubt be leading him to the lands of the gryphons. Now we just need to cross our fingers and hope he doesn't burn down half of Canterlot in the process!
So Celestia finally broke Spike eh? Yeah she'd better have a damn good reason for this because even the "It's to help Twilight!" reason isn't gonna fly at this point since anybody with common sense would be able to point out that there's no way in hell Twilight wouldn't have wanted Spike to get like this.
Also I'm calling it now, Spike is going to start his journey be getting banished. And it'll probably happen next chapter since it's not supposed to end well for anybody and that would basically be the quickest way to ruin everyone's day.
And then Spike was Simon Peter.
And then the Title Dropped.
And then Rage Mode activated.
And then the story actually started going somewhere. It's about time, too. I can only take so much of Spike's misery.
I think what Celestia says to Spike is probably the most cagey most frustrating thing I've ever seen her say to anybody. Doesn't help that, while its clear there was a long-in-coming thing happening here that Celestia knows about, we have no idea why she can't just come out and tell Spike. It doesn't seem that any of my previous suspicions are true: that she was hiding it out of shame, or that she wanted to not make him hate her, or even not telling him to protect him, since she is resigned by now that he will figure something out.
She clearly regrets it and probably believes at some level it was the least bad choice she could make given the circumstances and I eagerly await my heart breaking next chapter as it comes to blows.
For Celestia:
For Spike:
Is Spike going to be having a growth spurt anytime soon? No darkside is complete without some features changing.
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I'm hoping that you'll enjoy it.
3330504
Yes, this is what I spent all of these chapters breaking him down for, so that he could be believable when he "snapped". I'm glad it worked.
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Thanks for the grammar catch!
3330540
I'm glad that my story had inspired so many people to want to discover more about what is transpiring. An interesting guess, but I'm not going to give anything away!
3330541
That is quite a compliment, and I thank you for it. Spike is my favorite character, of course, and I feel good knowing that you approve of my characterization.
3330559
I seem to be garnering more and more of those!
3330643
...
You have no idea...
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Thank you so much!
3330661
It's been a long time coming, and I knew that many people would wonder where I was going with it. I'm glad that I could give you signs as to where this headed.
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I admit that it's a little campy, but that's where she lives in the canon, so I'll do my best to make sure that it isn't too onerous.
Yes... it's very much like what Twilight went through...
I got depressed just writing it.
No, it won't be a very happy "conversation" at all.
3330684
Heh, the only other words I could think of for a male griffon was a "tercel", but nobody knows what that means, or "cock". That wouldn't have gone over well.
3330742
It's definitely "sir". I'm starting to get a complex, people are saying "or madam" so much!
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It's gonna be something!
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I'm glad that I was able to write something so visceral, then if it made you shiver!
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Oh, it will be made clear in the next chapter. Hang in there!