• Published 15th Apr 2014
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An Extended Holiday - Commander_Pensword



Adventure, Mayhem, Magic of unknown origins, and talking colorful Ponies. All being unrelated events have brought three friends together into the wildest holiday that anyone could imagine.

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151 - A Dream is a Wish

Extended Holiday
Ch 151: A Dream is a Wish
Act 24


Grif casually chugged from a tankard of water as he moved the wooden sword to block his would-be-attacker. Now that he had time, he’d taken it upon himself to fully go through and test Day Moon’s abilities with the various weapons of the trade. They’d been through archery, knife fighting, the usages of the different types of fire, and proper application of sanctified water on the battlefield. Now the Gryphon was testing the colt’s natural capabilities with a sword.

It may have been the difference in their skill levels, but Grif was finding the boy’s instincts regarding swordplay to be discouraging on several levels. Day Moon grasped the concept well, but had yet to strike out with anything creative. At this point, Grif had decided that wooden swords would be better than training blades, out of fear the blunted steel might cause serious injury to the colt.

“You need to use your mind! Consider the situation,” Grif urged as he sent the colt’s sword into the air with a deft flick, not for the first time in the last half hour.

Day Moon dove under Grif’s torso and kicked as hard as his legs would allow. As he suspected, they met thin air, but it did provide enough time for his sword to land back into catching range. He snagged it in his teeth and lunged back to his hooves again.

Grif chuckled as he used his wings to drift back out of the foal’s range. “That's it. Now your thinking.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it,” Day Moon mumbled over the sword’s handle.

“Imagine it for an instant. You’re fighting something cunning.” Grif was gone in an instant and then beside Day Moon. “You’re fighting a creature faster than you!” He swiped Day Moon’s side, sending him tumbling several feet. “Stronger than you can imagine.” He was gone and behind the colt before he’d even stopped moving. Talons wrapped around the back of the colt’s neck and closed slowly. “And ready to kill at a moment’s notice.” He felt the colt gulp and released him, letting him fall to the ground. “That's what you signed up to kill, Day Moon. The hunter who survives survives because they fight to live. Decorum is for the battlefield, for soldiers. But when we hunt, you need to be ready to use everything, every trick, every cheat, every dirty move you can think of. It may not feel pleasant, but it will allow you to keep feeling.”

“I’d ask if you meant living, but Ping Sensei already taught me about what they could do to me, if I fail.”

“There are many things worse than death,” Grif agreed. “You understand that to even scale next to a vampire’s physical strength would require the same amount of strength you would need to chop down a tree with one swing of the axe?”

Day Moon nodded.

“You understand no one said this was going to be easy?”

“You told me exactly how uneasy it was going to be,” Day Moon said as he set himself into a guarded stance.

“Then show me what you're made of, Day Moon.” Grif smirked as the two locked again. Talent would come in time. At least the foal had heart.


Hammer Strike hummed aloud as he continued writing in his journal. Countless variants of thaumic equations and potential outcomes dotted the pages, and each one took a different step to change the chances of the outcome. It wasn’t until he was certain before he closed the book and placed it within his coat.

He rose from his chair and strode to an open space in the room, then sat again. After a minute of calm collection, he took a breath and closed his eyes. His thaumic field flared up around him, then began to separate, before suddenly vanishing from sight.

Hammer Strike hummed to himself as he opened his eyes to look at himself. His body sat before him, eyes closed, chest rising and falling regularly. The experiment was a success. His body was still alive, still connected, but the majority of his thaumic field and soul had been separated with his consciousness to function separately.

“Now, that’s certainly a sight…” he muttered to himself as he paced around his body. True, performing this experiment left him under a certain amount of risk, but the precautions he had taken with the experiment easily countered that aspect. His field was still present over his body to sustain its biological functions, and a thread of energy streamed between himself and his corporeal form, ensuring a constant connection.

He walked over to his desk and reached out a hoof, gently tapping the desk as he focused his field into his spectral hoof. When he spread the field evenly, he found his hoof slipping through the desk in an interesting fashion.

The door to his office suddenly flung open in a blue aura as a familiar white Unicorn walked in bearing a long rectangular box carved in intricate patterns and brushed with silvery frost. “Hey, Hammer Strike. I’m running down to the compound for a meeting with Grif. I just wanted to know if there were any messages or items you needed me to take with me, since I’m heading that way anyway.”

“Over—” Hammer Strike sighed and looked to his thaumic field for a moment before reaching out to Vital’s. In this state, he didn’t have to worry about overloading his eyes. After a few seconds, he smiled as Vital shivered. “Hopefully, that worked,” he muttered to himself. “You able to hear me, Vital?”

Please don’t tell me you’ve become a disembodied spirit and we’re going to have to do some convoluted quest to get you back into your body again, while struggling to keep it alive. I really don’t have time for that trope right now.”

“Please. I’m better than that.” Hammer Stroke rolled his eyes. “I was simply testing projecting myself through thaumic means while keeping a connection to my body. You just happened to barge in during my test.”

“Naturally.” Vital followed the spectral Strike’s example. “So, I repeat, anything you need me to bring or messages to deliver?”

“Negative. Grif was over recently, so I’ve got that covered.”

Vital nodded. “Oh, by the way, Rarity wants to see you. I think she’d like to take you shopping for Trixie’s wedding gift.”

Hammer Strike hummed to himself for a moment. “Was she still here in Unity, or did she already head back to Ponyville?”

“Ponyville. You know how she is about that business of hers.”

Hammer Strike’s projection vanished and his body shuddered. The air rang with the cracks in his neck as he rolled his head, then opened his eyes. “I’ll have to get on that then.” He frowned and hummed to himself. “Perhaps use a portal to speed things up.”

“I doubt it’s that urgent. The wedding is still a ways away, and you still need to recover from that campaign in Zebrica. Though a quick response would likely be appreciated.”

“Trust me, Vital. I’m fine, I can manage a portal through location easier than one through time. I’ll contact you when I’m back, if I need anything.”

Vital nodded. “Whatever you say. I’ve got my crystal, anyway, so I’ll be ready when you need me.”


Vital Spark smiled and nodded in greeting to each of the Gryphons as he passed through the compound. It had been a long time since his last visit, thanks to his extended stay in Zebrica. The buildings were uniform, almost spartan on the outside, but he had a feeling the interiors would be far more personalized to each of the families. He paused briefly and addressed one of the warriors on their way to wall duty. The dark tips of his feathers shone glossily in the midmorning sun, even as a biting wind swept down to blow the last vestiges of the previous night’s storm away.

“Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of Grif’s house.”

“That’s Clanleader Grif,” the guard corrected.

Vital shrugged. “He’s just Grif to me. I just need to know where his house is. If you’re not willing to tell me, could you direct me to Big Mac and Little Willow’s place? I’m sure they can give me directions from there.”

“You’re Vital Spark.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. Are you new to the clan? I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“I’d be surprised if we had. The clan leader has a tendency to send me on other assignments.”

Vital nodded. “So, about those directions?”

A few minutes later, Vital Spark found himself drawing near to the center of the compound. The scent of fresh hot baked goods and particularly of sweet meats nearly pulled him away from his goal, but this was more important. He steered clear of the stalls, despite the many almost stringent efforts to draw his attention. It seemed the innate greed associated with Gryphonkind still acted as a driving force. Then again, it may have been competition, instead. And this was part of their livelihood, after all. A few kind nods and gentle assurances of his return later were enough to placate most of the sellers. The rest couldn’t follow him forever, or they would risk leaving their stalls unattended.

As he drew nearer to the compound’s heart, a familiar crooning voice rose over the wind and entered his ears. Vital Spark smiled. It would seem that the mysterious Blue Eyes had made an early appearance. Perhaps there was a wedding taking place in the compound, and he’d come to sing. The Unicorn followed the directions he’d been given. The voice grew stronger all the while, until he reached Grif’s front door, at least he hoped it was, and knocked.

Shrial’s red feathers shone in the sun as she peered down at the familiar white Unicorn and smiled. Heat radiated from the enclosure. “Vital Spark. We weren’t expecting you to visit. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I came to have a chat with Grif. I realized there was something I neglected to bring up with him previously and thought it was better if I simply came here to discuss with him. Is he meeting with Blue Eyes or have my ears deceived me?”

“You weren’t supposed to know about him. Grif was saving that for the wedding.”

Vital shrugged. “I figured he’d show up again. He seems to make an appearance at all our weddings.”

“We are all connected to some rather influential people,” Shrial said pointedly.

Vital smiled. “Come to think of it, your wedding was one of the biggest things this side of Equestria. The first successful Equestrian clan founding. So how come our velvet-toned friend didn’t make an appearance at your reception?”

The crooning cut off and broke into a series of coughs.

“Oh dear. Sounds like he swallowed down the wrong pipe,” Vital mused.

“I’ll go see if Grif is here. Make yourself at home. Just mind the twins. They have a habit of trying to pounce visitors when they’re off guard. They were occupied with Tazeer last time I saw them, but that won’t last forever.”

Vital nodded. “Thanks for the warning.”

A few seconds later, there was a tap on his shoulder. “Vital?” Grif asked. When Vital turned to look, he found Grif in light armor. He held a training blade in one hand and seemed to be sweating. “I was training on the roof. Shrial said you needed me?”

Vital raised a skeptical brow. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve heard you if that were the case. Plus, you would’ve seen me and probably hailed me as I approached,” he noted. “That being said, though, I’m not here to try to poke holes in stories.”

He levitated an intricately carved box out from his saddlebag and held it open. An ornate blade as clear as glass laid on a red velvet cushion. Its flowing design was coated in a series of tiny runes that chained together along the weapon’s length. The surface took on the appearance of frosted glass as it was presented. The interior swirled, as if a great snow storm raged within. A diamond had been embedded into the weapon’s pommel, and silver had been etched along the housing of the gem.

“I wanted to make something that would be practical as well as ceremonial,” Vital Spark explained as he lifted the blade from the case, lowered it gently into his hooves, then passed it hilt-first to the Gryphon. “Stop me, if I get this wrong,” he began, then cleared his throat. “Grif Grafson, I offer you my trust and my knife. Your enemies are mine, my family yours. Will you stand for me at my wedding?”

Grif’s beak dropped wordlessly. He reached out slowly, grasped the hilt of the knife, and took it from the Unicorn with great care. “You remembered?” he finally managed to say.

Vital cracked smile. “I had to do some research to find the right words again, but it’s not easy to forget when a friend offers you a knife on your first day in a strange land and asks you to stand with him, like you’re about to go to battle. I … wanted to do this right by you, if that makes sense.” A light blush showed beneath his fur. “You’re like a brother to me, after all.”

Grif chuckled. “I was terrified that day. Not just because I was getting married either. All the things I’d done to that point, all the things I have done since. I thought you’d be ashamed of me,” Grif admitted.

“Have you murdered innocents?”

“I’ve killed non-combatants, if that's what you mean, but I try not to kill people who never did anything to me or mine.”

“I said innocents, Taze. And that doesn’t include wartime. You and I both know circumstances are different there, and you do your best to avoid those kinds of things. Now then, on to the next one. Have you tortured anyone that didn’t deserve it?”

“No. I don’t torture without reason.”

“Do you or have you ever supported debauchery, abuse, or any other such practices in any of their forms?”

“No,” Grif answered firmly.

“Then why the bucking hay bale do you think I would be ashamed of you?” He strode forward and wrapped a foreleg around Grif’s neck. “Even in Zebrica, you looked out for me, tried to protect me. I’d be a poor friend not to see that.”

Grif pulled Vital into a hug. “Because you hold out even when dropped in a hell hole. You never let anything change who you are, and I envy that about you. Never let that change.”

“I make no promises,” Vital said mischievously. “But I suppose I can be bothered to put in the effort.”

The two remained in companionable silence for a few moments. Then Vital spoke again.

“Grif?”

“Yes, Vital?”

“Would you kindly ask your daughters to stop nibbling at my hooves?”


The atmosphere in the dank underbelly of the castle was subdued as a ring of candles bobbed and flickered. A makeshift table had been formed with the assistance of a few crates and a slab of granite nicked from the quarry. The shadowy figures of many a Pony stood just beyond the ring of light as one particular Unicorn with a sea-streaked mane of blue and green and a golden cream coat knocked his horseshoes officially on the surface to draw the gathering’s attention. His flanks were marked by the image of a bulging notepad, a pen, and a series of coins poking out from beneath.

“All right, all right, everypony. Settle down,” he said in the nasally accent of a well-practiced hustler. “The unofficial official betting pool is open.” His horn glowed and a glowing chart materialized in midair. “Our first round of bets will focus around the song list Blue Eyes will choose for Vital Spark’s wedding. Minimum bet is five bits. Return rate is one hundred percent on investment, should you guess correctly. The more songs you guess, the greater the return. For the sake of avoiding fixed betting and an obvious loss on our part, you will only be allowed the use of one song from previous occasions each.”

The details dictated immediately appeared on the board.

“Our second betting pool has to do with something far more important.” He grinned devilishly. “Will Vital Spark’s first self-induced heart song take place on his wedding day? Lowest bet is twenty bits.” His flanks pulsed and glowed as he stared hungrily at the crowd. “Let the betting begin.”

Fox Feather stepped forward. “I bet thirty bits that Vital Spark will have a self induced Heart Song.” She smiled. “I know it’s vague, but you said song list. I want to say Genre, Songs from Earth, five bits.”

“No title, no bet,” the Pony said as he jotted down her first bid on a scroll.

“Always worth a shot.” She chuckled. “But unless Mr. Blue Eyes starts singing songs from Equestria, it’s hard to state song titles.” She smiled sweetly. “Or are you trying to cheat us, Bookie?”

The stallion narrowed his gaze, stroked his chin, then nodded. “Fair point. Change of plans. First bet is on whether or not Blue Eyes will use any Equestrian or Gryphic songs as part of the wedding. A new third betting pool is on which of the previous songs he’s sung will come first in his lineup. The third pool opens with no less than fifty bits minimum. High risks, but high rewards, if you get it right.”

“Hundred and twenty bits.” Black Rook made his way through the crowd and placed the sack down. “He’ll sing an earth song, smooth number no one’s heard yet, and… it’ll be a duet.” Rook grinned. “What do you say? Willing to take that bet?”

“Private pools, as you know, Rook, are to be made outside the public bids. If you want to discuss your wager further, I’m available at the usual place. I’ll even have a round waiting for you at the bar.”

Fox Feather grinned. “Ten bits that he’ll have only Earth Songs sung.”

“You got it, sweetheart.”

“Well, Bookie, last I checked, you don’t control all the gambling in the fort. I’m putting a bet out for anypony here who’s willing to risk it.” Rook looked around. “Last I checked, there are several Gryphons who you left out of your little shindig. This pool’s coming from the compound.” He shoved the sack forward. Its cords had been enchanted and bound in an intricate knot that looked suspiciously like a beak.

Bookie pursed his lips as he stared at the bag, then back at Rook. The soldier coughed and nodded as he motioned expectantly with a hoof. A few moments later, Bookie shrugged and let out a noncommittal grunt. “If they’re willing to foot the bill, I’ll host the bid. All funds earned will go to the compound, save for a nominal hosting fee to be negotiated at a later date with the designated representatives.”

“Good colt.” Rook nodded. “Next time, you may want to arrange your little get-togethers with the Gryphon bookies,” he whispered. “You know gambling’s cultural to them, right?”

“Why else do you think I keep my business at the castle? We don’t interfere with each other’s turf, and Ponyville’s neutral ground.” He stroked his chin again. “But, we might be able to enter into further negotiations, assuming there’s enough … mutual interest.”

“Anyway, I need to be heading out. Oh, and put this on Vital Spark getting his heart song,” Rook said, tossing another sack of bits on the table as he left.

Bookie grinned. “Pleasure doing business with you, Rook.” He quickly swiped the sack off the table, then looked at the shadows. “Next!” he barked.


Grif sat in his office with claws tented as he waited for the delivery he’d been called to take possession of. With secrecy being of utmost import, he’d done his best to stir up some excitement to keep everyone's heads looking the other way. Drop a small rumor to the right bookie, and several betting pools were viable to open up with Ponies and gryphons collectively pushing each other out of the way to put money down. He knew Rook could be trusted to stir the pot. And Bookie knew better than to cross them. He waited, the office illuminated by a single small candle to draw as little attention as possible.

He was beginning to worry when a knock sounded at his door to the all-too-familiar tune of Shave and a Haircut.

“Enter,” Grif said.

The door opened slowly, and a black pegasus walked in. A larger briefcase was cuffed to the base of his wing.

“Are you here for a reason?” Grif asked.

“I’m here about the place,” the stallion responded.

“Which place?”

“Most magical place on Equis.”

Grif nodded and tapped the anti-eavesdropping crystal. As soon as the spell locked, the stallion evaporated in a plume of green fire, replaced by a rusty red changeling. This drone was smaller than the standard, with larger eyes.

“It’s finished, then?” Grif asked as the Changeling uncuffed the briefcase and set it down on his desk.

“We’ve done the tests and finished mass production. This is the master, as requested.” The drone snapped the case’s locks open and raised the lid, then turned it to Grif. Inside lay a disk-shaped case, inside which Grif knew lay Equestria’s first ever full-length animated film. The letters B a B were printed on a label on the center.

Grif grinned and lifted the filmcase to examine it more carefully. “The length?” he asked.

The drone nodded. “Down to the exact second.”

“And the sound?”

“We synched it to a hair’s breadth. No one will be able to tell. We’ve sent it out to theaters all over Equestria with the instructions you specified. Everything's set for the premier. Work’s already begun on our next project. Budget reports will be arriving in a fortnight. We have gone a little over budget, though.”

“It shouldn’t matter. If this does well, we’ll all come out ahead. Send my regards to everyone, and compliment them on a job well done. I’m sure your mother is very proud of all of you.” Grif held the film as the drone left, feeling the excitement in his veins almost vibrating through it. Tomorrow, he’d send a message to Pinkie. Then he’d deliver a discreet invitation to certain families and their foals for a private screening. Phase two was complete. It was time to see if phase three would pay off. HIVE Animations’ future depended on it.


Later that afternoon, Pensword knocked on Grif’s door. He clutched a folder under his good wing. Phase one and two of his own plans had been completed, but phase three would require travel out to Manehattan. Hopefully, his friend would approve.

“Come in,” Grif called.

Pensword pushed the door open. “I have an update for you,” he said purposefully. “Could you put on a little music?” he asked, looking pointedly at the statuette on his friend’s desk.

Grif raised an eyebrow, but as soon as Pensword closed the door, he tapped the crystal. A moment later, they were in total safety.

“What's this about, Pensword?” Grif asked.

Pensword laid the files on the desk. “I’ve finished running the projections and completed the base studies. It seems the demand for pens, paperclips, and staplers will be a lot higher than anticipated, just based on Ponyville and Canterlot Ponies’ reactions to the survey alone. I’m almost willing to forego the Manehattan questionnaire and start construction of the plant in Dream City. The land already belongs to me, so all that needs done is to get the machinery and buildings built. And I am not changing the location of the plant. New Unity doesn’t have the land cleared, and if I try building anywhere else, I risk Blue Blood or like-minded nobles trying to cut in and shut me out of earning a profit. I’d like your opinion, though. Should I still follow through with the third survey or move right to construction?”

“I’ll tell you to go with the third test. The amount of money we’re talking about for the factories is quite substantial. Better to measure nine times, cut once, as the carpenter does.”

“Thank you. I’ll be on the next train after the wedding, then. And if I can gather enough materials, I might swing back home by Fillydelphia for a fourth. That means a week where I’ll be out of town.” He grimaced and his ears twitched in annoyance as his body suddenly stiffened. “Sorry,” he grunted. “Wings itch, and I still have to wear this cast. It feels so strange coming back, and this place hasn’t moved beyond a day or less between our adventures. It makes me wonder and worry a little about Shawn, though. And you, to be honest.”

“Oh?” Grif asked. “Care to clarify?”

“Well, so much time passed in Zebrica, and yet … we’ve come back and projects that would have been finished over that year we were gone aren’t, because we arrived back the day we left. Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice and all. It’s just ... taking time to reconcile that. By the way, you didn’t start anything before we left, did you?”

Pensword turned his head and rolled his eyes as he addressed thin air. “Not now. I’m talking to a Clan leader. Wait your turn, like all the other Gryphons.” He sighed. “Sorry. The Ghosts are starting to realize that my usual guards aren’t here to keep them in Line, so I need help from a trained hunter. That’s another reason I came to see you.”

“You need a way to keep spirits away?” Grif clarified.

“Yes, because I don’t have the old ways right now. Gryphons don’t follow Thestral manners. I need Gryphon manners.”

“Have you tried salt lines?”

“And how do I keep them away while I’m outside my quarters?” Pensword countered.

“Part of the issue with that is you can’t use invocation,” Grif pointed out. “Thestrals have no named deity. That means there’s no one you can ask for help.”

“I know,” Pensord muttered. “No, I will not hire you to be my bodyguard,” he snapped testily at the air. “You pay me beaks to get messages to the living. I don’t pay you. How do I even go about paying the dead, anyway?” He paused to listen and scowled. “No,” he said adamantly. “No free messages.”

“In the name of Zephyrus, lord of the West Wind, and by his great and terrible power, I compel all spirits to leave this room right now or face his eternal wrath!” Palpable power grew in the Gryphon’s words as he spoke. Pensword could almost feel the compulsion to leave the room on him. A breathy sigh filled the air. In an instant, the two of them were alone.

Pensword sighed in relief. “Oh, sweet silence.”

“Ping has some training in dealing with spirits. She might be able to offer you something that could help,” Grif pointed out.

Pensword nodded. “Thank you. I believe you’re right. Usually, one with my gift will have a guide or guardian animal. I now realize the need for said guardian. I just hope I can find or earn one soon. Do me a favor and don’t go trying to banish mine by mistake, when it comes.”

Grif chuckled and nodded. “Anyway, this is a little off topic, but I’m having a bit of a party next Friday for the girls and a few other foals. I would appreciate it if you can send Moon River and the boys. And feel free to send any other Thestral foals the clan might want to. I have something special planned.”

“Can it be foals at heart?” Pensword asked. “To be honest, I’ve missed my family, and the thought of being with them got me through some of those silent horrible days in that viewing chamber.”

“If you keep it to just your family.” Grif nodded. “I need to have enough room for everyone, after all.”

“I think the Thestrals will be very happy to let their foals come, if they know one of the new clan leaders will be there to help keep them in line.” He paused and tapped his chin. “I estimate about eighty Thestral foals total.”

“I’ll be sure to be ready.” Grif chuckled.

“That sounds good.” Pensword blinked slowly. His head drooped. He snapped awake a few moments later, after Grif Cleared his throat loudly. The commander blushed. “Um, could I maybe take a nap in your office? Just a small recharge?”

Grif chuckled. “Go ahead. I have to step out for a bit.”

Pensword smiled gratefully and shuffled over to a padded chair. He settled on its cushion and easily dropped off to sleep as Grif stepped soundlessly out of the room.


“Well, Trixie, is the great and powerful ready to give in on the great cake testing challenge?” Vital teased as the pair sat in a booth at Sugarcube Corner. A glamour had been enough to get most of the other Ponies to leave her be and not notice the sudden addition of wings. Pinkie insisted on her lowering it around the eyes for the sake of seeing her smile, though, just once. Pinkie always got her way.

“How many types of cake can there be?” Trixie asked.

“Oh, Trixie, you poor unfortunate soul.” Vital shook his head. “There are as many cakes as there are Ponies in Equestria, I should think.”

Pinkie snorted. “Silly Vital Spark. There’s way more cake than that in the world. She slammed a tray on the table loaded with ten different slices of cake. Spice, red velvet, chocolate, ice cream, banana cream, tres leches, and other scents wafted to both customers’ nostrils, setting their mouths to salivating.

Vital Spark smiled as he levitated a fork with a bite of cake in front of the Alicorn’s muzzle. “Ladies first.”

Trixie eyed one of the banana cream slices and bit it, chewing thoughtfully. She swallowed and shrugged. “Banana was never really my thing.”

“And what is?” Vital asked.

“Trixie has always had a soft spot for peanut butter,” she admitted.

Pinkie gasped. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She was gone in a whirlwind, and a literal tornado of pink bobbed and spun to pick up the trays surrounding the area and get them back to the kitchen. A few minutes later, a rich brown slice of cake was laid before the pair. The scent of peanuts, cinnamon, and just a hint of nutmeg permeated the immedate area. The steam literally rose up to Trixie’s nostrils and waved tantalizingly beneath them, before plunging in.

“Did you just have this ready?” Trixie asked, shocked.

“Nope!” Pinkie grinned.

Trixie looked to Vital, her face a mask of confusion.

“There’s an old saying here in Ponyville, Trixie. We’ve stood by it ever since Pinkie came here.” He chuckled. “The saying reads thus.” He cleared his throat. “It’s Pinkie Pie. Don’t question it.”

It took Trixie a moment before she nodded and turned to the cake. Taking a fork in her magic, she proceeded to cut a piece and take a bite. Her eyes closed, and she let out a groan of pleasure at the flavor.

“Say, Pinkie, could you whip up a peanut butter cheesecake, too?”

Pinkie grinned. “Coming right up!” She zipped off and returned with a peanut butter streusel topping a peanut butter cookie coating icing in one hoof and the previously requested cheese cake in the other, slathered in a fine chocolate ganache on top.

Vital grinned. “You like?”

Trixie took a bite and her eyes brightened. She nodded happily.

“Got any other peanut butter desserts for us, Pinkie?”

“Do I!” The next half hour was spent trying every variety of peanut-butter-based sweet under the sun. From cookies to brownies to blondies to cakes to ice cream and more. By the time the pair were finished, both had somewhat distended stomachs.

“That,” Vital barely suppressed a belch, “was amazing.” He sighed contentedly and rubbed his stomach. Pinkie had already come up with a list of treats that would suit the pair of them and complement the main focus of peanut butter that Trixie loved so much.

“I guess it’s really official now,” Trixie said. “We’re getting married.”

“As if you’d let me back out now,” Vital teased. He leaned over and kissed her.

“As if you’d back out of this,” she returned when they seperated.

“Oh, there’s a lot that’s changed about me from when I first came here,” he said with a smirk as he yanked her closer with his magic. “And I’m looking forward to showing you just how much, after we take our vows.”

Trixie shivered in delight. “Maybe we should elope.”

“You know the others would kill us, if we did that. Besides, I already got Grif’s word that he’d come. I can’t go around his back like that, after invoking something so sacred to his culture.” He leaned into her ear and blew gently. “It can wait a little longer. Just a little.”

“So … it was measurements next?” Trixie asked breathlessly.

“You think we’ll be able to fit, after all that cake?”

Trixie laughed. “Well, I think I’ll do just fine. You, though….”

Vital flailed dramatically. “Oh, how could you be so cruel?”


It was past midnight, and Pensword stood before the secret bookshelves within the vault located in his hidden study. The Titanic book slid neatly home to join its fellows from the human world, and he smiled contentedly at the sight. A place for everything, and everything in its place.

He strode through the plinths to view the familiar models of major ships and steam engines. Memories of his human youth blew in a flurry of images and sounds that were soon answered by the time he spent as a foal. For every moment spent assembling models, another moment of sharpening arrows and marking trails followed. For every train ride, a raft down the river. And so it went. With memories of church came the hymns of the night and the moon. With his love of history came his respect for the hunt.

He could almost smell the meadows from both homes, feel the warm summer sun on his fur, a gentle breeze playing through his mane. He took a deep breath and smiled at the scent of the wet grass and the familiar scent of poppies.

And then he took another breath. Then a suspicious sniff. His brow furrowed as he opened his eyes. The orbs soon widened at what he beheld. A whole portion of wall had disappeared from the chamber. In its stead, a long green blanket of pristine wildgrass stretched as far as the eye could see. In the stead of sky, a great whiteness stretched above and around the meadow.

Most surprising of all was just who stood smiling to greet him.

“Mom?”

“Hello, my little Pensword,” she said with a gentleness he remembered only too well, after taking a day of abuse at the school or a long day of practice in the town barracks.

“Mommy,” he cried out in a moment of uncharacteristic immaturity. He took a halting step toward the void, then pulled himself short. She stood among the grass. There was only one place he knew of that this could be. She was in the glens. And like it or not, he could not follow her there. “I … I’ve missed you.” He took a shuddering breath to calm himself. “I … suppose this means you’re ready to move on. Are you here to show me how I will find my Spirit animal, before you go?”

Moonbeam shook her head slowly. “That is not my mantle.” She sighed. “I’m afraid I must ask your forgiveness, my son.” She smiled weakly, and Pensword perceived the bags that hung under her eyes.

“For what?”

“We lied about our reasons for staying, at least in part. It is true, we wished to remain until your second child was born to ensure the line of succession, but that is not the real reason we wheedled for time.” She sighed. “We sought to protect your daughter as well, and that required time to complete. We have done what we can in that regard. It will not hold off the nightmare forever, but it will be enough to give you the time you need to heal.” Her legs began to tremble, but she remained firmly in her place. “The second task has consumed much of our essence. It is now my responsibility and my burden to pass that task on to you.”

“Is this your real unfinished business, Mother?”

“In a way.” She huffed and looked up at her son. Her eyes were bloodshot. “A great injustice was done in our home, Pensword. And you righted that wrong, a deed for which our village will be forever grateful. However, the spilling of such blood, especially innocent blood, invokes great power, power that is easily twisted without the proper guidance to control it.” She raised her hoof and pointed to the far wall, where blueprints of the Titanic and framed copies of the founding documents of the United States filled the space. Stone, frame, and parchment faded away to reveal a familiar field filled with blood-red flowers.

“Look upon it now, my son, without the blossoms. Look deep within the earth, and see what lies in wait.” She spread her wings and a great shadow spread out from beneath her. It swept rapidly over the floor, expanding and widening with its advance until it lay over the entirety of the field. The flowers disappeared at its touch. The ground became transparent. And there, beneath, bound by the incorporeal roots, lay a horror Pensword had only heard of in legend.

A sudden chill filled the room as its lights darkened. Pensword shuddered. He could hear a sound he had hoped never to experience again after facing his evil clone. Bone rattled and clacked. Harsh, unyielding teeth snapped, slathered, and gnawed. Low growls and thrashing snarls reached his ears as the teeming horde of creatures keened and wriggled like worms in their prison of root and soil. Patches of flesh and fur clung to the creatures, some in gray, some in black, some in a gruesome rust and festering yellow. Long whip-like segments of bone slashed with barbed sword-like ends, crashing, sawing, thrusting, anything to make an opening. Their claws flexed and tensed, curling with the desire to clutch, to rip, to tear. Their eyes were hollow sockets that glowed with the baleful fires of a relentless hunger as shrivelled tongues licked their wicked fangs. A charnel house reek filled his nostrils. He stared not into the welcoming wings, but the cruel and unrelenting jaws of death.

And the teeth were stirring.

Pensword hissed and bore his fangs, then regained control of himself. “I … I fell asleep on top of them,” he finally said. After a few seconds, he managed to tear his gaze away from the gruesome sight and back to his mother. “You’re telling me my home, our town, is filled with bone ferrets?” He shuddered again. His stomach churned. “Please tell me their numbers are dwindling.”

Moonbeam shook her head. “They are a form of corrupted wild magic rarely seen in these lands. You know this. We used our combined strengths to try to hold them back. Even then, it wasn’t enough, not alone. We had to reach out to the beyond, where the others waited. With their aid, a seal was formed, one we had hoped to be able to pass on quickly. But the seal was formed using the only thing that could harm them, the very thing that birthed them in the first place.”

“Your blood,” Pensword whispered.

Moonbeam nodded. Her mane had lost its luster. “I haven’t much time left,” she said. “The seal must be maintained by the bloodline of the land’s caretakers. And right now, that means you, my son. Any that seek to control this land must take on this burden willingly, and by a contract of blood to transfer the seal.” She closed her eyes in pain. “Luna knows the rituals,” she grunted. “They will remain bound so long as the field endures. It is our hope that a means will be devised to destroy them. But as you know, without the Moon’s name, we cannot call upon her properly anymore.” She sighed. “It is one more regret, but one that cannot be resolved at this time. We must do this quickly, Pensword, so that I can enter the glens properly, and so that you may take on this mantle. It will not interfere with your life, nor your strength. Simply living is enough.” Her sides were wracked by terrible coughs. When the spasms ended, she smiled weakly.

“How do I take on the mantle?” he asked.

“The blood ritual we performed at your adoption is still binding. You are our child in spirit, and our blood flows through your veins.” She hobbled to the edge of the barrier between the realm of spirit and the land of the living. “I need to embrace you, my son, one last time.” Tears stood in her eyes. “Before I become hollowed into a malevolence. Only then will I be released to pass on with the others, and Grif’s fears will be laid to rest.” Her whole body trembled now as the shadow retreated and the window into Mountainside Falls faded.

Pensword moved quickly but carefully. He knew to step hoof into the glades would be reckless, and possibly deadly. That was a barrier the living were not meant to cross until the proper time, save in the direst of circumstances. The moment he got close enough, his mother reached with her wings and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

Pensword’s body went rigid. Fear licked at him as doubt whispered it was already too late, that she had already succumbed, and now sought his blood.

Those doubts proved unfounded. There was no draining, neither of blood nor of magic or energy. Instead, he felt a gentle warmth flooding him. And for this one moment, he could have sworn she was really there, not some phantasm, but an actual manifestation of flesh and blood filled with the love he had cherished as a foal. The cool grass tickled at his fetlocks. He didn’t know how or why this was being allowed, but he wasn’t about to question it.

He didn’t know how long the embrace lasted. It could have been a few seconds. It could have been an eternity. Regardless, for him, it was too short. Still, he knew he had to let her go when he felt her membrane sliding off his back with her hooves. Pensword followed suit reluctantly and stepped back into his vault, into the realm of the living. He looked on his mother, and she beamed at him. A silver aura surrounded her now as the sickly appearance fell away to reveal the mare he had known in the prime of her life, the proud mother who had first wished him well when he departed his village so many years ago. She was strong, healthy, young. She was at peace.

Moonbeam smiled serenely at him. He blinked, and the mare was suddenly a good three Pony lengths away. Pensword watched her retreat and raised a hoof in farewell as the wall began to encroach upon the window that had allowed him access, if only briefly, to his mother. The mare was little more than a wavering figure now, but more had walked up to join her, and as they embraced, Pensword knew his family had come to welcome her to their rest. He could barely see two smaller shadows waving at him, and he chuckled softly to himself.

At last, the window closed, leaving Pensword standing alone in the chamber. He stood there in quiet contemplation for a time as he bid his family their final farewell, until he could join them. After an appropriate amount of time had passed, he turned and took his leave, pausing only long enough to look up at the key stone that marked the arch over the door. Two crossing flowers had been carved and painted into the keystone. The left blossom was the familiar red poppy. The right one made him gasp. The pure white blossom he had seen in the glens now stared down at him.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said softly. Then he passed under the arch and back into his study. There was much to think about, much to organize, and much he would need to discuss with his wives and Grif. But first and foremost, he needed to record what had transpired. He strode to his desk, removed a leather-bound volume, dipped his quill in its inkwell, and began to write.


Rarity’s voice rang loud and clear as she sang in harmony with her fellow performers. She looked positively fetching in her green sweater and bow tie. She swayed in time with Big Mac, Toe Tapper, and Torch Song, their combined voices rising in a crescendo.

“Got the music in you!” they finished.

“Oh, that was wonderful, darlings!” Rarity cheered. “I think we’ve finally got our first song prepared. And just in time for Vital Spark’s wedding, too.”

“Oh, my stars. I still can’t believe you managed to book a gig for us at the reception,” Torch Song gushed.

“Eeyup,” Big Mac agreed.

“You’re sure they’re okay with a little group like us joining in? I mean, I heard Blue Eyes is supposed to be making an appearance. Do you really think people will want to listen to us after him?” Toe Tapper asked.

“Darling, I know they will. Besides, if you’re really that concerned, I can certainly find out whether it would be possible for us to be the warm up act. Then there won’t need to be any concern over getting upstaged.”

“Changing the lineup is all well and good, but I have a far better one,” a familiar voice intoned.

“Discord,” Rarity said in a remarkably controlled tone, “if you’re going to make a suggestion, the least you could do is actually stand in front of us to make it, instead of being a floorboard or curtain or whatever it is you’re impersonating this time.”

“Impersonate? Oh, please, Rarity. I usually save those for entertainment at parties. My Celestia impression always makes a killing.” The colors seemed to drain out of immaterial space, and there was Discord in all his splendor with a multicolored rainbow wig and a fake gold horn attached to a plastic headband. They vanished with a snap of his fingers. “Now then, about that idea I mentioned.”

“You realize it’s rude to eavesdrop on a private practice, correct?”

“And since when did that stop me from having fun and helping my friends? That is what friends are supposed to do, aren’t they? Help each other, make selfless sacrifices, all the usual heroic nonsense? Really, I only want to help make Vital Spark’s wedding special for him and his bride-to-be,” the Draconequus said.

“By spicing things up? Last time you got involved in a party, the only reason it went right is because my husband had you on a tight leash.”

Discord narrowed his gaze. “Yes, a leash he still holds,” he muttered resentfully. Then he bounced back with a grin. “But that’s all water under the bridge, my dear. I’m contrite as a kitten and playful as a puppy, with all the cuteness to match,” he said as he split apart to appear as the two animals in question, both of which fixed Rarity with the full effects of their gaze.

Rarity harrumphed. “Do you really think that would work after I’ve had to deal with my sister and her friends asking me favors for all this time?”

Discord poofed back to his usual form with a sour expression as he laid back on a cotton candy cloud. “I suppose I should have expected that,” he admitted. “All joking aside, we need to talk.” He snapped his fingers and a magical dome appeared around them. “There. Observation magic and other forms of eavesdropping should be nullified, and no one can see us while we converse. I expect the exact contents of this meeting to remain absolutely confidential, particularly my involvement in it,” he said as his eyes stretched to peer at each of the singers in question. “Do I make myself clear?”

“And why should I do a thing like that?”

“Because the thing I am about to do would be considered unchaotic in the extreme.” He shuddered and gagged as he pointed down his throat. “I am about to give you a new song that you may use for the wedding, one that will resonate both with Vital Spark and young miss Lulamoon. As you know, harmony and I don’t exactly get along.” His head turned an unpleasant shade of green. “However, I can stomach it this once, for his sake,” he said as he reached into a portal and rummaged around. “Now let me see.” He pulled out a unicycle, a bicycle bell, a clown horn, a blow horn that promptly blew Rarity’s mane askew with the force of its blast, a bucket of cold water that froze in mid-air and fell upward, and a book with a large bomb on its cover that laughed as he pulled it out.

”Free, at last! I can’t wait to possess the rest of that–”

“Oops,” Discord said quickly as he threw it back into the portal and its wails trailed off into the silence.

“Discord,” Rarity growled.

“Now, now, Rarity. Hold your horses.” He grinned. “Little though they may be. Aha!” He crowed in triumph and removed a folder from the portal, which promptly closed with a loud belch. “There we are. This music comes from Vital Spark’s ancestral homeland. It will also speak to young Miss Lulamoon.”

Rarity took the proffered sheet music in her magic to review it. “But this song calls for three female vocalists. And where are we supposed to find a violinist with enough skill to play this on such short notice?”

“Fiddlesticks,” Discord said as he waved his hand. “You’ll find the one, if you listen well enough.” He winked at her. “As for the rest of the accompaniment, I’m certain you can find any number of Ponies that would be all too glad to take the role of backup singers. I’d offer my own, but let’s face it, your songs and I don’t exactly mix.” He doffed an imaginary cap that materialized in his hand shortly after and promptly spat out a cloud of makeup that left Rarity just as glamorous as he had been before the air horn ruined her look. “Now don’t say I haven’t done anything for you.” He smirked and pulled open a door out of thin air. “Ta ta now. I’ve other appointments to keep. Places to go, chaos to spread. My duties are quite vast, you know.” He slammed the door shut behind him and it disappeared in a flash of white light that vaporized the barrier and rose high above the forest. The four Ponies blinked to clear the spots from their eyes as they adjusted to the aftermath of the Draconequus’ visit.

Somewhere in Canterlot, a blind Pony beggar blinked and rubbed his eyes. For some reason, they had begun to water. A few moments later, he perceived the last remnants of … something in the distance. A few more blinks and rubs soon revealed two blurry shapes that gradually came into focus.

What … were these things? What was he … see … ing?

The stallion’s whoop of joy could be heard from the top of Mount Cantercorn to the slums and beyond. Somewhere in the realm of Chaos, Discord chuckled with wicked glee. “Tit for tat. See how you like that little wrinkle, Destiny.”


Hammer Strike hummed to himself as he finished writing. The translated copy of the latest approved chapter in the book on thaumaturgy was finally ready. Grif would be glad to have more to study. All the time travelling and invasions had left him with little time to focus on his translations. Of course, it didn’t help that he had to make the decision exactly which content would be deemed all right for consumption. The original volume was wonderful at explaining every little thing that could be done, but some of the things it contained were clearly meant to be filed away as ‘never to be tested.’

Then there were the ones that he did deem safe, but were less efficient. As such, he devised alternates and wrote them down to overwrite the originals for study. His portal system worked off the concept of breaching the current reality’s edge to reach the next. Instead of determining the destination at its alternate spatial point, he ended up connecting it to a spatial point in the current reality, though this particular technique required an anchor to work with, and a definite one at that.

Traveling through time with it required a recent creation in order to tie his travel back and forth to when it disappeared from the timeline for a moment. In terms of going back however, if the object existed for some time, he had to guess a point, and it seemed to be a poor idea to use that concept.

To be honest, it was a major risk, and he wasn’t even certain if it would work fully. He relied mostly on the fact that Father Time was keeping an eye on things. Otherwise, he would have gone through much more tests.

He sighed to himself as he ensured the ink was dry before closing the book. He would have to look further into some of those other chapters, perhaps see what else he could come up with for the future. They certainly had the time now, and he hoped that time would remain undisturbed, at least until the next Tuesday.


Pensword sighed, leaned back in his chair at his main office, and tried to doze. The operative word being tried. All chances at success in that endeavor were broken as a shrill cry sounded in his ears. He jerked out of his chair, dropped to the floor on all fours, and growled at the intruder that wavered by his door. The aura of discontent was palpable as it glared condescendingly at him. Yet another Gryphon ghost had come to demand his services, and this one hadn’t shown so much as a shred of decency.

“What do you want?” Pensword demanded.

“The complete surrender of Princess Celestia and Princess Luna to my bloodline, as it should have been during the last Gryphon War.”

Pensword gaped at the specter’s audacity. “Do you know who I am?” he finally asked, not angrily, but in confusion.

“My messenger, meaning your bloodline will be safe from our retribution, if you follow my orders,” he said haughtily.”

Pensword continued to stare. “You are no Gryphon I saw during the Third Gryphon War.”

“That is because I watched you disgracing our lands and fortress since the failed first war. How could creatures so weak and vastly inferior beat us?” He shook his head. “No matter. The past is the past. This is the present. You will write and declare the surrender of your lands to my bloodlines immediately.”

“As if!” Pensword growled back. “Besides, you cut in line! You have to wait your turn.”

“A general and king waits only for the Emperor,” the Gryphon countered.

“A King whose emblem I do not recognize!” Pensword shouted back. This is the modern day. You will not dictate terms to me!” His gaze flicked over the other ghosts. Each shrank back from the spirit. That meant he must have had quite the temper in life. And that made him all the more dangerous in death, should that anger consume him. “Besides, he answered more coolly, “I don’t know who your bloodline is. There is no way of putting any Gryphons on Equestria’s Throne.”

The king grinned as he purred, “Oh, but that’s the sweet part of it. You see, my only daughter was taken as a Bloodfeather. That means the rightful king of the Gryphon Kingdom of Northern Belle Rivières presides over that hovel of a fortress you call a compound. He’ll require some proper guidance, of course, but he’ll do for a replacement in the short term.”

“He would never accept that.” Pensword shook his head. “You have some nerve. And while I would respect that normally, you are ignoring the written and spoken rules of how I hold these courts. I give utterance to the words of those that need to speak. You are trying to use me to further political goals and machinations that are easily fifteen hundred years old, if not more so. Times have changed, and any claim you or your bloodline may have had on Equestria as it is currently constituted was surrendered long ago in an official contract signed by the blood of the king whose power and authority over the lands here came directly from the Emperor himself. And the Emperor acknowledged the veracity of the documents. You have been overruled, whoever you are. I will not do as you wish.”

The Gryphon let out a feral snarl as the temperature in the room began to drop. “Then I will not leave your side, nor give you a moment’s rest, until you accede to my demands.” He sneered. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, little Pony. Jorund isn’t guarding you anymore, and your family is gone. You have no means of banishing me. I hold the power here, prey. Either you carry out my command—.” He cast his gaze disdainfully about the room. “—Or you’ll join those that have belittled themselves by groveling to prey.”

Pensword struggled to regain his composure. Looking at the Gryphon’s smug expression didn’t help, so he decided to busy his eyes by following the curves and make of the warrior’s armor. It was certainly a far cry from the garb he’d seen the creatures wearing during the Third Gryphon War. The metal was well crafted, with an almost orange tint to it. Could it have been forged from orihalcum? The light continued to catch on the breastplate as it danced over the curves and ridges to expose a curious symbol nestled in a large ovular depression.

Pensword narrowed his gaze and pulled out a scroll and inkwell.

“Good. You’ve come to your senses. A wise decision, little Pony,” the king preened.

Pensword ignored him and began to draw the oval. The Gryphon continued to narrate his demands, sprinkling them liberally with gloating and the occasional strut or polishing of his talons against his feathers. So absorbed was Pensword in his task that he never noticed how deafeningly quiet the room had become.

‘Perhaps Grif will be able to understand this symbol,’ he thought.

The Pegasus’ quiet musings were soon shattered by a shriek of outrage that emanated mere inches from behind. The unnamed king was not pleased.

“You insolent little creature,” he snarled. “Not only do you ignore my commands, but you dare to steal my armor’s design to better your own forces! This is not to be borne!”

“Better my…? Are you mad? Your precious armor became obsolete millennia ago. Your people and mine have evolved far beyond those times. I have no interest in such a piece, save perhaps for its historical significance. I’ve been to many a museum and archive, both in Equestria and your empire, but I have never seen that symbol before. I find it most intriguing.”

“Obsolete? Intriguing?” A dark aura began to surround the Gryphon.

“They are hurtful words, but true ones,” Pensword replied. “Such is the nature of war and time. They are constantly evolving. Many of these spirits you’re so keen to denigrate can tell you exactly what I did to your precious tactics when I stormed and took your fortress in the Western Kingdom without losing a single soul. I said it before, and I will say it again. Your time is past, and you are no threat to me. I am best friends of the Avatar of Winds. Your allies’ descendents speak my name in hushed whispers. To your people, I am the Demon. I earned that title, regardless of what you and your pompous pigeon arse may think otherwise. Can you say the same of your kingdom?”

A low growl rumbled threateningly out the spirit’s throat. “Thou art little more than a pup barking at its master’s heels.” A stale reek began to fill the room. “And disrespectful pups need to be disciplined.” He glared at the Pony, then smirked malevolently as he walked back around the desk. “But I see I’ve already made my point, little prey.” The smirk widened into a sneer. “You are right to tremble in my presence. You, a demon?” he scoffed. “Hardly.”

“I shake, because of the temperature you are altering. If you had a nose to smell, you would know I still have no fear of you,” Pensword shot back. “And if you feel so confident about us prey being unable to match you, then let me speak a name I know you’ll acknowledge. Two words, you overgrown peacock. Hammer. Strike.”

The stench of rotting flesh became oppressive as the king flared his wings. His grand visage had altered. His feathers laid flat and dull against his frame. His muscles drooped and withered. His eyes burned as his face contorted in rage. “The exception!” he hissed.

“I find it odd that you say that when you’ve seen us beat you back not once, not twice, but three separate times,” Pensword said idly as he reached casually for a small canvas bag on his desk’s corner.

“Touch that salt and you will never leave this room,” the phantasm warned in an icy tone. Frost coated the stones as Pensword’s breath steamed.

“Kill me and you won’t have a messenger,” Pensword retorted. “It seems to me you have more to lose.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that, little commander,” the specter rasped as the skin shriveled on his body. A gurgling laugh slopped over the room as the bird’s beak widened in a knowing grin. “I know what lies in wait. I know from whence it will strike. And I know you are not prepared.”

Pensword’s breath hissed as he took a sharp breath.

“What would happen, do you think, if someone were to nudge things along, hmm? I am not one to work with others in my hunts, but I might be willing to make an exception this time. What’s that saying you little things are always so fond of saying, ‘the enemy of my enemy...?’”

“You will not harm her!” Pensword roared and leaped to his hooves.

“Oh, but that’s the beauty of it, little creature.” The spirit’s voice grated like gravel as it echoed sepulchrally. “I won’t, but the other will. You may seek to banish me from this place, but you cannot exorcise me entirely. You haven’t the power. And as you know very well, in my culture, power is all that matters.”

Pensword whipped the salt and flapped his good wing to spread it as far as possible. The spirit flickered out of the way as the room became completely coated in frost. When he returned, the eyes were little more than sunken hollows with glowing red embers that burned with rage.

“Very well, then, creature. You have made your choice. And now I make mine.”

“I don’t think so,” a deep voice rumbled softy from behind.

The specter barely had time to dodge out of the way as the armor let out a sickening shriek. Four great gouges pulsed white and blue along his armor as the former king hissed his outrage. Heavy steps lumbered forward as a shadow materialized into the form of a great shaggy bear. “So, this is where you got off to.” The bear let loose a great yawn. “Couldn’t have picked a worse time to get in trouble. I was enjoying my hibernation.”

“You dare?” the Gryphon snarled.

“Of course.” The bear’s lips pulled up into a smirk that bore his sharpened teeth. “It’s my job. You aren’t going to lay so much as one talon on Pensword or his family. Nor will you do anything to harm them directly or indirectly while I am here.”

“And you think you can stop me?” The Gryphon laughed. “You’ve lost the element of surprise, beast.” The air grated with the hiss of the warrior’s blade as it crawled out of its sheath. “Bear, Pony, Gryphon. I don’t care what you are. All of you are beneath me. I will have what I desire, or you will all suffer my wrath.”

The bear reared up as light gathered around its frame. It let out a territorial roar and slammed down on the ground. The sword shattered and disappeared in a vapor of smoke. The room began to warm again as the frost melted, leaving droplets of water behind that froze and thawed and froze again betwixt the warring forces.

The Gryphon rolled aside to dodge the bear’s teeth. In that moment, a ripple passed over his frame to expose the crumpled indentation of a heavy hoof. Bits of ribcage jutted out from the holes in his armor. It was clear the cavity had been crushed. Pensword knew of only one, maybe two Ponies with that kind of strength.

The bear bore his teeth in a warning snarl. The light intensified as he stood on his hind legs and pointed authoritatively at the now completely defrosted wall. “Leave.”

The king glared balefully at the bear. “I will not forget this, beast.”

“I don’t expect you to,” the bear answered simply. “Now leave, before I smack you out of the castle myself.”

The Gryphon disappeared with a few choice oaths muttered in his wake to ghost into the silence.

The bear dusted off its paws and dropped to all fours again, then turned to face Pensword and smiled knowingly.

“Sorry I was so late,” a familiar voice said from behind.

Pensword jumped in the air, then fell helplessly back to the floor, since the cast prevented him from hovering. Once he’d regained his footing, his face lit up in a grin.

“Gramma!”

The old mare chuckled. “Hello, Pensword.”

“What’s going on? Why are you here? I thought the family had all moved on.”

“They have. I was … an exception, I suppose. I moved on when I was supposed to, but after you disappeared, your guardian had little choice but to go about his business until you returned. He has a tendency to follow his old mortal habits, so I had to go wake him up for you, after he went into hibernation.” She sighed and shook her head. “Would you believe I found him napping in the foothills of all places? He didn’t even bother finding a proper cave.”

The bear smiled sheepishly as Pensword eyed him incredulously.

“My—? You mean—.” Pensword noted the distinct lack of a claw on one of the bear’s paws. “But he’s the bear I killed!”

“And that death was a merciful one. I am grateful to you, little hunter,” the bear replied. “I was mad. Unlike that despicable creature’s kind, you hunted me to preserve the safety of your herd and the balance of the forest. As such, I have chosen to act as your protector. And with that office has come the ability to communicate in your speech. I am also granted the power necessary to ensure those threats of the spirit realm cannot touch you.”

Pensword blinked in surprise, then nodded slowly. “I am glad you came when you did,” he finally managed to say.

“I am, too,” Shimmering Star said. “But I should let you know, you’d best show that scroll to Grif before the day is done. It’s rather important, in case you couldn’t tell, and that Gryphon will only be too glad to see it destroyed before you have to chance to show it.”

“Yes, Gramma,” Pensword said meekly.

Shimmering Star smiled. “I must go now, Pensword. I delivered your guardian. My task is complete. I’ll let him teach you the rest himself. Farewell, Grandson. Keep moving forward. Your hunt will bring us together again in the fullness of time.”

“I … look forward to that day,” Pensword said through a choked throat.

“As do we all, Pensword.” His grandmother faded slowly, a serene smile on her face as she waved her farewell. And then she was gone.

Pensword returned his gaze to the bear. The ursine smiled and winked, then turned to address the spirits that had begun to creep back into the room through the walls and parts of the floor. “Yes, he’s gone now,” he rumbled. “Now listen closely. The commander will be taking messages and missives for the next hour and the next hour only,” he stressed. “His rates will remain the same.”

The ghost of a cub approached. “Um,” he said somewhat nervously, “May … may I touch you?”

“Five beaks,” the bear rumbled.

The cub’s face lit up in a smile. Several more cubs soon followed.

The bear chuckled and looked to his charge. “If you’re going to have to suffer, I might as well suffer with you. Besides, a few more beaks in the treasury is always welcome. Isn’t that so?”

Pensword chuckled to himself. “Silly old bear.”

“Playful, perhaps. Silly? Never,” the bear retorted with a smirk.

Preston frowned at his desk outside. The storm surge of negative emotion had been crippling, but … now it was gone. Instead, he felt happiness, relief, and perhaps a hint of disappointment. Whatever had happened must have been very tumultuous. He would have to ask the commander about it later. For now, he sent a last message to Me-Me to assure her that the situation had levelled itself and Pensword appeared to be fine.


Grif had returned from testing some of the new Weapons to find a Gryphon Albatross Cheetah waiting for him at the gate of his personal home. He was wearing the personal seal of the Gryphonian throne and held a scroll tube with the Emperor's seal in gold embossing. He smiled upon seeing Grif and flared his wings in a bow. “Avatar, I bring news from the claws of our Empress and Emperor for you and your family’s eyes.”

“May I ask why this wasn’t sent by my usual messenger?” Grif asked as he took the cylinder carefully.

“Delays with some family members falling ill, and the Empress seeing how to transport his grandparents.”

Grif nodded. “Very well. If you’d like, I’m sure we have something you could refresh yourself with in our kitchens. I’ll take a look at this in the meantime.”

“Thank you,” the messenger said. “I should warn you, though. I came with another messenger who’s reporting at Commander Pensword’s office. If you hear any commotion or alarms from that direction, it is likely due to the other messenger’s presence.”

Grif nodded. “It will be looked after,” he assured. “Rest easy. You served your lord and lady well.” He offered a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll start the return tomorrow. If any of your clan wishes to send letters back to the empire, I will carry them. As for you, I advise waiting for your usual messenger.” With that said, the messenger left the office in search of the promised food and libations.

Grif closed his door and locked it before opening the cylinder and scanning over the letter inside.

To the Avatar of the Winds.

Grif, I know you dislike that title, but it is why I am writing to you. I need you and my “father” to attend to me when the time comes. You are the most senior of the spiritual leaders in our empire, and as the time is coming that will bring about the next Generation, only the Avatar is worthy to pronounce blessings and approval for the continuation of my and my husband’s bloodline.

We had hoped you wouldn’t need to return so soon, but on the holiest day next year, we need you to bless our new cub. That’s right, Grif. I’m about to be a mother, and my time is very close. In accordance with tradition, your benediction will need to be presented on the previously mentioned day.

Grif could almost hear the smile in the next few words.

Now, mind you, the laws said you’d need to give the words. They never said if you’d need to say them aloud or read from a letter penned by your hand. So, while a part of me does wish to see you again, we both know time is not on our side for ocean travels. It’s your choice, but words must be given for the ceremony next year, whether by your mouth or the mouth of a representative.

As ever, you have my thanks and my blessing. May you find what you are looking for, and may you be open to finding the things you didn’t even know you need.

Gratefully yours,

Empress Melody, Chosen of the Winds, Prophetess, Friend.

Grif sat at his desk and scrawled out a reply. He would give her his blessing, when the time came, but he wouldn't be able to assure how that would be at this time. That would suffice for now. Once he’d gone over the contents to ensure it held the necessary script, he sealed the letter and left in search of a messenger.


Preston stopped Pensword as soon as he entered the waiting room. The Changeling’s desk was stacked with files and all manner of papers, including the commander’s scheduling book. “Sir, you should look at this,” he said as he handed the Pegasus a small letter.

The parchment was expertly folded and bore a wax seal from the Gryphon Empire.

“Dear Father,

I had to have this letter delivered to your secretary. If you are reading this, then the seal was not broken and the messenger does not know what you will be told. Remnants from my—

A blot of ink covered the space that would have said Father’s. He smiled as he continued.

—former allies still plague us. Regrettably, some have slipped into the woodwork of our empire’s staff, and we are still working to root them out. That means that sometimes those that should face justice are able to slip through legal loopholes. This Gryphon is such a one. He begged of my post as Prophetess to spare his life as my husband and Grif spared mine. He even dared to use my renounced clan name, and called you prey in hopes of appealing to a nature that I do not have. As such, I have a request for you, one that only you may accomplish for me. I have set aside a number of beaks set to be claimed upon completion.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to dispatch this traitor. He would be a constant threat to me and to my husband for so long as he lives. He is also a murderer responsible for the death of one of our younglings, though there was no evidence left behind to tie him to the claim. Were he to be punished by us on my word alone, it would detract from our credibility and give those who served the coup a chance to build support against us. I cannot take this request to Grif for similar reasons. He serves justice as the Avatar of winds, but justice requires evidence. I would not have the blood put on his talons, even if it would be a just action. You, however, are not under any such constraint. As such, I implore you, please, send him on his way, like you did in the past to those that harmed the ones you hold dear.

Your daughter,

Melody

Pensword’s face lost all expression as he stared bleakly at Preston. “Lock the doors,” he instructed. “Make sure no being enters until I leave.”

Preston nodded grimly. “I understand.”

Pensword took a deep breath, composed himself, then entered his office. A large red tail hawk and leopard Gryphon smiled from the larger chair that he’d put in for Grif and other larger visitors.

“It is an honor, Commander,” the messenger said as he rose from the chair. His hazel eyes were accented by dark flecks that left them with a harsh contrast that drew the eye toward the predator’s pupils.

Pensword’s muzzle twitched in an artful hint of a smile. At least Gryphons had the sense to honor his military title better than his noble one. However, the thought of such honors being heaped from such an unclean beak churned his stomach.

“I have a message for you from our empress.”

Pensword raised a skeptical brow. The messenger’s superior tone indicated a sense of pride and overbearance that clearly indicated where he thought he stood in the world. It also was a subtle insult implying Pensword was more pet than person. He would take great pleasure in what was to come.

“I was advised of your arrival. But come, the letter can wait. You must be weary from your journey. I believe I have some Gwarkala left from my last visit to Grif’s compound. He believed I might need to entertain certain dignitaries from the empire at one point or another. It seems he was right.” Pensword smiled as he reached into his desk and withdrew a decanter and two glasses. He poured and offered a glass to the messenger, then raised his own. “To the future,” he said with a smile.

“The future,” the messenger agreed. He held the glass to his beak, but waited for Pensword to swallow first.

The commander sighed as he lowered his glass to his desk and looked sincerely at the messenger. “May I show you something?” he asked.

“But of course, Commander. It would be rude of me as a guest to refuse, after such a hospitable gesture.” The Gryphon’s manner was easy going, but Pensword noted the distinct tightening of muscle around his neck.

Pensword nodded and picked up the stiletto that was his letter opener. “Come along. And do bring the letter. I can review its contents while we talk.”

The two approached the office wall, and the many pictures that lined it. The Gryphon Slayers, family photos, and various snippets of historical papers and articles were each framed and carefully preserved.

“This is what I suppose you could call my bragging wall in your culture. It is a collection of achievements that I deem important from my life and career. You are acquainted with many of my exploits, but not all. Please, feel free to review them. I know how your kind love to compare triumphs.” He smiled as he drew away from the wall and motioned with a wing. The messenger walked forward, ableit hesitantly. He kept a wary eye on the Pony as he advanced on the display.

“And your wings?”

Pensword’s expression darkened. “I assure you, those that did this to me are dead.”

An involuntary shudder passed through the messenger at the statement, and Pensword seized his chance. He lunged forward and slammed the blade through the gryphon’s breast. He used the leverage to swing up onto the Gryphon’s back and pull the weapon from his chest. Then he slammed it through the Gryphon’s ear to plunge into the ear canal and brain, while pulling the warrior bodily against the wall.

Pensword felt the rush of air as the Gryphon’s legs buckled, and he leaped off with weapon in hoof. A few seconds later, the foul scent of defecation filled the air. Pensword looked to the wall and nodded in satisfaction. No pictures had fallen in the assassination. He turned without remorse to stare at the spirit that now gaped at its own body in horror.

“But … but I was promised immunity, protection, from our own Empress and Emperor.”

“Correction,” Pensword said coldly, “your Emperor and Empress. I may call Melody my daughter, but she knows just as well as Daedalus that no Gryphon can control me. As an old poet once said of me, I am the Demon. I am vengeance given form. You had no protection. You never had any. And when I learned just who you were and what you did, what you were a part of, I could not suffer you to live.” He raised his voice and cried, “Preston!”

The door opened immediately and Pensword smirked at the sight of the messenger’s spirit recoiling. The Changeling peered respectfully at his superior. “You called?”

Pensword handed the blade over. “Send this to the camps and have it purified. It spilled the blood of a traitor and murderer. It’s a Strike blade, so it’s worth the expense.” He turned resolutely to the weapons hanging on another wall and retrieved a sword. “I have one more job to do.”

“Of course, Sir.” Preston bowed, then left with weapon in hoof.

The sword hissed as it slid free from its sheath. “You have lived without honor. And therefore, you have earned the ultimate disgrace for your kind.” The air whistled and the stones rang twice as sparks danced and bone snapped. Blood seeped slowly from the severed appendages as Pensword tossed the wings away from the corpse.

“What have you done?” the specter rasped.

“No less than you deserve,” Pensword said coldly. “Go. Your gods wait to judge you. I would say may they be merciful, but I think we both know better. Enjoy your eternal damnation, whoever you are. I know I will.”

The Gryphon strode forward, only to be blocked by a great bear standing on its hind legs. A white aura surrounded its body as it stared the Gryphon down.

“Try it,” he growled. “See what happens.”

The winds picked up as a sudden draft blew through the room. The spirit let out a wail of despair, then disappeared with the breeze. In his stead, a young Gryphoness looked up timidly at the Pony. Her head was that of a little owl, her body the ungangly form of a young snow leopard.

“Thank you,” she whispered gently.

Pensword smiled. “It’s the least I could do. But I want to do more. Your family must still be alive. I don’t do this for everyone, but given the nature of your death, it seems only fair that I offer you a free letter to be written to any living person you wish.”

“Anyone? But … I’m a Gryphon. Why?”

“Because you were innocent, and even under your laws, you shouldn’t have been harmed. I had a younger sister once who I loved very much. She had the chance to talk with me after she died. It’s only fair that you should have the same for those who have survived you.”

Tears stood in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Pensword smiled. “This will be a pleasure, little cub.”

The Gryphoness looked at the Bear. “Um, while you’re writing, can I … touch your bear?”

The guardian spirit chuckled as he dropped casually to all fours. “Why not?” he said.

Pensword smiled as the two began to talk. The youngling spoke of how she had been flying with the Gryphons on the south wind, the kindness of the many birds, and the unerring love that flowed so purely from the legendary Bird of Paradise.

“Carry on. I have one last piece of business to attend to before we begin,” Pensword said as he rooted through the contents of the dead messenger’s satchel. He discovered a money purse and an unopened scroll.

It didn’t stay closed for long.

“Dear Father,

It feels so good to use that word and not have such anger and loathing attached I’ll keep this portion brief. The beaks in that purse should prove more than enough payment for your service. My only request is that you finish the deed by burying him in a Pony grave. The Winds will handle the rest.

Now that business is taken care of, I have news of a much happier sort. In two words, Congrats, Gramps.

Pensword paused and he reread the start of that new paragraph again. “Wow. Is she serious?”

Ever the prophetess, the next sentence replied perfectly to his query.

Yes, I am serious. I’m going to have a nice healthy cub. And no, I don’t know if it will be a he or a she. For once, my gifts of prophecy are silent, and I am grateful for it. Now I get to experience the anticipation of a normal mother. It’s very exciting.

Unfortunately, this brings me to the sadder part of my letter. I know you, even if we only had the pleasure of meeting the one time, Pensword. I know you will wish to come and see the child yourself. This must not be. The political situation is still tentative here, and while there are many who are more accepting of you, after the aid you provided during the coup, tensions are tight. Write to us, and to the child. I promise that, in time, you will see the children. Daedalus and I intend to have many more. Your blessing and any advice you can mail to us on parenting will have to suffice for now.

And speaking of parenting, good luck teaching your children’s lovers and their children. The Hippogriffs shall live again, and the lands will rejoice in their coming. Until the day we can meet again, I must bid you a fond farewell. Thank you, Pensword.

With love,

Melody

Pensword smiled as he lowered the letter to his desk. He would need time to draft a proper response, but he was confident he’d be able to accomplish what she’d requested of him. Still, how odd it felt to be giving parenting advice, when he had only been a parent himself for such a short time. He chuckled, then rose into a full blown fit of healthy laughter. The world truly was a strange and convenient place, provided it wasn’t a Tuesday.


Pensword stood before the princess of the night in the curious wispy place that was the astral plane. The princess’ gaze was harsh as she smacked a hoof heavily on the insubstantial ground.

“You’ve relied too heavily on the dream training, Pensword,” she said bluntly. “Have you learned from your mistakes?”

Pensword’s ears drooped as he bowed his head. “Yes, Luna.”

“Good. While your wings are healing in the waking world, I’ll have more to show you here in the dream plane. It is time to teach you certain skills that have been lost to the ravages of time. I expect you to practice these outside of your dreams, once you have recovered enough to execute them properly. You are my Commander, or at least you were. I expect you to prove that you wish to be again, before I consider taking you farther in the election process. You have yet to appeal the ruling made against you. Time is passing, and we cannot hold off on an appointment forever.”

“I have the means devised to get the funds I need, Luna. It will just take time to get the last few pieces into place.”

“Time is something we haven’t much of, Pensword,” Luna said bluntly. She waved a wing and the dream plane rippled according to her will, creating the familiar practice fields. A series of weapons hovered and shifted about the arena. “Now choose.”

She barely reacted in time. Pensword’s wing blades swept streaks of moonlight that flowed in curtrails behind him. A full set of combat armor bedecked the warrior as he glared through his helmet.

Luna smiled behind her shield. “Excellent. You finally learned. A Nightmare won’t give you the opportunity to gather your wits or pick a weapon.” She crowed with delight as the scythe she had claimed from that mysterious mental landscape manifested to her summons.

Pensword immediately halted his approach as he eyed the weapon warily.

“Worry not,” Luna assured him. “I made sure the true scythe is not here with me.” A moment later an identical weapon appeared parallel to the first. “But I can call it to me if needed,” she warned. It vanished again with a flash of moonlight. She swung the mental manifestation a few times in her magic while Pensword took to the air using a loop de loop to dive. It was a simple matter for Luna to yank him out of the arc and directly in front of her face. She grinned and bit him on the nose.

Seconds later, Pensword found himself standing back at the starting point, staring his teacher down.

“Not bad,” Luna admitted, “but I’ve seen better from you, Pensword.” She braced herself. “I’ll be ready for you next attack now. I wonder, though. Will you be ready for mine?” Suddenly, she disappeared with a clap of thunder.

Pensword took to the air and crafted a series of shields about him. He knew what was coming next. But he also knew something Luna did not. He smirked at the encroaching cloud bank that sifted and cloyed like mist.

And then it recoiled as a roar shook the dreamscape. Silvery light blazed as the familiar shape of the great bear took form. He rose onto his hind legs, roared again, and the cloud bank completely dispelled itself. Luna descended to look over the bear as her horn lit dangerously.

“What manner of entity are you?”

“The only entity capable of entering Pensword’s dreams other than your usual invasive forces. You already know what I am, Princess. There’s no need for violence here.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “It took you long enough,” she said as the magic in her horn died away. The trio found themselves standing on solid ground again.

“I was … delayed,” the bear said by way of explanation.

“By about a thousand year jump into the future,” Pensword elaborated. “I left him behind, so he went about his business.”

“And you bear power to strike against the forces of the astral plane?”

“What are spirits but astral manifestations with greater ability to interact with the real world? My kind are especially attuned to this power as guardians of the dream lodge.”

“A thinker as well.”

“Such is the nature of the bear. I am the link to hidden truths, the guardian of the way, and the bridge which binds Pensword to his ancestors in both forms.”

“... You mean…?” Pensword asked hopefully.

“From time to time, when the need for counsel arises,” the bear clarified. “They have passed beyond. They will not return to the land of the living, but they may yet journey to the dream lodge, if the need is great enough.” The bear raised his paw. “And I am the one who decides that, not you or them, Pensword. I am a guide and a guardian. Balance must be maintained.”

Pensword sighed. “I understand.”

“Good. Your wisdom and knowledge may yet blossom again in time, as the turning of the seasons.” He chuckled. “Make sure spring comes, Pensword. And do not be slow in waking.”

Luna grinned. “I look forward to seeing what you can bring to the table.”

“You bear the armor of one who spins the night skies. The sky bear lost to you in honorable combat. For this, you earned the right to be a dream keeper and inherited that mantle. Even now, you train a cub in the ways of its mother, that it, too, may take its place spinning the skies with you and others of its kind. That is good. However, you do not know all of the dreamtime and its ways. The deeper secrets still belong to we who trained the dream walkers long ago.” The bear scraped at the ground with its paws and slowly fashioned a set of mighty horseshoes complete with a set of prehensile claws that clacked as they touched the ground. “Wear these.”

Pensword did as he was bid and slipped his forehooves into the things that were part horseshoe and part something else. Arcs of electricity sparked, jumping back and forth between them with a ferocious energy.

“You wish to protect one you hold dear on the dream plane and in the real world. These are that desire given form. Power from the mind is more than a metaphor. With these, that power can be channeled to great effect against those forces that would seek to do harm to you and your mental state. As one who bears the mantle of Dream Keeper, your princess has no need of such things. She channels well enough through her horn.” He looked more closely at the princess and narrowed his gaze. “Perhaps a little too well.”

If Luna was disturbed by the bear’s comment, she didn’t show it. “Long has it been since I have seen the claws of the bear in action.” She smiled. “It will be a pleasure to spar with them again.”

“We will both teach him to use them properly,” the bear said.

“And what am I to call you as we train him?”

The Bear rumbled with suppressed mirth as he looked with a sly sideways glance at Pensword. “Call me Dakota.”

The air rang with a resounding crash as Pensword flopped onto his back and rolled around in a fit of giggles with his wings thrashing uselessly in the air.

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