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Prologue: Unforeseen Complications681 words
The Rapture of Decretum6,482 words
User-Unfriendly Interfaces7,406 words
Bring Your Colt To Work Day7,465 words
The Colt Who Tried9,848 words
The Mechanics of Motherhood7,832 words
Hardware Failure9,531 words
Immaterial Things8,108 words
Reprogramming8,103 words
Epilogue: Orphaned, But Not Alone691 words

Immaterial Things

Chapter Seven: Immaterial Things
~BlackRoseRaven

Thorn Blackfeather absently rubbed at his mechanical leg, then he flexed it slowly, the plated limb clicking loudly several times as Hecate inspected the young stallion for a few moments. Finally, she asked simply: “Well?”

“It feels good.” Thorn replied, giving a small smile as he looked up at Hecate and nodded, and there was silence for a few moments before he slowly rubbed at his foreleg. He flexed it carefully again, studying his mechanical limb for a few moments and the differences between it and his former prosthetic: the plates were one, and the piston rods were another, pumping slowly as he moved his limb.

He returned his eye to the mechanical mare after a moment, saying quietly: “Thank you.”

Hecate only grunted at the young stallion, gesturing at him and replying moodily: “Sixteenth birthdays are supposed to be... special, I suppose. Besides, you've grown, and thus, your productivity dropped due to outdeveloping the equipment I gave you.”

Thorn only gave one of his small smiles again, nodding a little and not bothering to argue with her: he knew Hecate well enough by now to understand when he should just go along with whatever she was saying. The young stallion stretched out his mechanical limb slowly, then he rolled it absently before stomping it testingly once, twice, thrice against the floor of the painfully-neat workshop where Hecate did most of her designing. “Ten thousand pounds?”

“Twelve.” Hecate said calmly, looking down at him moodily... but there was a bit of approval in her eyes too. She would be far more irritated and insulted if he didn't immediately try and test the limb out, see what it was capable of.

There was silence between the two for a few moments, and then Thorn smiled a little, looking up at the mechanical mare and starting to open his mouth, but Hecate only held up a steel claw and said moodily: “I don't want to hear it, Thorn. Do you have your assignment for today?”

Thorn laughed a little, rubbing absently at his shoulder before he said finally: “I can work today, honestly. It wouldn't be any-”

“I don't want you working today. I want you to find something else to do with yourself.” Hecate said irritably, gesturing distastefully at the young stallion. Sixteen years old... and yet, as her eyes roved over him, she noted the lack of a cutie mark... and not without a bit of guilt.

After all, how was Thorn supposed to find his special talent if he was working all the time? With the years that he'd spent here, he'd become very skilled at handling the paperwork and the administration duties, and he had some mechanical and programming knowledge thanks to all the time he'd spent around her and the industrial Dogmatists.

But none of these things were his 'talent:' they were all skills Thorn had developed over months and years of training and learning from her. And because he was such a mix of obsessive-compulsive and work-oriented, he spent almost all his time following her around, checking schedules and helping out with anything she would let him.

He wasn't like the few other youths here in Decretum: as he'd grown older, he'd gotten quieter and more serious. He was antisocial, and avoided contact with just about everyone apart from her: on the other hoof, however, he seemed to be quite comfortable around the Dogmatists, something that couldn't be said for more than a few of the Enlisted Outworlders.

Hecate studied Thorn moodily as he returned his eyes to his prosthetic, checking it diligently over before she asked irritably: “Does it not meet your standards, Thorn?”

Thorn smiled up at his adoptive mother, bowing his head respectfully towards her, and the mechanical mare grunted grouchily but relented a little as Thorn lowered his limb before he said softly: “I really appreciate it, Mom.”

Hecate grunted, shifting ever so slightly, and then Thorn continued awkwardly: “I could go and work with the Replicants today, though, and test-”

“Shut up, Thorn.” Hecate said irritably, and then she rolled her eyes before pointing at him and saying moodily: “I do not enjoy the fact that you are growing more and more difficult to tell apart from one of my Dogmatists. What defines the difference between a pony like yourself and a Dogmatist is their emblem, or 'cutie mark.' Go and find your special talent, Thorn.”

Thorn looked nervously up at Hecate, chewing on his lip before he opened his mouth, and Hecate said sourly: “No. I can not and will not waste my resources helping you in any way, shape, or form.” She stopped, then sighed a little at the half-meek, half-imploring look Thorn gave her. “Thorn, this is something that all foals are supposed to have found on their own at half your age, or younger...”

The young stallion only blushed a bit, then he scraped his metal hoof against the floor before he said finally: “Aren't... aren't talents often passed down through families? And my Father was a Replicant, and my mother... my biological mother, I mean, Móðer-”

“I know who you're talking about. Her talent was being a nuisance.” Hecate said flatly, and Thorn gave the mechanical mare a lame smile before Hecate reached up and slowly rubbed at one of her temples, answering grudgingly: “Your father was a different case from most. He was a Replicant, yes, but of a different nature. He was born naturally, before...”

Hecate halted, then shifted ever so slightly again: maybe that wasn't really her story to tell. So instead, she moved back to the topic at hoof, answering shortly: “Your father had a natural talent for writing, that is where his cutie mark came from. And your mother, while she did not birth you, was talented in magic. You obviously do not share that talent, but I can certainly see how some of her compulsions were ingrained into you at a young age, Thorn.”

Thorn smiled awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck slowly before he cleared his throat, then asked quietly: “And what about you, Mom?”

“Do you ever stop and think about what an inanity it is that you not only had two mothers growing up, but that you now cling to me as some sort of replacement matriarchal figure?” Hecate snapped irritably, but Thorn only dropped his head and blushed.

There was silence for a few moments, and then Hecate finally sighed and pointed towards the door of the workshop, saying moodily: “Go... read in the library.”

“Can you... answer my question first, please?” Thorn pressed, and Hecate sighed a little before he said finally: “I just think that you've really rubbed off on me, too.”

“Thorn, I... allowed you into Decretum when you were ten years old, little more.” Hecate grumbled, but she couldn't stop her eyes from roving downwards, studying the steel leg of the stallion before she murmured: “Perhaps not everything I've done for you has been... improvement.”

Thorn smiled faintly, looking down at his steel leg, flexing it slowly before Hecate grumbled, if only to change the topic: “I was Princess Celestia in life, Thorn. I am certain you know how the realms work, and the stories about the Princesses of Equestria.”

But to her surprise, Thorn shook his head and replied honestly: “I don't, at all. Mom told me a lot of stories about Equestria, but I never heard much about any princesses. I don't... know a lot about the mortal world. I just know that there's many different versions of it, and you want to protect it.”

Hecate studied Thorn thoughtfully for a few moments, but then realized... “Of course you don't. You were born and raised in Helheim.”

The young stallion nodded, replying quietly: “I know all about the Great Separation, and I know all my parents' stories about the Valkyries and Valhalla, but I don't know a whole lot about the mortal world or... how it works or anything.”

“Do you know that you have a brother and two sisters?” Hecate asked bluntly, and Thorn blushed deeply before he lowered his head and nodded almost meekly.

“I... I do.” he said quietly, shifting a little as he glanced off to the side in embarrassment. “I also know that I'm... not supposed to talk about my family outside of your presence, Hecate, and... I'm not allowed to meet them. Not until I'm an adult.”

Hecate gave a wry smile, and then she nodded and replied quietly: “That's correct, Thorn, and I am going to ensure that you stick to that promise. You get in enough trouble here in Decretum as it is... which shows you may have a talent for finding trouble, Thorn. That, you certainly inherited from your parents.”

Thorn only blushed a bit and gave a lame shrug, and Hecate rolled her eyes before saying finally: “Enough stalling, Thorn. Go find your special talent. And I only hope that it's not something that is going to annoy me any further than you already do.”

Thorn lowered his head awkwardly, then he cleared his throat before saying lamely: “I'll do my best, Mom.”

Hecate grunted and turned her back on him to pointedly start her work on some other project, and Thorn smiled a little at his mother's back before he turned and hurried towards the door. It slid open for him, and he glanced down with a soft laugh as he watched how his limb moved as he let himself shift from a trot to a canter down the long, empty hall.

His mechanical limb moved smoother than any other had in the past, and he thought the weight distribution was better, too... and it wasn't like his previous limbs hadn't been masterworks to begin with. But this felt almost natural, responding in time to his every movement as he approached another electronic door...

It opened before he could reach it, a Replicant hopping happily through, and Thorn winced as he skidded to a halt, his metal hoof sending up sparks... but letting him easily hop swiftly to the side to try and duck around the squat, flame-red earth pony, but she hopped in the same direction before blinking and giggling even as Thorn winced and tried to jump to the other way.

The Replicant mirrored him again, however, and this time she chortled laughter, tossing her jagged, sky-blue mane before she leapt back in front of the door and exclaimed: “You're silly, Thorn!”

“Necrophage. Please.” Thorn almost pleaded as he halted, looking exasperated even as he absently flexed his steel leg and found himself surprised again by the speed and ease of response. “I have to go find my special talent-”

“Oh, oh, oh! Let me help!” Necrophage immediately wheedled, dancing happily on the spot, and Thorn grimaced and leaned away a little. It wasn't that he didn't like the Replicants or anything, but certain ones like Necrophage, with her damaged personality programming, could be a little... vexing.

“This is a personal assignment, thank you. Besides, Queen Hecate is expecting you.” Thorn replied, seizing quickly on the only possible reason why a Replicant like Necrophage would be heading towards Hecate's personal workshop.

Necrophage nodded a few times, and then she and Thorn both sidestepped at the same time again, the Replicant giggling loudly as the stallion resisted the urge to drop his face in his hoof, instead sighing and half-turning to gesture sharply backwards.

Necrophage happily bounced past, and Thorn couldn't help but look at her blank hip as she passed by, the stallion frowning a little before Necrophage suddenly halted in the middle of the hall, smiling over her shoulder at him and saying brightly: “You just have to believe in yourself, Thorn, that's all!”

Thorn stared dumbly at the squat pony, who only giggled and turned to bounce happily onward. The stallion was left gazing dumbly after her for a few moments, and then he finally sighed and shook his head, deciding that the best thing he could do was probably just continue on his way for now: trying to make sense of Necrophage always ended up just being a waste of time.

The young stallion turned and made his way out: he headed straight for the library, as if following orders, even though he knew that all Hecate wanted was for him to take a day off. But he didn't feel like taking a day off, even if it was his sixteenth birthday: his birthdays had just... never been that important to him. He liked it acknowledged, sure, but he never really... wanted anything.

What was important was living up to Hecate's expectations, and doing everything he could to continue to serve Decretum. He was strangely proud of this mechanical world he lived in: he wanted to be a part of it, and he wanted to help it evolve and grow in the best way that he could.

The young stallion entered the library, casting off his thoughts as he instead glanced around a massive repository that was unlike any library he'd seen in Helheim. Instead of books, the low, rounded shelves were filled with data logs: these would play back information in a variety of ways, from scrolling text to audio files, and even in holographic projections. Data was constantly being compiled and added to the logs, which covered a wide variety of topics: there was everything from compilations of generic statistics about Decretum, to long stories about fantastic worlds.

Thorn strolled over to one of the shelves, starting to browse: it might not look like much, but terabytes of data had been compiled on each log, and they were updated frequently. Thorn absently plucked one of the thin, tablet-shaped devices free from the shelf, then he swiped his hoof over the touchscreen on the front.

It immediately lit up, a table of contents appearing on-screen: this archive contained at least three dozen different books, all on the same topic: poetry. Thorn nodded to himself after a moment, then he lifted the tablet with telekinesis and turned to head towards one of the curved metal tables: the tables were all arranged and designed so that they formed several wide rings around the center of the room, so that lectures or presentations could be held.

Not that there was a whole lot of academia here in Decretum. Thorn sat down and slipped the data log into the holder built right into the desk, before he crossed his forelegs over the table and dropped his head across them. He used telekinesis to poke his way through the table of contents until he found what he was looking for, and then he settled in to simply read for a little while.

He liked poetry. It was the only real thing outside of work that he ever really enjoyed, or helped him relax. The young stallion hoped that maybe if he cleared his head, he could focus better on figuring out what his special talent was supposed to be...

Thorn smiled a little to himself as he scrolled his way down through several poems, studying them: their meter, their rhyme and rhythm, their... intent. He thought that was the most important thing in any bit of prose or poetry, the intent, the emotionality: if you could feel the emotions the writer was trying to convey, then the poem was a success. Sure, there was a lot to be admired in mastering the technical skills, in learning and manipulating the mechanics... but sometimes, raw emotion, passion, was more than enough on its own.

The young stallion smiled a little as his eyes roved over another poem. Hecate was like that, he thought: her personality was rough and sharp, and she was incredibly passionate and dedicated to what she cared about. He admired her bluntness, and how she was... professional, he thought, was probably the best word for it.

Thorn chuckled a little to himself, and then he murmured softly: “Steel, protecting the... I don't know. The sun, maybe. For some reason, when I think of Hecate, I think of the sun.”

He smiled a little, then shook his head briefly before closing his eyes, tilting his head to the side as he murmured: “Steel petals sheath the core, hoarding warmth beneath its surface; blossom now, and spill your light...”

He stopped, then frowned a bit before shaking his head out and muttering: “Not quite right.”

The young stallion shifted a little in his seat, and then he scrolled down... and grumbled when he found the poem cut off, poking the screen grouchily a few times. Either the data log had crashed, or it hadn't been updated all the way yet: one of the pitfalls of technology, he reflected.

The young stallion swiped across the device with his hoof, turning it back off, and then he sat back in his seat and sighed a little as he looked down at the blank desk in front of him. He looked back and forth through the empty library, reflecting on just how creepy a big empty room could be when you were left with nothing to distract you.

He was generally the only pony who used the library, though: since there were multiple copies of every data log, and information was constantly logged by the security node above the door about who was removing what from the room, there wasn't really any need for a formal sign in-or-out process. Of course, Hecate had already threatened to demote him to 'head librarian' if he let his productivity drop as low as he had last week...

But last week had been a rough week. He'd outgrown his synthetic limb and the socket, and he'd had to have surgery, then limp around on three legs while he healed up and his body readjusted to the large piece of metal built into his stump. Not to mention the fact Hecate had to actually connect wires and nerves, which had left him very tired and achy.

Horses of Heaven, he wished that he could do something to repay her for all her kindness. Even with her threatening to demote him, she had just been trying to give him time off in his favorite place, 'punishing' him in order to protect him. He knew that she cared about him: how deeply, he wasn't sure, but he had never, ever forgotten that she had been by his side the entire time after he'd lost his leg. That Hecate, Empress of Decretum, had put aside her schedules and duties for a colt she had only known for a few months...

Thorn smiled a little, and then he hesitantly rubbed at his shoulder. He had never been able to do much for her. He didn't know when her birthday was, and Hecate generally responded to personal questions by kicking him out of the room. Sometimes literally.

And Thorn guessed that he wasn't exactly the kind of kid to come running to his parents with drawings or handmade trinkets. He'd never done that even when he was younger, and it wasn't like he'd ever had access to crayons or clay or hoofpaints while here in Decretum. Hel, he could just imagine the look on Hecate's face, if he'd ever come running up to her with paint all over his hooves, tracking it through her nice, polished metal halls...

He really wished that he had.

Thorn smiled faintly, looking down and shaking his head briefly before he closed his eyes and gave a soft sigh. It would have been embarrassing, and dumb, and childish... but he was supposed to have been a child, right? He didn't know: growing up in Helheim had meant being exposed to a lot of things he didn't think most little foals saw. Sure, his parents and his nanny, Justine, had always tried to protect him from as much of it as they could, but...

Thorn rubbed slowly at his throat, then his hoof silently trailed down the scars on his chest: some were older, and others were newer, from when he'd made the run through the Clockworks for Hecate, in order to shut down the machinery and save Genesis. That was still one of the proudest moments of his life... he thought it always would be, as a matter of fact.

The young stallion smiled a little and shook his head briefly. But he never would have been able to do it without Hecate. Hecate, who pushed him, who made him work, who caught him when he fell... but made sure that he always took responsibility for everything he did. Sure, sometimes it upset him, hurt him... but then she was there. There to save him, there to protect him, if everything went wrong.

And he called her Mom, but... since when had he ever tried to be her son instead of just her assistant?

Thorn reached out and silently picked up the data log, looking down at the blank screen for a moment before he bit his lip. He was going to do something, he thought. He was going to do something he was sure he would immensely regret later, something much more important than getting his cutie mark. Hell, why was this cutie mark so important, anyway? Maybe it was because he hadn't met that many other ponies, but even without a cutie mark, he had plenty of skills, and a lot to be proud of.

Finding his own happiness was secondary. What he wanted right now was to see his mother smile.

Hecate calmly tapped commands over a holographic screen, adjusting parameters and frowning moodily as she tried to find the solution to her current problem: developing a virus that would be able to effectively erase the Clockwork King's programming.

Much like dealing with a virus, Hecate had hooked up an old, relatively useless data node in her workshop to a battery. She had disabled – more correctly, torn out – the communication hardware, and left it isolated from the rest of Decretum's systems. Then she had plugged herself in to monitor the device, and finally turned it on.

She had been unsurprised but displeased when the data node had immediately tried to run foreign commands: the Clockwork King system was clearly still online. The string of code had been crude by an AI's standards, and tinged with what would be called insanity in an organic being: apparently Valthrudnir's ultimate vision of self-determinating machines included delusions and narcissism. But she supposed like father, like child.

Hecate gave a thin smile, even as the words made something inside her shift and clank, like a stripped gear grinding for purchase. Thesis was a good example of that, after all...

She looked away from the holographic screen for a moment, the mechanical mare unable to stop her eyes from sliding closed, catching visions of him in her mind: laughing and smiling when he was a colt, how he used to run along at her side, how he used to lose focus and nearly trip over his own hooves when he forgot to keep his eyes ahead; he'd been so good-natured when he'd been growing up...

And then she saw the adult Thesis, with his exoskeleton on his back, and Valthrudnir standing beside him. She saw Thesis, staring over his shoulder at her with misery and longing and all those confused and poisonous philosophies that had been implanted into his mind in microchips and neurochemical injections and the poisons running through his veins...

Hecate shook her head shortly, dismissing her thoughts before she forced her eyes open and her lenses to activate, scanning the wild tracts of code that were being put out by the machine. The Clockwork King program was trying to take over her mechanical body... but every string of code it attacked with was simply erased, thanks to the security measures she'd already put in place.

The data the hostile program was spewing out was too random for her to get a proper fix on it, and the program itself kept changing, rewriting itself, hopping between partitions and leaving traces of itself behind in every process it touched. Even if she erased everything in the data console, the hostile AI would find a way to hide itself: possibly by corrupting a sector of the drive or hiding behind a false partition.

Hecate ground her teeth together slowly. It was a case of having a ghost inside the machine... and how did you exorcise a spirit? She needed to create another AI that would be able to keep up with the constant change and mutation of this one...

Then the mechanical mare scowled as the door opened, and she straightened slightly, not looking away from the holographic screens in front of her as she said moodily: “Thorn. I am not in the mood for any further begging or wheedling.”

“Um. Mom? I uh...” Thorn cleared his throat, sounding embarrassed, and Hecate frowned slightly, but didn't look up from the holographic images in front of her, as she adjusted lines of code and tried to discern a pattern or weakness she could take advantage of. “Mom?”

Hecate sighed tiredly, then asked distastefully: “What, Thorn? I'm busy.”

She felt Thorn shrink back even without looking over her shoulder, and she felt a faint stirring of guilt inside her... but she wanted to get this done. This was important, playing with this stupid code, figuring out how to remove the Clockwork King so they could bring all of Decretum's systems online... what could be more important than that?”

“I..” Thorn shifted, and then he cleared his throat again before he rose his head and said quietly: “Mom, uh... this is for you.

“Steel petals sheath her core,

embracing warmth beneath their surface:

clutching close fiery passion,

under shield of steel so cold.

Rich with fruits of effort and success,

earned and tended by her own hoof;

ripened in her gardens of labor,

seeds culled to be planted anew.

Matriarch with furnace-heart;

with your heat of passion, alight the world,

Protector and defender, mother most loved;

Your love shall keep me safe.”

Thorn halted, blushing deeply before he stumbled awkwardly around in a circle, but before the young stallion could bolt, Hecate said calmly: “Stop.”

He halted, looking nervously over his shoulder, and Hecate calmly paused her programming, closing both holographic screens before she ordered the data log to shut down. Then she turned around, unplugging the connector from a slot in her mechanical arm as she studied him moodily.

Hecate looked at the young stallion as colt looked up at her, somehow a mix of pale and flushed with embarrassment. There was silence for a few moments between the two, and then Hecate said moodily: “Let's start from the top.

“First of all, Thorn, flower metaphors are generally sexual in nature. I understand hormonal urges but please keep them in check.” Hecate said irritably, and Thorn turned beet red as he dropped his head, mouthing wordlessly. “In fact, this leads to my second point, that your metaphors in general need work. They are unrefined.

“Third. This poem has no point. It is crude. It does not transition smoothly between stanzas. Fourth. Your vocabulary is stunted and childish. Fifth. There is no real end point to this poem. Sixth...”

Thorn, by now, had shrunk nearly down into the floor, and Hecate studied him for a few moments before she said softly: “Sixth, Thorn, you do not need to waste your time on frivolities like this in any attempt to impress me.”

Thorn lowered his head slightly, and then he murmured: “It's not that I want to impress you, I... I just wanted to do something for you, that... you know.”

He shifted lamely, smiling in embarrassment, and there was silence for a few moments before Hecate sighed and lowered her head, moodily tapping her mechanical claws against her hip. Then she finally said grudgingly: “Thorn, you are far from perfect, but you don't have to do anything more for me. The fact you are here, and try so hard as it is...” She glanced away, clearing her throat loudly. “Your endeavors are appreciated, Thorn. Imperfect as you are.”

Thorn smiled and straightened a little before Hecate returned her eyes to him, measuring him for a few moments before she said in a crankier voice: “But do not present me half-finished assery, Thorn. I want to see you pushing yourself to do your best, whether you are working for me as Queen Hecate or you are giving me a gift from son to mother.”

There was silence for a few moments as Thorn smiled wider, gazing up at the mare warmly, and Hecate blushed ever so slightly, her cheeks tinging a faint blue as she shifted in embarrassment before looking up and snapping: “If you want to work today, then you can do a patrol of Genesis and come back tonight with another poem that fixes the many bumbling errors inherent in this one!”

“Y-Yes, Mom!” Thorn saluted hurriedly, then he stumbled around in a circle before bolting out of the room, and Hecate sighed and dropped her head forwards, rubbing slowly at her forehead with one claw.

But after a moment, she smiled and shook her head slowly, silently stroking down one of her own blushing cheeks before she murmured softly: “Thank you, Thorn.”

Thorn, meanwhile, was laughing a little to himself, blushing with happiness himself. Even if Hecate had torn him down, he felt like it had all been worthwhile... and sure, patrolling Genesis was probably one of his least favorite duties, but at least it would give him plenty of time to think. There was rarely anyone in the castle, after all: even after several years of rebuilding and fortifying the structure, they hadn't dared to bring any of the machinery online yet.

The problem, of course, was in part because so many Dogmatists and Drones were deployed all over Decretum already, bringing systems online... not to mention the small but elite unit that had been sent to Endworld, with the goal of bringing many of the long-neglected facilities back online. As important as Genesis and Imperia were... there were two entire planets to consider, covered with facilities that all had to be brought back online.

Once Genesis had been stabilized, Hecate had turned most of her efforts towards other places: the excavation of Cortex, for example, was now in its final stages. As a matter of fact, Hecate had even retrieved the remains of what she called the Alpha Wyrm, and from its genetic blueprint, she had begun developing new Tyrant Wyrm Broodmothers: Thorn knew all about the Wyrms, extremely dangerous and powerful creatures that were used as both living siege artillery and terraformers by Decretum.

Thorn glanced hesitantly down at himself as he made his way through the Enlisted Outworlder facility, thinking: Tyrant Wyrms were a particularly interesting subject to him, because Hecate worked very, very hard to keep him away from them. Well, actually, she kept them far away from most of their facilities, citing that the Wyrms were like living machines: they had a specific programming, but this caused them to have cruel instincts and urges, which they all too often took out on whatever happened to be near them at the time.

There were other reasons, though, Thorn knew: for one thing, the Tyrant Wyrms corrupted the world around them into a diluted form of the Clay of Prometheus. This dangerous chemical was the basis for many of Decretum's technologies and servants, and Thorn had experienced first hoof what it was capable of when it had splattered on his prosthetic limb and promptly destroyed it...

But Thorn wasn't affected by it. And for some reason, Hecate always acted like that was a bad thing, whenever he brought it up, and promptly cut off the conversation. Thorn looked meditative as he strode out of the facility and into the streets of Imperia, and then he sighed a little as he looked down the road towards Genesis, chewing on his lip.

Tyrant Wyrms, Tyrant Wyrms... they were such strange beasts. They looked and acted like monstrous dragons, but they were really machines; they existed to create and terraform, and yet they were constructed from dead matter and destructive energies. They had their own terrible language that sounded beautiful in his ears, but could cause psychic torment to anyone who listened too closely...

They were like... natural disasters, caged in scale and clay. Thorn clicked his tongue thoughtfully: he thought that was a better metaphor... or maybe the problem was he was still explaining the metaphor too much. Maybe he should say natural disasters, caged in mire and shadow...

What did shadow have to do with anything? Thorn scowled a little at himself: now that he was thinking more critically about it, he thought he recognized what the problem was. Poetry required not just flow and rhythm, but a way for it all to link together, to tell a story...

Thorn barely paid attention to where he was going, stepping around other ponies on autopilot as he pondered the poem. He lost himself to his thoughts even as he made his way to the massive, open gates of Genesis.

The castle stood proud, towering over Imperia: one side was ramshackle and still bore the stress of the disaster years ago, but the other was almost polished and pristine, heavy support pillars and scaffolds here and there all around the structure.

Thorn walked into a whitewashed hall, sidestepping a polished support bar before he shouldered through a tarp curtain that had yet to be replaced by a proper door. He stepped over some heavy cables without looking at them, and gave an absent nod to a Dogmatist he passed, his eyes almost glassy as he muttered: “No, that's not quite the right word either... I should head back to the library, maybe. They must have some books that can help me... or at least I can access the information on Tyrant Wyrms...”

The young stallion halted suddenly, and then, in a burst of inspiration, he suddenly called up a holographic screen before paging through it until he came across a set of data files. He paged through these, absently shuffling along on three legs before he finally grunted as he came across what he was looking for: a compilation of data on Tyrant Wyrms.

Thorn strode onwards, keeping the holographic screen in front of him so he could read while still having a vague idea of where he was going. It was a long, fairly boring read, all-in-all: measurements, structural details, common species traits, and other things that amounted mainly to a whole lot of boring facts about something Thorn found fascinating. But his mind was working rapidly away, trying to take all this quantified information and turn it into something more...

Thorn was only brought out of his thoughts when a vision of horror appeared in front of him, the mare shoving her head through his holographic screen so she could greet brightly: “Hi there!”

The young stallion winced backwards and stumbled away from Necrophage as his hologram vanished, but the mare only gazed at him happily. He smiled uncomfortably after a moment at the squat mare, then cleared his throat before greeting cordially: “Necrophage. I'm surprised to see you here.”

“I like surprises!” exclaimed Necrophage positively, and then she bounced a few times on the spot before giggling and adding quickly: “But don't worry, I'm not just following you around, Thorn! I'm actually going to go refill the fuel tanks for the generators and stuff. Gotta keep the lights on!”

Thorn winced and forced a smile at this: he had accidentally walked in on Necrophage's 'refueling duties' before, and the unpleasant image was now ingrained in his mind. The Replicant was a living fuel factory, after all, gobbling down refuse and waste matter to churn it in her stomach, then... well... some things are better pushed out of mind. “I will... allow you to take care of that, then.”

The Replicant only smiled and bounced into his path, however, asking curiously: “Whatcha thinkin' about?”

“Necrophage, I'm on duty.” Thorn said moodily, and then he pointedly tried to walk around the mare. But Necrophage only giggled and started to easily walk backwards beside him, making the young stallion scowl a little. “Necrophage, I...”

“Well, I'm going this way too, sir! I just thought I heard someone coming so I turned around and came back here in case they were lost! But I know you're not lost and we're headed the same way so we might as well walk together, right?” Necrophage asked brightly, and then she questioned quickly: “So why are you here, sir? You seemed really deep in thought, too!”

Thorn only looked moodily over at the Replicant, and then he shook his head before grumbling: “It's a personal matter.”

“Oh.” Necrophage nodded seriously, then she hopped easily around in a circle without breaking stride, trotting happily along beside Thorn as she smiled and asked: “Does it have to do with your Mommy, Hecate?”

The young stallion gave Necrophage a horrible look, but the mare only smiled brightly and nodded a few times, saying in a warm voice: “Well, I don't know a whole lot, but I do know that your Mommy loves you, and she's always real proud of you, as long as you do your best! She's a really nice person, I think, yep yep yep!”

Thorn cocked an eyebrow at Necrophage, then asked bluntly: “Even though she constantly turns your emotions off?”

Necrophage blinked at this, then went almost rigid even as her gait smoothed out from its usual bounciness, the mare's eyes losing their brightness as she gazed at him emptily. Thorn winced and stumbled to a halt, and Necrophage stopped as well, even as she said in a toneless voice: “My productivity is maximized when my emotional rendering is disabled. But Queen Hecate recognizes its negative impact on my mental well-being and has never sealed or erased my emotional programming, flawed as it may be. She has always reenabled my emotions when a task was completed: for that I am grateful to her.”

There was silence for a few moments, and then Thorn cleared his throat before he said finally: “Emotions on.”

Necrophage immediately popped upwards on her hooves, smiling brightly before she landed and said happily: “Hello!”

Thorn winced, and then Necrophage giggled: “Silly! Hecate loves all of us! She might not always seem like she's looking out for us, but I know for a fact she's always there, Thorn... partly because you're always there, Thorn! And you're her second in command and just like her.”

Necrophage beamed at him, and Thorn blushed slightly as he dropped his head before he nodded hesitantly, rubbing a hoof at the ground before he murmured: “Thank you, Necrophage.”

“No problem!” Necrophage hopped forwards and happily hugged Thorn around the neck, the young stallion wincing and freezing up at the contact before Necrophage happily hopped away down the hall, calling cheerfully: “Bye, Thorn! Don't think too much, you're perfect the way you are!”

Thorn looked blankly after Necrophage, and then he sighed a little and dropped his head, mumbling to himself before he shook his head hurriedly out and scrubbed at his face with his hoof. Then he hesitantly opened his eyes, looking down at his metal leg and flexing it slowly before he gave a small smile in the direction of the Replicant, shaking his head briefly.

He turned around, trying to bring himself back to what he'd been thinking of before as he mentally paged through information in his mind: most of it had stayed in memory. As he began to page through the measurements and statistics again, he found metaphors rising more readily through his mind, the stallion chewing thoughtfully on his lip before he murmured: “Crows.”

The young stallion strode onward, meditative and thoughtful as he continued his patrol through Genesis. By the time he had finished his circuit of the massive castle, he thought he had some idea for the basic structure of the poem. Writing it down would probably help, but even if Thorn could project holographs and order some basic changes, he couldn't write things out the way Hecate could...

So that left heading back to his room and getting one of his notebooks. He had requisitioned several after the last power surge, recognizing that at least for now it would be best if he kept a record that couldn't be deleted while he was in the middle of working on it by a connectivity error.

He figured he had the time: Hecate obviously just wanted him out of her hair, and he had until the end of the day.

Thorn continued to reassure himself of this fact as he mused on his poetry, until he reached the Enlisted Outworlder facility... and found Hecate herself impatiently waiting for him, tapping one mechanical claw slowly against a steel bicep as she glowered down at him, with that same glare she always did when he failed to meet her expectations.

Thorn instinctively shrank a bit, and then Hecate said sourly: “You're fifteen minutes late, Thorn. You should have completed your patrol a long time ago. Or were you enjoying your little chat with Necrophage a little too much?”

The young stallion cleared his throat, but before he could stop himself, he fell back on an old, bad habit: “Sorry.”

Hecate scowled at him, and Thorn shifted in embarrassment before the mechanical mare asked shortly: “Poem?”

Thorn stared up at Hecate, and Hecate said waspishly: “Schedules change, Thorn. You've had more than sufficient time to compose a far better prose work than you already presented me. You should have been prepared ahead of time for this situation; I have to wonder if perhaps the time spent with Necrophage hasn't addled more than just your sense of time and how to manage it effectively.”

The young stallion smiled weakly, and then he took a slow breath before raising his head and asking hesitantly: “May I present the requested data in part, or-”

“Request denied. I want you to present your remarks immediately, in full.” Hecate replied coldly, treating this with the same seriousness and professionalism she would if he were presenting a report on unauthorized activities or estimated damages from a collapse or power fluctuation.

Thorn stared at his mother, then leaned slowly to the side: she was standing right in front of the main doors of the Enlisted Outworlder facility, blocking traffic and preventing the doors from being accessed by anyone. And there were already a few Dogmatists patiently gathering at the doors, and who knew how many other workers and drones were just standing on the other side, clogging up the hallway further...

But all the same, Thorn forced himself to take a breath and nod slowly, looking up and meeting Hecate's eyes as he said in as steady a voice as he could manage: “Alright, Queen Hecate. Then... here is my re... poem.”

He stopped and gathered himself, closing his eyes for a moment before reciting in a quiet but carrying voice:

“The crows of the pandemic marsh

Sing their songs of ire and war;

Feast, crows, upon the succulent corpse

eat the flesh of the world down to its bones.

“The ravens recline in their murderous kingdom,

content to recline in the sanctity of this corpse,

neglecting the maggots that crawl the carcass,

The seeds of new life, spawning within decay.

“The blackbirds preen, glossed and polished,

Drunk on fermented blood;

Kings, they call themselves, but they are naught

but the slaves of hedon and visceral greed.

“The birds of ill omen watch and wait,

And what they devour they vomit out as rot

to be shorn and shaped by the insects that share

this venomous and ever-stretching bog.

“The psychopomps will bide their time,

Until the maggots grow their wings, and fly away;

The ravenous corpse-feeders wait, ever-patient,

For when this corpse will belong to them alone.

“And then, all shall be as it always must:

Death shall fall to life, and life shall rebirth death.”

There was silence for a few moments as Thorn halted, looking nervously up at Hecate, and Hecate looked moodily back down at him for a few moments before she sighed and shook her head slowly, opening her mouth.

Then she stopped and simply frowned, studying the young stallion intently as Thorn looked at her uncertainly, until the mechanical mare said softly: “Well. At least this was not a complete waste of time, Thorn, in spite of trying to write a poem about Tyrant Wyrms, of all things.”

Thorn looked at her with confusion, then he glanced curiously down at his hip before his eyes widened in surprise as he saw... “My... my emblem!”

Hecate gave the smallest of smiles, letting the young stallion study it for a few moments: it was about time he finally figured out what his special talent was, after all. Although it was an interesting cutie mark: the profile of a raven's head. She sincerely hope it represented his talent for poetry: there were few things in the world she detested more than birds.

She gave him a few more moments to study the picture that had appeared on his hip with fascination, and then the mare cleared her throat before she said curtly: “Thorn, you are still on duty.”

Thorn winced, then quickly straightened and saluted, looking up at his mother as she looked back down at him. Their eyes met, and then Hecate simply nodded to him before saying in a suddenly gentle voice, giving a small but honest smile: “Happy birthday, Thorn Blackfeather. I'm... proud to have you as my son.”

The young stallion smiled warmly up at Hecate, then he nodded quickly a few times to her before he hesitantly stepped forwards. But Hecate only grimaced and stepped to the side, gesturing at the door and saying moodily: “Don't make this any more uncomfortable than it already is, Thorn. Physical contact between officers of Decretum is forbidden for a reason.”

“Alright. Then I'll sign out and head to the library.” Thorn said after a moment, giving a small smile up to the mare before he bowed his head and added quietly: “I really do appreciate it, though, and... I... I feel that I belong here. I know my parents brought me here for a lot of reasons, and... I think I understand now.”

Hecate only shook her head slowly, but watched all the same with maybe the slightest hint of a blush as Thorn strode past her and joined the crowd of Clockwork Ponies calmly making their way in and out through the doors. Then perhaps that's one thing you understand that I do not, Thorn.

The mechanical mare absently reached up and tapped at her chest as she thought she felt a strange thrum of heat inside her, but she put it down to a minor glitch in the coolant system around her core. Instead of paying any more heed to it, she turned and began to stride towards Genesis, summoning a holographic screen in front of her to call up the profile of Thorn... and for just a single moment, she allowed her eyes to linger on the top line of the file, where her name was written into the Next Of Kin line.

She smiled briefly at this, then reached down and made another quick note across of the page about the recent acquisition of his cutie mark, and then she banished the holographic window before returning her eyes to Genesis.

An empire to command, a world to serve her... and a son to call her own.

And the only thing that frightened her anymore was the thought of how much she would sacrifice to protect the last item on that list.

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