The Wanderer of the North

by Alaxsxaq

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 10. Forward

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 10. Forward

Henarion stood still. This fog was very clearly a trick. Over his long life the orange stallion had heard tales and stories and legends and myths of something called “Discord”. Had he believed them? Well…he hadn’t not believed them. From what few snippets he remembered, this fiend was some sort of trickster, an evil-doer, a fundamental opponent to the light and goodness.

The stallion long ago realized that all myths contained a grain of truth—he was no stranger to some of the more fantastical things of the world. Alicorns appeared in stories, dimly remembered from ancient days. Regardless of how much of the legends were true, the alicorns were real enough; he had come from somewhere.

And if that were true, and a few of Discord’s tales could therefore be trusted, then Henarion had an idea. Recalling a campfire story he’d once been told by an elderly pegasus, he developed a certain hunch for what might be done. But to pursue that plan, Henarion first needed to find his nieces.

But through this interminable fog, that would prove a challenge. And it was not lost on Henarion that this Discord was doubtlessly just beyond the alicorn’s range of sight. Certainly, if he were to merely stick out a hoof in the right spot, he’d touch that furry, scaly body. A cold shiver ran up his spine.

Henarion stayed put. His single eye scanned the surroundings, watching and waiting. Perhaps it was unwise to remain, but he had few options, and just enough hope. A coltish smirk appeared on the gruff stallion’s face, and he levitated out of his pack his trusty pipe and some filling. A strike of flint—the sisters could keep their fancy magical ignition—and he drew in. He’d found himself at a nice patch of grass, and laid down on his stomach, legs curled underneath. With an even pace, he enjoyed the smoke while he drew his new blade and studied it.

So far it had served him very well; Nikól had become a fine smith. The copper-hilted weapon though deserved a name; what would be a good one?

He thought and mused a time, his pipe becoming half-empty when a slight rush of wind perked his attention. A faint giggle…or chuckle…or some other self-important sinister laugh groaned from the mist. Henarion ignored it and continued his smoking.

Predictably the Draconequus emerged from the shroud, curving through the air in an erratic dance only he could appreciate. The sight greeting him was less than expected. Discord frowned and planted his knuckles against his hips, “Well, you seem comfortable.”

Henarion paid no mind. Discord turned around and conjured up the book he’d composed from Stellara’s reaped memories. Sifting through its pages, he found whatever he was looking for. The codex vanished and he flipped back to the reclining alicorn.

“You don’t seem to be in too large a hurry to find your girls.” Henarion spared merely a glance and returned his sword to its scabbard. Discord scuttled closer on his little legs, “They are yours, aren’t they? Raised them up after their own parents,” he leaned in with a vicious grin, “Were departed.”

“Aye,” Henarion said, puffing a cloud into Discord face. He batted away the smoke, grumbling as he did.

Discord then sat beside the orange pony, leaning back on his hands, “If I may be frank, you did a poor job.”

Henarion removed his pipe and knocked some of the ashes onto the ground. “By alicorn standards, I think I did well enough,” and he resumed smoking. “Is there something I could help you with?”

Discord smiled, “I think I’m simply trying to figure out why such a hard-working and selfless pony would have wasted any time on those ungrateful fillies. Really, after all you’ve done for them.” Discord draped his yellow avian arm across Henarion’s shoulders; the pony sneered but otherwise let it be. “No matter how hard you try, they’ll never see you as their father. You have a family right? Wife and son? Shouldn’t you be with them?”

Henarion’s breathing tensed for a moment, and he swallowed—how did he know? The breach in composure was fleeting, and Henarion soon regained himself. Discord noticed the alicorn’s eyepatch, “Which one of them did that to you? The white one? Remind me why you put up with them.”

“Do you have children, Mister Discord?” The Draconequus could only cock his head in confusion. “It really changes your world.”

“But they’re grown up; they’re not even your blood! Come now, Henarion; nothing’s keeping you here. Just go home, and here: I’ll even send you off with a new eye.” A snap of his fingers, and a small white orb appeared. Like a potter in his studio, Discord began molding the new “eye”, pushing a pupil into the malleable…substance. He then painted a pretty blue iris. “We could make it glow in the dark, or see through walls, or even fire beams of magic!”

Henarion simply drew in the smoke once more, smirking as he did, “I’ve grown fond of the patch.”

Frustrated, Discord made the new eye disappear. “The way you just sit there while your nieces wander aimlessly around…it’s no wonder you’ll only ever be second best. Why, seeing you so indolent…really is it any big question why you cannot protect them? And what about that family of yours?” Discord snatched the pipe from Henarion and made puffs of his own, “The horde’s coming; they like the fillies—some even little colts. Run off now, and you can probably flee far away—maybe far enough.”

“Not without my nieces,” Henarion spoke very plainly.

“Why?” Some of the air’s moisture condensed and then gathered in a small divot in the ground. A pool formed, reflective enough for Henarion to see himself. “I’m trying to be nice,” Discord continued as an image flashed, the scene of the alicorn’s homestead set ablaze. Primrose and Eldowas crawled out of the burning cottage, screaming and bloody. Vicious warriors approached, swords in hands, as his great treasures curled together and cried, lamenting where their savior was.

It was a cruel gesture, and Henarion utilized his great discipline to refrain from showing just how much the image, the mere thought of his precious family coming to such a terrible end, wracked his mind and soul. He could live another two-hundred years and be perfectly content never looking into that pool again.

“It’s coming. Like a great tempest, Equestria’s reckoning cannot be stopped. Countless will share this fate; you can at least save yourself and yours now.” Henarion breathed with a quiet tremble, sweat dripping down his face; Discord would pay in time. The serpent resumed his fork-tongued whispers, “You cannot protect those fillies forever. Either you’ll forfeit your life or theirs; it’s only a matter of time.”

Henarion stared ahead, contemplating all his life, all those he’d met and care for. What path had he trodden? What ruins in his wake? A little voice in his head…or was it outside? Something whispered against Discord, against Henarion's own self-doubt. It was no command nor capture of his mind…simply a reminder of wisdom he’d possessed for a long while. A very soft but assured chuckle echoed from his throat, “You’re right.” Discord raised his eyebrow. “But it’s not about succeeding or surviving, is it? I’ve lived a long time, longer than some who deserved it more. Kept living…could’ve ended it. Got a shiny dagger that’d fit real nice in my neck.”

“Oooh I like where this is going.”

“Ain’t never doing that. You know why?”

“Enlighten me,” Discord replied in a bored tone.

“I’ve got too much to live for—always have.”

It started as a giggle, then a chortle, then Discord erupted into a fit a laughter, amused to the core by such a droll statement, “Really? Well better get moving, or the puddle’s premonition will become fact.”

“Not without my girls,” Henarion spoke confidently, staring straight at Discord as though a mere mortal were his equal.

“Even after the white one leaves you half-blind? Even after she runs away from your care? Even after the blue one laments her parents, when you gave her everything? Sooner or later you will be replaced and forgotten. Eventually nopony—“

“I don’t do it for recognition, or money, or power, or honors. I know one day I’ll fail; I’ll muck it up just as I do. But that’s fine, because it’s all done out of love.”

Discord could not understand, and only found it hilarious. He laughed some more, an immature ingrate posing as a god.

Henarion grinned, “You’re not quite as clever as you think. You have your fun picking at what ponies hate most about themselves, don’t ya? You ain’t used to ponies like me though. Tell me I’m a failure, tell me nopony likes me. Tell me I should have died instead of their dad. Tell me Eldowas deserves a better father, and Primrose a better husband. Ain’t going to do you a bit of good, ‘cause it ain’t nothing I don’t already know.” Discords laughing had ceased, and he simply stared at Henarion like a made-up creature even the Draconequus could not conceive of.

The fog had started to thin, but not as it did in wild nature. This clearing was forceful and appeared deliberate, as if the dark force keeping it was waning. Soon Henarion could see two figures lumbering through, faintly mumbling to themselves; they were safe!—at least uninjured enough to walk. “I know who I am, and I’ve figured out who you are.” His good eye discerned Wintermail, and he eyed the hilt of her sword. If he was correct and the story true, Henarion could execute his plan. He had only one shot.

“You’re pathetic, you know that? It’s like hunting a wounded animal with you; where’s the sport?” Discord sneered, shoving Henarion with his bird-hand, “It’s a wonder anypony managed to survive in your care.”

“Guess I didn’t do so poor a job after all,” Henarion quipped. With reckless abandon for his own life, the stallion then channeled his magic in his sword, drawing it at such a speed as to be unseen. The slice was clean and utterly precise, hitting its mark with bright colors. A ghastly shriek bellowed from Discord, and he recoiled with a violent spray of blood from the stump of his left arm. His other, the paw, clutched the bleeding wound, his severed hand falling to the ground.

Henarion did not let his victory rest vainly, and he focused magic on the dim silhouette of Nikól’s great sword. Suffering not-insignificant strain, Henarion pulled Eónadin from its sheath across a number of yards in between him and Nikóleva. The alicorn executed a hanging guard in just enough time to catch the hell-fiend’s retaliation.

Looming lofty and enraged, Discord let forth a cascade of dark energy, intent on reducing Henarion to a memory. Eónadin’s black steel held true, however, and deflected the magic safely away. The stallion’s heart beat like a feverish war-drum, and beads of sweat dripped onto the ground as he realized his incredibly risky gamble had in fact worked. “Meviléd Henarion Tumacsindirdalí!(I am Henarion Son of Tumacsindir!)” he proudly yelled, matching Discord’s ire with his own resolve.

Tired of such insolence, the Draconequus snapped his fingers, a smug grin on his long face. And then...nothing. Another snap, and the same result came. A shallow panic set in, and soon he noticed some of the more flamboyant characteristics of the great sword. “I know this weapon…”

Henarion smirked, and swung at Discord’s slithering body. The mere tip caught his skin and cut a short gash; Discord again recoiled, the sound of something burning emerging from the point of contact. He fell to the ground clutching his belly, gnashing his crooked teeth. The alicorn stallion took another swing; Discord used his remaining hand to stop the blade.

It worked, but again Eónadin’s uncommon make burned the fell god’s palm. Fighting through his searing pain, Discord pushed the blade back and retreated. Comfortably now able to use his brand of power, he threw down a pellet of magic and caused a large smoke cloud to appear.

Henarion bared his teeth and waved Eónadin in the air, “Éca-gyrdanilúsíncof hélta bhenë semlon, she syc-palébilúsédodë mulca dhenë she eytarilúsédodë taroncá dhenë tuln lono hanodumë!(Touch my family again, and I’ll cleave off your head and use your skull as a drinking cup!)” The smoke faded, and the scaly tail of Discord could be seen disappearing into the dark.

From yards beyond, Nikól and Taby approached, dazed and in clear lack of spirits. “Uncle?” Nikóleva mumbled.

He said nothing, instead focusing on Discord’s severed hand. It wiggling unnaturally back to life, Henarion quickly pressed the flat of the blade down onto the hand, hearing it sizzle as the last of magic burned away. Seconds later, it was a charred, dead thing. He placed it in his pack and returned Eónadin to its owner.

“Bet you didn’t know it could do that,” Henarion let out a nervous laugh, “I didn’t either!”

But Nikóleva did not laugh; she teared up and began muttering, “I did this…I did this. I should have let you stay home. I gambled with your lives, as I always do.”

Henarion sighed and frowned, realizing what was going on. He approached slowly, returning his sword back to its home. “Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s true…I’ve done it with my soldiers, I’ve done it with Taby, and I’ve done it with you,” she squeaked out, her voice wavering at points.

The two stood quietly, Nikól averting her eyes and Henarion focusing his single one on her alone. “You think you’re the only pony to make mistakes? Your old dad had his fair share.”

The white mare raised her gaze, “No…he was—“

“Flawed; mortal. He got it right with you, but ya only knew him five years—I knew him for a hundred and twenty-three. I ain’t getting into that, but you can’t bury or run from your fears. They’ll rise up or catch you in the end, and you’ll be at their mercy.”

“What do I do, Uncle? Every time I close my eyes, I see death and blood…”

“Accept it,” he replied plainly, “If you’re anything like me, they won’t go away. And it doesn’t get any easier…but you have to manage.”

Nikól felt this awful despair, brought about by words she didn’t want to hear.

“I ain’t never heard a truth that was kind.” But Henarion then placed a hoof under her chin and lightly drew her face up. He stood tall and proud, and slowly she repeated the action, even taller and prouder. “That creature though filled your mind with all terrible things. You’re more than a string of bad decisions; you’re our country’s best hope.” He chuckled, “Normally I’d make a snide comment about it, but that’s saying a damn lot. Your bloodline’s gotten you a ways, but who you are got you even further.”

And then, as if the dark influence was flashed away, Nikóleva’s spirit grew light and invigorated. Even her coat seemed to shine whiter than before, her mane brighter and more flowing. “Thank you, Uncle,” she smiled, her senses now returned.

“You have a lot to be proud of, Sister,” Taberanyn said morosely, lazily stumbling forward, her head low and pitiable. Beautiful, strong, talented…how many other words could the great Wintermail be described with that did not apply to little Taby.

“You both do,” Henarion reassured, taking moment to look at Tabóna’s face. Her eyes were red and inflamed. He frowned with a terrible compassion; Discord would pay in time.

“I should leave you two…let you finish the quest without my burden.” She pulled back in shame.

“You think? ‘Cause you’d miss out on the welcoming we’re going to get. You earned it, deserving as Nikól ever was. Without you, her and I’d be hanging somewhere being drained for our hides. If you think what you do is ‘get in the way’, then…stay put. Watch your sister, keep her on edge.

Henarion backed up and looked at the two sisters beside one another, “Because you two are a pair. You need each other, like…why the sun and rain, or the moon and sea. You need each other to push yourselves, to support and drive. You both are strongest together; a harmony is reached when you sisters are side by side.

“And at the end of each day, you two are blood. Despite any disagreements or troubles, that bond can’t be broken.”

As with Nikóleva, Taberanyn felt the spell break. Where once had dwelt feelings of cold abandonment became replaced with a spring of warm belonging. Taby rushed forward and wrapped her forehooves around Henarion, nuzzling into her Uncle’s neck as she had in fillyhood.

“Right! Now are we ready to head back?” Taby pulled away and nodded; Nikóleva did as well. “Good; if I give you anymore complements, your heads’ll swell up like damn watermelons!”

The trio turned eastwards, traveling by light of the moon and stars. Soon dawn would come and make their journey a bit easier. Before he took another step, Henarion used his magic to retrieve the pipe snatched and then dropped by Discord. He brushed it off and returned it to his pack.

Beside the Wintermail, the orange stallion drew his blade, “I think I got a good name for it now: Bálebemoséo.” The God-Cleaver.

Its maker giggled, “About time.”

East-bound they went, Stellara behind. Yet as her Uncle had said to her sister, the spurs that plague her mind would never truly go away. Discord’s magic created nothing that wasn’t already present, and indeed only revealed what had been festering in dark corners. Something born of horrid emotions and feelings dwelt deep within Stellara; a beast of her own making, though currently still small and malnourished.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

It was morning. A fine morning, few clouds in a bright sunny blue sky. A gentle breeze; yet warmer than yesterday. A cup of tea was appreciated, if unfortunately of a lesser brew here out west. It was still hot, and sat on a table while its prospective drinker stood out on a balcony.

Noblesse Oblige, Prince in title and right, was not exactly feeling princeling today. A terrible burden weighed on his heart; sleep had been warded off by it. Mareposa’s ruin was tragic and of little comfort, but memories reminded him that this city had only become the most recent in series of broken stones.

Equestria was littered with them. From the northern mountains where laid the skeletons of ancient border-forts to the silted-up harbors of the south, this fractured kingdom bared its legacy with a cold frankness. Cities like Trottingham and Canterlot were special; even within their own borders classical remnants loomed over as cruel shadows. Dozens of cities still laid, large enough to house a hundred-thousand, yet only ever giving lodging to a tenth of that.

There had been something great in this corner of the Earth—there could be something great again. His ancestor Prince Sablecrine, the Terror of the East, cut a path of blood and fire to corral the jealous lordlings into bending before a new Equestria, and her new King come again. Every Trottingham prince learned of the last battle against what remained beyond his rule. Sablecrine's life was ended, and so with him dreams of a strong, vigorous new realm.

Thus walls remained broken, the aqueducts dry, the borders weak, roads overgrown, forts empty, and ponies in peril to raiders and bandits. Had things been different, had gods favored the pony race, then Noblesse would sit upon a throne. And that dangerous nonsense of the alicorns could be forgotten.

But the circumstances Noblesse found himself in could not be. At what price would the Prince go to unify his people, to make them strong and secure as they hadn’t in a millennium? Death and bloodshed was coming to the very places he’d wished to ultimately protect. But what great King was wholly blameless? What conqueror or lawmaker or judge could claim to have no blood on his hooves?

The House of Platinum, the only true rulers of Equestria, before the sodden and anemic “Triple-Kin” captured the crown, knew the sacrifices of kings. Through their harsh but wise leadership that kingdom grew and prospered; the alicorns, their strength utterly exhausted, allowed it to crack and dwindle, until the last fool of them fell against mere dogs.

And then the Prince remembered his discussion with Jasicus, a truly honorable stallion amongst the barbarians: the war shall wash over Equestria like a smith’s fire, tempering good stock and burning away the degraded and toxic. Only by showing them their weakness, only by shattering their insular delusions can the lords be expected to begin rebuilding their fallen civilization.

But when they’d won, and a true king of native blood and loyalties could be named once more, some other matters would remain. Noblesse would bide his time and play the part. He did not smirk—he had little joy in his thought. His red magic retrieved the cup, the hot beverage soon burning his throat.

Then, from out of view a small stone began floating about twenty feet above the ground. Not long after an entire building uprooted from its foundations and flipped upside-down, hanging suspended by some unseen magic. Stone gargoyles sprung to life and leapt off their perches from high towers, swooping down to snatch the caps of passing warriors.

They had better not try the same with the Prince.

The bizarre scene of floating buildings and other effects soon became commonplace across Mareposa, and the beautiful clear day was interrupted by dark clouds. Noblesse furrowed his brow; it started raining upwards. “Discord must be awake,” he murmured.

And on perfect cue a young mustang knocked on his suite’s door. “Speak,” Noblesse said in his deep voice.

“You have been requested at the plaza, my Lord,” the mustang relayed through the door, his accent thick and just able to be understood.

Noblesse fastened his cloak and soon descended the stairs and ran out into the streets. His bodyguards in tow, the Prince endured the spiteful weather and odd sight of levitating edifices. His cloak actually provided little respite from the upward-falling rain; his vest was now soaked and uncomfortable. Along the side small wildflowers that had sprouted up from cracks began fighting over and chomping down on passing insects.

With reason to keep a brisk pace, he reached the plaza quickly enough, greeted to the sight of the slithering Draconequus reclined on a long chair, King Aurýx and Warchief Jasicus standing in front of their new god, kindly leaving a space between them for his Princeship.

Noblesse gazed at Discord in all his otherworldly grandeur, legs crossed in leisure and his right hand holding a glass filled with some kind of dark glowing liquid. He brought it up to his lips and sipped up the glass itself, leaving the actual drink bound by nothing but air. A look of disappointment crossed Discord’s face, and he threw the strange liquid at the poor minotaur who had served him. A moment later the bullock began scratching all over, as if the glowing substance had irritated his whole body.

“It’ll stop soon enough…eventually. Now get me another!” The poor creature went off to hopefully not receive another “bath”. A low groan came from the small table he had beside his chair; a lowly dragonling not even shoulder-high to a pony was wobbling underneath it. “Honestly, for all the good you do me, I might as well replace you with a piece of wood!”

Discord then turned his diseased eyes at the three leaders. “You’re here finally,” he said after leering at Prince Noblesse. Shifting himself, the serpent displayed his left arm, now quite clearly devoid of anything at the end. “I have to wait a bit for it to grow back!” Discord then leapt off the chair and pressed his face against the unicorn Prince’s, “Did you know about her? She’s not just some alicorn wanderer, is she?”

“The white one?” Noblesse asked, trying his best to stay any fear.

“Yes! The...uh...Wintermail; methinks a descendants of somepony I found most disagreeable.” He fell back onto the chair, “Status report, my Lieutenants!”

The three looked at one another. A few moments later Aurýx elected to step forward first. “My clans are ready to shatter bones, shed blood, burn cities, and tear down the temples to those lesser gods!” the Minotaur King boasted proudly, clanging his glaive onto the plaza floor and beating his chest.

“I love your enthusiasm. What about you, Yurt herder?”

Jasicus ran a hoof down both ends of his long mustache, “My people are used to traveling quickly and on short notice. We’ve in fact become restless, Lord.” Discord was fluffing his pillow while the mustang spoke, heard little but still waved his hand in detached approval.

It was Noblesse's turn, but Discord was more than willing to speak for him, “Now I know your contributions are off in Equestria, so we’ll pick them up on the way, Princeling. In the meantime, tell all the warriors, tell all the camps and chiefs that we’re to move by dawn .” Discord rose from his chair and stepped forward, “This place is nice, but I feel we need a larger…audience. I wish to showcase my greatness from here all the way to the Sea!”

“At last!” Aurýx gave a hearty laugh.

“That’s right! Now I want you all to play nice and respect each other’s plunder, alright? But most of all, have fun on the march!” Discord stood still, staring at his subordinates until they stirred, “Go now! Tell them. I’ll give a rousing speech next morning, and we’ll be off!”

Noblesse Oblige turned around, walking beside Jasicus. “Not you, Unicorn.”

The Prince stopped immediately and bowed before Discord, “My Lord?”

“You…are special. You know the country well, so you are going to help us pick the best routes,” the Draconequus curled closer, “And the ripest targets. This all depends on you!” Noblesse met his gaze. Discord continued, “Do this right, and I know you will, and you’ll be rewarded beyond your wildest and most depraved fantasies.”

He slung his paw over the unicorn’s neck, “Anything you want! Gold, land, titles, honors…mares!” Discord flashed a coy smile, “Stallions? Bah, either way, anything! Although…I think there’s something in particular I could grant you.” A snap of his paws, and some new shiny trinkets covered Noblesse.

A large crown, almost too heavy to wear, and a royal red cloak with a black and white collar. And held in his fetlock was a long golden scepter, a small bust of himself topping the wand. “King Noblesse, King of Equestria!” Discord’s words became sweet like honey, nectar for naked ambition to grow strong and single-minded.

“Yes…,” Noblesse muttered, losing himself to daydreams.

“All I need, one tiny little errand I need done, is that pretty sword the alicorn carries.”

The Prince snapped back to the present and raised an eyebrow, “The black steel blade? That…is the sword of Kings, an heirloom of Equestria’s rulers. It belongs—“

“No!” Discord hissed, clutching Noblesse with his paw. A second later he smiled and relaxed, patting the pony with a dainty tenderness, “I’m starting a collection, you see. I’ve had my eye on it for a long time. Besides, it’s an alicorn weapon; you don’t want one of those. We can get you a much nicer one, fit for a King!”

Prince Noblesse thought. He was no fool; he understood there was something special about that blade, and whatever that might be Discord wanted it for more than mere decoration. He hazarded a glance at the god, seeing a small burnt patch of fur along his stomach, and the same on his palm. “Then you shall have it, my Lord.”

“Oh wonderful! I think this is the beginning of a very profitable relationship.” Discord said, lying back on his chair and shutting his eyes.

“I should say so. If you require nothing more, might I take my leave?”

“Hm? Oh sure, yea get gone,” Discord waved off, taking to his nap again.

This was perfect; the Prince had been given an explicit mission to encounter that damn alicorn again. Equestria’s future, or his throne, would never be secure as long as she drew breath. He’d slay her…he’d slay her as her race should have been slain ages ago. He’d recovered the sword, and collect his prize.

His sins would be great, but greater still the good wrought from the brutality. He’d wait and play good boy; do as he was asked. The moment would come in time. Sablecrine’s defeat and humiliation would never be in vain again, and pony civilization would one day shine brighter than those island degenerates ever had.

In the meantime, as he plodded through the queer up-raining weather, Noblesse began planning the route this horde would traverse. He was not sure where the first target would be, or even the last. But he did know one of the most important ones would be a little white castle home to a little haughty unicorn who talked bigger than his voice and walked longer than his stride.

Prince Noblesse Oblige's power would grow, and his enemies would tremble, his people rejoicing at their savior. There’d be a King again, even if only ashes remained.

Comments

[Alondro]

This is not a Discord that Celestia would have ever attempted reforming.

She'd have buried his statue beneath the deepest caves below the tallest mountain on the planet and warded it in every conceivable fashion... assuming she couldn't just find a black hole to chuck it into.

[Q07]

I hate Noblesse. Fuck that dude.

But based Henarion coming through with the plan was super satisfying and he deserves a medal or something

[Alaxsxaq]

8793789
I should think of something nice to do for him.

[FiredragonX]

‘Feelings dwelt deep within Stellara; a beast of her own making, though currently still small and malnourished.’ Oh~

[Q07]

8793971
Just treat him better than Chewbacca at the end of Star Wars IV. That's all lol

[Alaxsxaq]

8793609
Come to think of it, why was his statue even out for the public to see, where the bickering of children could lure him out of imprisonment?

[Alondro]

8805280 Just one of the many plot-relevant questions the show will never bother to answer.

[IMFoalishFace]

8805280

8808549
In the show's defense, it's never hid the fact that it doesn't care much about its lore or intricate plots. All that just gets in the way of Friendship Lasers and parties.