> Salvation | Rebirth
>  by Elu
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue: Death and Rebirth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A fire could be seen burning far behind the trees, foul black smoke rising above the canopy to cover the infinite starlit sky. Drowned in shadows cast by the cold moonlight, the darkened forest slept quietly under the night's cover. Leaves murmured as the wind blew, carrying across the smell of burnt wood, gasoline, and plastic. The roar of all-consuming flames could be heard even from there, and the distant sirens of firetrucks drew ever closer.

From behind a bush, pushing the branches away with a scratched and scarred hand, a young man stumbled. His uncovered skin was pale, clearly visible among the dark trees. Despite his youth, his short black hair was heavily thinning, and a number of white hairs could be seen. His gray eyes scanned the surroundings as he went through the forest, each step resonating with pain inside his thin body. Despite a part of his left ear missing, he could still hear perfectly, distinguishing the sounds of local wildlife and the hum of fire long behind him. His stomach was sunken, emphasizing the outline of his lower ribs. Both of his nipples were gone, scar tissue in their place. His arms were thin, the long fingers clutching the straps of the backpack slung on his bare back.

A number of small cuts, some still bleeding, covered his body as he stumbled through the forest. Plenty of old and new scars were visible – most notably, a distorted symbol made of burn scar tissue slightly below his belly button. Another one was to the right of his belly: it was straight, widening towards the middle. Stretching from the outer corner of his left eye to his damaged ear was another scar, jagged, widening towards the ear. Various smaller scars appeared throughout his body as well, including five on his face: two on the nose, one above the right brow, and another two near his lips.

He looked over his shoulder and then hurried deeper inside the forest, limping as he went. Briefly appearing under the moonlight, drops of red on his arms glistened. He huffed, worn out by his journey, but he didn't stop until the fire could not be seen nor heard, and the sirens were but distant echoes. He allowed a moment's rest, his hands grasping his knees as he bent. However, it was not yet time to stop, so he straightened with a heavy grunt and continued on forward.

Soon, he appeared near a lake, its water standing still. He stopped and took a seat on a fallen old log. He breathed deep, his eyes gazing into the lake's mirror-like surface. The stars and the moon were bright, reflecting clearly in the water; the wind was now blowing in the direction of the fire, keeping the smoke away from the sky. There the young man sat, recollecting his thoughts and resting. However, his mind was not at peace, and the thoughts of the events leading up to this very moment invaded his head.

Almost two decades of long, eventful years; times of pain or gray routine with rare moments of happiness. Perhaps it was not a bad life, things could always get worse... and they did. The underbelly of the world was revealed to him, crimes that he thought would never happen to him were done to him, and he saw the terrible secrets and many evils. Sometimes, he wished he never learned of it all, but now that he knew, he could not go back to ignorance. The truth he discovered made him who he was, and he would not surrender himself to self-deception and lies just to make himself comfortable in this world of horrors. He embraced it, and his mind stood strong as he did what he had to despite the awful tide of pain crushing him ever harder.

Yet, everything had an end, and he alone couldn't continue on for much longer. This last step was not out of desperation but necessity - when all personal things were sorted out, the only thing left was to change the world. As he stood alone, he knew - he couldn't do it no matter how much effort he could put in. To bring such change, many people need to act as one. Bringing them together, however, was a futile, fruitless endeavor. He was more than familiar with the long history of humanity, and he believed he had seen enough to make his final decision about his kind. And so, if he cannot change the world, then he must prevent the world from changing him.

He took off his backpack and pulled out a revolver. A revolver for hunting, used to kill without provocation. Perhaps, it was also used as a weapon for self-defense. To the young man, however, the history of the revolver bore no significance – it was but a tool. Perhaps not perfect for his purposes, but it sufficed when nothing better could be obtained. And now, there was one last round, one last cartridge to fire, and the tool will exhaust its usefulness.

Discarding the backpack, the young man slowly and painfully stood up and headed into the lake. The water was soon touching his feet, then it reached his knees, his belly button, and finally it reached his ribs. He shivered, but the chill cleared his mind and numbed his pain.

This was perfect. This lake never disappointed him, proving to be a place of calm each time he needed it. Despite how close to civilization it was, he never saw anyone around. A place of loneliness and contemplation, it served him well in the past. 

He never thought of inanimate objects as living, having a so-called 'soul', but this lake was his one exception. Somehow, he felt it was alive indeed, and it heard him despite never speaking itself. This night, he had one thing to ask, one last request to make. 

Everything that had happened, all that had hurt him would be forgotten by him, for his last request was death. This thought brought him no joy, but he felt no fear. Many lives ended each day, and for everyone but him, he was just a number on some papers.

When he thought about it at first, he was angry and bitter. How could people not care? How could they look at those numbers and not see someone like themselves? Now he knew the answer, and it pushed him towards the end even more. If he couldn't help to alleviate the pain, then he must not allow himself to contribute to the suffering. 

He turned the revolver and pressed the end of its barrel against his chest. He could now feel his heartbeat. One-two. One-two. One-two. He felt... calm. The lake listened to him, and he knew his death would be quick and painless. It was a reasoned decision, he thought. Perhaps a sad one, but he learned to discard such thoughts. Nothing could be changed by tears of self-pity. His eyes would remain dry, for it mattered no more - his end was here.

The young man breathed deeply in, then out. Giving the final look up at the moon, the beautiful pale beacon in the night, he pressed the trigger. The loud bang made ripples go from him across the lake, he felt the heat of the bullet, and he felt what seemed like a powerful punch crushing his ribcage. For a moment, he stood there, his eyes open, his nose sharply inhaling the gunpowder-smelling air as the blood spurted from the hole in his chest, and ringing in his ears replaced all sounds. His fingers let go of the revolver, making it fall into the water, and then he reached to touch the bullet hole. 

Why wasn't he dead yet? And as he thought this last thought, his body finally collapsed, his consciousness turned off, and the water swallowed him whole.

After a moment, the ripples were no more; the body did not reemerge, yet the water turned red from the blood spilt. Not a single soul would come there until many days past, and by then the redness would disappear, and not a single trace of the event would be left except a lone bullet case glistening at the very bottom and a backpack discarded at a log. Perhaps, they would be found in the future, perhaps not.

To the dead, it made no difference.




There was nothing. Absence of light – black. Absence of sound - not even a heartbeat, a thing anyone would hear even if they were in the most silent room. Absence of feel - something that is truly incomprehensible.

And yet, there was he. He could see the absolute darkness, hear his thoughts, and feel his mind. He was there. Somehow, despite putting a bullet through his own heart, he was there.

He died. He wasn't supposed to be at all. There was nothing after death, he knew it. He studied for many hours, sought evidence, compared the words and texts from different cultures, all in the effort to know if he would go elsewhere after his death. Contradictions arose, many times coming from the same one text, and nothing ended up making sense. He was convinced there was nothing, he thought he would simply be gone, stop existing. It was an undeniably scary prospect, but he learned to suppress this part of his survival instinct. As scary as not existing was, it was nothing in comparison to facing the rest of his existence after all that had transpired.

He died. He hoped he would no longer exist.

And yet, there he was. 

Was.

How? 

No answer. He simply was.

But why?

No answer still. He simply was.

Could he avoid this?

Perhaps he should've aimed for his head instead. But without a functioning heart, his brain would completely die after but a few minutes of oxygen deprivation. No one could survive without a heart, yet people were known to survive even if parts of their brain were gone. It was no life, and becoming trapped with no escape was far more frightening than death.

Shooting the heart should've been the end. No blood flow, no oxygen, no life.

And yet, it was not the end. As long as he could think, the time moved. As long as time moved, it was neither the beginning nor the end - it simply was.

Was he now locked in this prison of absolute nothingness, left alone to his own thoughts forever? Perhaps it was not the worst fate, but far from acceptable. As he tried to calm his racing thoughts, stop himself from panicking, he felt something. 

A pull. 

Something or someone took him, took his very soul, and was pulling towards... Where? The blackness was impenetrable, no sounds were made, and only the feeling of pull existed. Constant, seemingly omnidirectional, it was the only thing he could feel aside from his own mind.

If he could still hold his breath, the young man would. Yet, he could only wait for whatever was coming to him. Completely helpless once more, he was paralyzed and unmoving, and fear was his only companion.

He could feel something else now. Water? Something wet, something warm. A strange, deep pulsation wrapped around him, and in this strange hum, he spent an eternity.

The young man did not know when he was awake or when he dreamt or if there was a difference. For the longest time, he simply was, his existence one sole fact he knew, and the omnipresent ethereal hum always accompanied him. He recounted his memories many times, yet it was all a haze, a timeless yet instant blur, and he thought he lost himself to the nothingness.

Was it a punishment for what he had done or a reward in comparison to torture he would've otherwise suffered? Or was it simply... nothing? No question could yet be answered.

However, his mind recovered, and now he could feel and hear more. To the humming surrounding him, his own heartbeat joined. It was slow and steady, as if he was resting, perhaps even dreaming. One, two. Three, four. Five, six. And it went on to where he stopped counting. Was he alive again? Did someone, somehow, rescue his dying body and saved it? Who? Why? 

His thoughts were much too clear for him to be unconscious or dreaming, for he never learned lucid dreaming. Did the brain damage set in and he would no longer hear anything but his heartbeat? And yet, there was more - his vision returned, and something blurry, colored pink and red, surrounded him. His eyelids? He couldn't open them, he couldn't blink at all - maybe it was something else?

He became aware of his body again, and yet it was now different. The same four limbs, head, ribcage, spine, stomach, but in a different configuration. His head was now longer, with bigger, more mobile ears, and a muzzle completely unlike his human face. There was also something protruding from his forehead, and he couldn't tell what it was. His spine ended in a tail, he noticed as well. His front pair of limbs had no fingers, and his back pair had no toes. 

A horrifying realization came upon him - he was reborn.

For an unknown reason, by untold powers, against all he knew and everything he thought he knew, denying his wishes, his death was not final but merely a pause between lives. His soul was preserved, and now a new body welcomed it. His attempt at killing himself failed, and now he was forced back into existence, pulled from the dark depths of nothingness and thrown into a new physical vessel to walk the earth again. 

He cried out in silence, praying madly to the powers of the universe to grant him death, to destroy his very being, and to let him free. The cold, uncaring vastness that was the universe stood silent to his pleas, and his wish was indeed denied. 

He had to continue his existence.




He wasn't sure how much time passed before something different happened. Something began to move, and he didn't know whether it was himself or everything around him. Either he was going up or everything around him was going down. But soon, the silence gave way to muffled splashing of water. However, warm wetness around him faded away, replaced with a sensation of chill akin to when one gets out of a shower. 

He could breathe again. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. His eyes opened, facing the pink and red of the cocoon he was inside of. As he watched, the cocoon unfolded like a flower, allowing him to see the stone and the crystals that shone their light. He blinked, getting the remaining water out of his eyes, making his vision sharper.

There was something in the middle of his face, obstructing the view directly in front of him. His muzzle, he realized. He was definitely no longer a human, he was something else. A four-legged mammal of some sort, this much was clear.

As his body gained strength, he looked around; everywhere was stone, and on stone grew strange plants: blue luminescent moss, giant orange four-petal flowers with twitching, pulsating tendrils growing in the center, and a vine with many leaves all colored red like blood. This cave was silent save for the ethereal hum that surrounded the water and the plants.

He attempted to stand up, and his body obeyed well, feeling almost as natural as his original human body. Now he was covered in blue fur, and a quick glance at his behind revealed a black tail with a streak of white. He felt the presence of a mane, and without being able to see it, he guessed it must be of the same color scheme. A look at his legs revealed hooves, and he concluded he was some sort of equine.

On still wobbly legs, he walked across the rigid unfolded cocoon to the solid stone, his thoughts shrouded in uncertainty and confusion.

He was now indeed reborn.
> Chapter 1: New World, New Dangers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The former human sat in one place, deep in thought over his current predicament. Despite the initial horror of the realization, he quickly accepted his rebirth. There was no use crying over what he couldn't change and what was completely out of his control. He did all he could to find out what would be there after his death... or so he told himself as he mocked himself for being so stupid. To him, it was obvious he missed a piece of the puzzle, dooming him to never learning about the life after death until it was too late to change anything. It was his fault he was still alive, it was his fault he didn't learn of this strange reincarnation. 

However, that was in the past, and he would never be able to change it, he rationalized. The truth was now staring into his face, and the universe would be laughing at him if it had any sapience. It would mock him and squash him like an insignificant piece of life on a green rock in the middle of nowhere that he was.

He inhaled sharply, pushing the dark and unstable thoughts away and recollecting the rest, putting them in proper order. He wasn't mocked, he wasn't laughed at. The universe was simply cold and uncaring, without a mind to make any thought. He was all alone now. He was free from the consequences of his actions on Earth, but the bitterness, depression, and anger remained along with the rest of his mind's contents.

Indeed, he was still alive. He sniffed, trying to force back the tears, the control over his mind loosening. The unfairness of his situation continued to sting him painfully, almost breaking out in a cry. How could he be simply robbed of one simple thing, of the only thing he wanted? After all that had happened to him, why was his death taken away from him? 

A couple hot tears rolled down his cheeks and then dripped on the stone. Was his suffering not enough? Was the pain too pleasant yet? He could find no rationale, no reason for his life to continue, and yet there he was, standing, breathing, feeling. He sniffed, the blinding tears still in his eyes. He wanted to cry, wanted to let it all out, yet he also refused to do so. He must not cry for himself no matter what. He told himself it didn't matter, tears would never fix anything, and he was simply wasting energy. 

After many shaky breaths, he was able to calm himself down and force his mind to think clearly. He awkwardly wiped away the tears with one of his front legs, then stood up. He must do something, even if it meant finding a different, permanent way to die. And if he could find no sure way to cease existing, he would have to see if the new world was at the very least tolerable to live in. Perhaps, this rebirth gave him more to do, even if it meant fighting until his last - or perhaps not last - breath. If he had to endure a life of suffering again, then he had to do the most he could to change it somehow. It was, after all, entirely possible his new body would be stronger, more capable.

His legs were steady now, his body fully under control. He finally brought himself to the edge of the large pool where the cocoon with him emerged minutes ago, and he peered at his reflection in one of the crystals growing near the shore. The surface of this one was perfectly flat and one hundred percent reflective as if purposefully made to allow the former human to see himself. He wouldn't disregard this thought - with a new world, anything previously deemed impossible was now possible.

First thing he noticed was the overall shape of his head - it was vaguely horse-like, but certain features were inexplicably more human. He could feel his facial muscles, and with them, he was able to produce reasonably recognizable expressions. Then he turned his attention to the scars, which were similar to those he had as a human, and they covered his face and upper body, albeit now hidden in the blue fur. A piece of his left ear was likewise still missing. His mane was thick and of medium-length, its colors the same as his tail. His eyes were still gray, and he noticed his horn, which finally explained the strange feeling in his forehead.

He was not only an equine with unusual body colors but a unicorn. If he was still on Earth somehow, someone would certainly try to enslave or kill him for this fact alone. He wouldn't go down without a fight, of course, but there was little he could do without weapons and the ability to use them. He preferred not to think of the treatment he would receive if anyone could get a hold of him.

The best he could do was move out and wander around until he found some form of civilization. As deadly and downright horrible and cruel as people could be, some of them could be negotiated with even with his... problems. As long as he was smart, he could stay out of trouble for long enough until he was ready for it.




At the border of the Everfree Forest, an outpost was situated, twelve guards always on duty to look out for dangers exiting the gloomy forest or ponies trying to enter it. A few similar outposts were located around the perimeter of the chaotic anomaly, and their station was a standard practice employed for centuries after the Castle of the Royal Sisters was abandoned and the forest was once again untamed. Despite the chaos at the Night of Luna's Return when the Everfree was left unguarded, everything returned to normal once the Night ended.

A unicorn was standing on top of a tower in the outpost, surveying. A pegasus partner sitting nearby, reading a book, all but ignoring everything else around him.

The horn of the unicorn briefly lit as a scanning spell went through the forest. However, as brief as it was, the spell lingered at the end, and the unicorn furrowed his brows, catching something with his senses. The intensity of the spell-light returned, and the unicorn nodded to himself in confirmation before ending the spell.

"Someone is alone in the forest," he said sharply to his partner.

"Eh, we'll probably see 'em before long," the pegasus replied lazily, his eyes not leaving the pages of the book despite the tone of the unicorn, "Can't get inside the forest without passing by one of us."

"No, someone is already in the forest," the unicorn emphasized.

"What? How?" the pegasus put his book down and stood up, sudden tension in his body and voice, "Alright, that doesn't matter, we just need to get them out of there right now."

"Stand by for info, triangulating for their location with others," the unicorn said quickly, his horn once again lighting up in varying intensities as another spell was cast. He connected with the other unicorns, now three of them working on finding out who the mysterious person was. Meanwhile, the pegasus put on his helmet and readied his wings. In a moment, the unicorn spoke again, "Signature - a young unicorn. Location defined."

The unicorn then used his horn to tap on a gem inside the breastplate of the pegasus, and then the winged guard immediately took off. Another pegasus followed, and the unicorn knew other outposts were sending their Aerials up as well. 

However, the situation was abnormal. A young unicorn - even as old as fourteen - was very unlikely to have a teleportation mishap that would land them in the Everfree Forest. Practice of teleportation was strictly prohibited in the immediate area next to the forest as well, and not even the inhabitants of Ponyville would be foolish enough to enter the aptly named Alert Zone. There would also be very few ponies willing to enter the Danger Zone which was the forest itself. Of course, some had exceptions allowing them to travel in and out of the forest without escort, but this particular pony had no such exception.

The unicorn thought of whom that pony could be, and the more he thought about it, the less right the situation seemed. First of all, the pony was not detected approaching the forest. If it was a teleportation mishap, the teleportation spell was likewise undetected. It looked like the pony simply popped into existence in the middle of one of the most dangerous places in Equestria.

For a moment, the unicorn considered calling off the search - something simply wasn't right. However, the weather above the Everfree was mostly clear, and pegasi were unlikely to get into trouble while flying. The best course of action was to wait and see whom they would soon find. Perhaps the detection spells simply failed for one reason or another, maybe the unicorn was just a regular pony trying to prove something to someone and thus teleported themselves into the Everfree. 

Despite this possible justification, it did not alleviate the worry - something was suspiciously wrong. The unicorn had a feeling whoever was inside the forest would prove to be an interesting person.

After all, no ordinary pony goes to the Everfree.




The exit from the cave was easy to find, and soon the former human stood outside amidst dark trees. The cave behind him was heavily obscured by vines and flowers, making it impossible to see if one didn't know it was there.

His mind was sharp and alert as the young man looked around, his ears subconsciously moving independently from his eyes and between themselves. Flora and fauna was certainly alien - one such sign was a spider with a bright stylized blue star on its back. The trees were crooked and resembled nothing he had seen on Earth, and even the grass seemed different. He couldn't see the sun, but it was obviously daytime despite the darkness of the forest. There were many things off about the place, and no doubt was left in his mind - he was indeed in another world. On one side, it was a relief, being away from humans and what he left behind, now he was absolutely certain of it. On the other side, he could easily die a horrible death in the wilderness or worse. Death in of itself didn't scare him, but the prospect of suffering beforehand did.

The atmosphere in the forest was thick with various scents and heavy with a feeling of inexplicable danger. It was not an instinctual and natural fear of the unknown, it was more conscious, as if the former human was aware of the existing danger. He frowned - his second life had a chance to end early. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad thing, but he had no way of knowing. In any case, he had to move, so he picked a random direction and headed that way, walking through tall grass and around the thorny bushes. 

In a short while, another feeling made its way into his mind, placing itself next to the sense of danger, and it was a crawling suspicion of being watched. The former human was ready for an attack, but he couldn't see anyone or anything moving towards him. But he knew he couldn't stop, so he continued on his way, hoping to be out of this accursed forest as soon as possible. Yet, his movement was slowed down by the absence of a good road, and the various obstacles in his way included fallen twisted logs, suspicious flowers, and strange bushes. 

He had no idea where he was headed, but he forced himself to walk forward. Maybe he should've waited inside the safety of the cave, but no plan can be made without information, and he had none. He was going in blind, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Perhaps he would have died of hunger or thirst if he remained, but it was hardly a painless death. 

His ear twitched as he heard soft yet quick steps behind him. More instinctively than consciously, he dove to the side, and whoever or whatever was behind him flew past him. He quickly turned to the danger and saw a wolf, but it was no regular wolf - it was made of sticks, logs, bark, and leaves. Its green glowing eyes were looking at the former human with both hunger and caution. He maintained his own stare, his mind turned to the fighting mode. Adrenaline flowed inside him, a rush that gave him strength and would take away the pain until after the fight.

Anger grew inside him, consuming his thoughts like hungry flames. The unfairness of his rebirth stung deeply still, and the hatred of his home world boiled. He inhaled deeply, narrowing his eyes, his heart beating like war drums. 

He just didn't get what he wanted.

He did not die.

There was no release, and he was forced to go on.

He remembered it all. The humiliation, the pain, the helplessness. He let it out and let it out, yet it never disappeared completely, always lingering inside him. And now, someone was trying to eat him.

He huffed, lips curling into a snarl. He would never let anyone hurt him again, be it a wild beast or a thinking being. 

If one declared a battle, he declared war.

With a powerful roar of defiance, he dashed at the timberwolf, aiming his horn to pierce it straight through the head. The wolf was startled, but only for a moment - it jumped back, dodging the lunge, and then struck with its paw, scratching across the right side of the former human's face. He growled, ignoring the sharp pain across his cheek and eyebrow, and swiftly dodged the timberwolf as it jumped at him. He quickly turned around and then used his front hooves to punch at the snarling maw of the timberwolf. With a yelp of pain, the wolf took a step back. Not missing this opportunity, the former human pressed forward and struck the wolf with his horn. Twigs cracked as the horn parted them, and the wolf quickly retreated, growling in pain. Then it struck, swiping a clawed paw. With a heavy growl, the former human recoiled from the strike which barely brushed his muzzle before slamming into the timberwolf again, using his entire body weight, this time knocking it off its paws. As it tried to get up, he stomped on one of its legs with force, breaking it, making the wolf yowl.

Another timberwolf jumped in almost silently, trying to bite the flank. The former human noticed it in time and bucked hard, shattering the head of the wolf into pieces, making it fall on the ground right there and then, its body becoming motionless. The first timberwolf whimpered in pain, and the stallion returned to pummeling it, stomping all over its body. In his rage, he didn't think, and he bit the piece of wood covering the wolf's muzzle before tearing it off with a grunt. The wolf howled in pain, then gurgled as tree sap filled its damaged maw. It wiggled, trying to crawl away from the former human, but it was all in vain. He struck time and time again, pummeling it into the dirt without restraint.

Feeling the pain from the wounds gave him nothing but more anger. Anger at himself for not preventing the scratch and anger at the timberwolves for attacking him in the first place. Two more wolves were approaching, eyeing him carefully. After shaking off the blood that started to drip into his right eye, the former human let out another animalistic growl, daring the wolves to approach him. He was ready, and he felt he had the strength to take them on. It didn't matter if he died in this attempt, he would die fighting.

Wordlessly, he screamed at them, his eyes burning with determination and anger. He so wished to express his rage through words, yet he could not, and all that was left was screaming. And then he charged.

Whimpering, timberwolves gave up and scattered, disappearing into the bushes, running away. The former human spat on the ground, letting out another hateful scream at the strange animals, then turned around to pace to calm himself down. 

To his surprise, two ponies stood in front of him, without horns but with wings. He managed to make out the armor on their bodies before darkness took him.




"The fuck are you doing?" one of the pegasi yelled at the other as the former human fell on the ground, unconscious.

"Did you see his fucking face? the second replied, "That's the scariest shit I've ever seen, I swear on my fucking life! Like, don't blame me for throwing the spellball at him! Like, did you see how he bit into the timberwolf? Who does that?"

"Whoever he is, let's bring him out of this place, then we'll see," the first pegasus, swiftly returning the calm to his mind. What's done is done, and the spell that rendered the young unicorn asleep was ultimately harmless. But he did have to admit one thing - what they had just seen was scary. A lone pony, a unicorn - whose race was known as the weakest in physical strength - managed to take down two timberwolves, completely without magic, and was ready to take on another two. The screams he made were wild, beast-like, and they sent shivers down the pegasus' spine. 

As the two pegasi assembled a stretcher to carry the unconscious unicorn away, the timberwolves reassembled. Without even looking at possible prey, they bolted into the forest, whimpering as they went.

"Fuck me..." the second pegasus muttered under his breath as he watched the timberwolves disappeared into the darkness.

The first pegasus silently agreed with him. Whoever this unicorn was - and by the looks of him, he couldn't be older than thirteen or fourteen - he was undoubtedly... interesting.

Maybe the guards needed to call in a princess on this one.
> Chapter 2: A Princess
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Around half an hour later, the former human was brought to one of the outposts near the Everfree, and the two pegasi who had found him were watching over him as he lay unconscious. Message to the princesses was sent, now was the waiting.

The room was quiet, tension was in the air. The guards did not talk between themselves, there was no chatter, and their entire attention was on the unicorn. Their bodies were stiff and ready to spring into action, even though the unicorn was unmoving and didn't look dangerous at all. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, and his eyes were closed and still. In this state, he looked like a simple sleeping pony, and his face bore no expression. The tension slowly faded as minutes passed in silence, yet the guards barely went half a minute without taking a good look at the unconscious young stallion.

Fortunately, they didn't have to wait for much longer as the door to the room opened and Princess Celestia walked in. The guards were surprised at how quickly she arrived but bowed to her after a short moment.

"I've received your message, guardspony Silver Stake," she addressed the calmer pegasus, "Thankfully, I happened to be nearby," she took a look at the unconscious shape on the bed, "So, this is the unicorn you and your partner have found?"

"Yes, your majesty," Silver Stake replied with a nod. The young unicorn twitched, but otherwise remained motionless. His eyes didn't open, and, after a glance at him, the pegasus continued, "We... frankly, we've no idea who he can be."

"Is it correct that his presence wasn't detected until he was in the middle of the forest?"

"That's the information we have from the Guard Sorcerer, your majesty," the pegasus nodded again, "But..." he paused for a moment, recollecting the report, furrowing his brows, "The subsequent check on the detection spells turned up normal. They should've alerted us."

"Interesting..." Celestia said slowly, taking a closer look at the unconscious stallion. His appearance matched the report, and the princess immediately noted the scars and the barren flank, "He also acted with extreme aggression towards the timberwolves, did he not?"

"He smashed two of them to pieces," the second pegasus spoke up, "I've never seen anything like it. It was... wild."

"It very much looks like we have a Feral," the princess concluded, giving a quiet sigh. Silently, she was feeling uneasy about the young stallion, and sadness was apparent in her features. Ponies who grew up in the wild - Ferals - rarely managed to fully integrate into Equestrian society. She hoped she wouldn't see them again, but the fact remained clear. However, as much as she wanted to deny the reality, he was there in front of her, and she had to help him. 

"It... may be so, your majesty," Silver Stake nodded hesitantly, warily glancing at the young stallion, "But if I recall correctly... The last one was seen over a century ago."

"Perhaps we were wrong..." Celestia said slowly, remembering the aftermath of the Great Discord. Many ponies were left homeless, some were made wild again. It was decades before Equestria recovered, and many centuries until all Ferals were discovered and helped. All but this one and his possible family, it seemed. Celestia's posture stiffened as she made up her mind, "Deliver the orders from me - the Everfree Forest must be swept starting tomorrow morning. No one else is to be let in at the time without a good reason and without escort. I know it's going to be difficult, but we have to know for sure there isn't anyone else like him in that accursed place. I give you my mark," her horn lit briefly, and the gems inside the breastplates of the pegasi changed their color to pink.

Unbeknownst to the three ponies, the former human was awake for the better half of the short conversation, stealthily watching and silently listening. He could understand not a word, but he could see and hear enough to make out certain important things that he then neatly organized in his head.

First, there were pegasi. Flying equines existed in this new world and they could speak. The two that knocked him out delivered him somewhere, and they were soldiers or guards. Their insignia was clearly visible on their flank plates and on the upper part of their breastplates: half-sun half-moon above a twisted tree. The twisted tree could represent their station at the strange forest the former human found himself in. Half-sun half-moon could represent the symbol of a larger unit of troops or the country they served as a whole. Most importantly, however, was the overall armor design - it was very early plate armor resembling what Roman soldiers of the Earth wore: visorless helmets with what looked like horse hair crests on top, and segmented steel plate armor that left legs bare. The armor was clearly designed against melee weapons as well as arrows and bolts - the former human didn't miss crossbows attached to the side of their armor - but not gunfire from any weapon that packed a punch. Nothing resembling firearms was present in the room or at the side of the soldier-guards. But the former human didn't discard the possibility of the existence of flintlocks, perhaps matchlocks, and maybe even earlier types of small arms.

Then there was the unknown big equine that had a flowing multi-colored mane and a soft, regal voice. A crown atop her head clearly indicated a ruler - perhaps an empress, a queen, maybe a princess. Her mane was clearly magical in nature - nothing else could explain its behavior. She had wings and a horn, and she could do something with the latter, perhaps magic. He also had a horn, perhaps he could do the same.

The former human sighed silently in disappointment at his findings. The situation wasn't critically bad, but it was bad enough for monarchy to exist and be dominant in this society. Technology looked medieval, and he didn't expect the political or social side of life to be any more advanced.

However, he had to learn more if possible. Without the knowledge of their language, he could do little. Without knowing what he was up against, he could do even less. For now, he simply pretended to be unconscious, absorbing every bit of knowledge he could get in this state.

The clip-clop of the guards' hooves sounded and soon faded away as they rushed to spread the orders of their princess. Celestia looked at the former human, inspecting him with her eyes carefully, going over each detail. 

He was of a healthy weight, albeit on the lower side of the scale; some muscle was showing, fat was almost absent. His body was free of wounds aside from the facial one, which had already closed, and some small blobs of the regenerative gel applied previously, when he was brought in, slowly disappeared into the stallion's skin. In a day, his face would look as if the wound was never there.

Then there were the scars, almost invisible under the blue fur. The clearest was the one leading to his damaged left ear. It didn't look like something the timberwolves or any other wild beast could cause. Celestia was no medic, but in her imagination, she saw steel scraping against his head and then tearing off a part of his ear. How it happened was unclear, leaving her guessing.

There were the mane and the tail. Both were of a reasonable length, but they seemed too short for someone who was a Feral. While manes and tails had a natural limit of length, his own was certainly not reached. The hair length was even as if it had naturally grown out from a uniformly short length, making Celestia think the mane and tail weren't taken care of by the stallion. 

The report was clear - he fought the timberwolves without using weapons or magic. Her eyes went to his horn, and she wondered - could he even use magic? Most Ferals could barely use it even after extensive training. Wilderness was indeed not kind to ponies, for they always survived in groups, never alone. They had once been magicless, the energy flowing through them without stopping. But it changed one day, and their ability to use magic increased as knowledge accumulated. However, if one never had that knowledge, even the more natural magic like telekinesis would be hard to learn.

Celestia walked up to the former human, unaware of his barely open eyes. She wished she could have prevented Ferals from appearing, prevent ponies from suffering. It was her responsibility to guide them and help them.

She raised her hoof with the intent to stroke the mane of the stallion. As she almost touched him, his eyes shot open, and he jerked away from her hoof, rolling over to the other side of the bed and then rolling up on his hooves. In just a moment, he was standing strong, his posture stiff, and his horn aimed at the princess. He was breathing heavily, his heart pounding mercilessly against his chest. His eyes were open wide and staring at the alicorn, watching her with intensity as he also looked for an exit to escape. Unfortunately, the only one was right behind the princess.

As the princess began to speak, as shaken as she was, the former human lowered his stance and then used his head to get the bottom of the bed and flip it at the alicorn. She yelped, taking a swift step to the side to avoid the bed crushing her hooves. Taking the opportunity, the former human used his hind legs to propel himself over the bed and towards the exit. He managed to reach it before the princess could recover from the initial shock, and he dashed out of the room.

The fresh air hit him and entered his lungs as he inhaled deeply. Away from the princess, he could afford to stop for a moment to recollect his mind, and thoughts rapidly entered his head - what would he do now? Where could he go? How would he do it?

A shout from a guard woke him from his thoughts, and he saw two hornless and wingless guards charging at him. They were big, bulky, and intended to tackle him before he could move anywhere. With a growl of challenge, he planted his hind legs firmly into place and then struck the closer guard right in the chest using his front hooves. He staggered, not quite expecting the speed and power that the young unicorn used; and before he could react, the former human put his weight on the front legs and spun on them, delivering a powerful buck in the same place, knocking the wind out of the guard. He delivered a second quick buck closer to the shoulder, and the breathless guard toppled to the side, struggling to inhale.

The second guard was close now, jumping to tackle the former human. He dodged to the side and struck with his hind legs once more. The guard attempted to evade but exposed his head to the attack instead, and his helmet was struck like a bell. With a yelp of pain, the guard stumbled and fell, disoriented by the hit as his ears rung.

"Stand back, guards!" a powerful, royal voice spoke from where the former human ran out of, "Stand back, don't hurt him!"

The action stopped almost immediately, but the former human was eyeing two pegasi hovering in the air not too far above him. He was breathing heavily with his heart threatening to break his ribcage. The guards were ready to fight, and so was he. 

The former human took a few steps away from the downed guards and spun around to face the alicorn while keeping his eyes on the pegasi and unicorns. His ears were back, listening to the earth ponies, one of whom had already begun to stand up, coughing. At the first sign of trouble, the former human was ready to jump back into action. The initial panic might have faded, the fighting response died down, but he kept an eye out for possible attacks, his mind entirely focused on fighting for his life. The standoff slowly flowed from one second to the next as everyone stood tense and silent. 

The former human watched the eyes of Princess Celestia, and for a few seconds, she didn't look into his. When she did, he didn't flinch, he didn't look away. His unremarkable yet deep gray eyes stared into the light magenta eyes of the alicorn, going deeper beyond and right into her mind.

In her eyes, he saw her true intentions - as true as he was willing to believe they were. However, something told him what he saw was indeed real. She cared, and not just for him but for everyone she knew. Many years of bad events did not sully her positivity and belief in goodness, and to this day she continued to do her best to help everyone in need, everyone she could possibly care for. Her eyes had a sort of motherly look, and it caused pain in the heart of the former human, a deep and longing pain. 

In turn, Celestia peered into his eyes. She saw nothing. The grays revealed not a single detail about him, not an iota of information. They were simply blank, yet there was something solid behind them, something that blocked her view almost intentionally.

She was the first one to break the eye contact, perspiration appearing on her forehead. She inhaled deeply, feeling as if she had just surfaced from a deep dive. She was already thinking about everything that this could signify, yet the first thing she felt she needed to do was to take the young stallion under care, to shield him from whatever danger could lurk out there, protect him from what had put this barrier in his soul. 

The former human was now calm in mind, although tense in body. If he wanted to run, he could, but where? This world was alien to him, he had no shelter to hide in, no one to turn to. If what he felt about the alicorn was true, he could at the very least get a roof over his head and food in his stomach. A nice long shower sounded good to him as well, and a night's sleep would be a cherry on top. He might not be exhausted physically, but his death and rebirth put a great mental strain on him, and he now wished for nothing more than a warm bed and a few hours of silence, just a few moments of forgetfulness. And then...

"I never intended to hurt you," Celestia spoke gently, although her words said nothing to the former human, "I wish to help. Can you understand me?"

The young stallion caught the tone of her last sentence, recognizing it as a question. He did nothing but continue staring at her, trying to find her eyes as she refused to look into his. He somehow knew she saw nothing, but he wished to see more, to learn more of the... princess. With a surprise, he realized he now knew her title. Did his gaze into her eyes revealed even more than he thought already? Then it was even better he allowed none of his own nature to show.

"Seems not..." Celestia spoke with a sigh, "Can you please come with me?" she turned around and started walking away, then turned around to look at him.

"Your majesty, should any of us accompany you?" one of the guards asked.

"I believe it would be fine for me to be alone with him," she replied softly after turning to the guard, making it clear she wasn't speaking to the former human, "He's not dangerous, merely afraid."

"But your majesty-"

"I can take care of myself in case anything bad happens," she reassured the guard.

"He had destroyed two timberwolves and was ready to fight us too," another guard spoke up, and the former human recognized him as one of the pegasi previously in a room with him and the princess, "With all due respect, your majesty, you can't be safe with this... him."

"Noted, guardspony Higher Skies," the princess spoke with the same gentle voice, "However, I decline company at this time. I believe the presence of a guard won't be good for the young stallion."

"...Very well, your majesty," the guard said, although clear doubt could be heard in his voice, "As you wish. Do you require a chariot?"

"No, I believe the young stallion would like to stay on the ground and on his own hooves for the time-being," she replied, "Besides, the walk isn't too long."

"Your majesty..." another guard spoke up, his voice holding surprise. The former human was getting irritated with the delay, and his stomach grumbled. He didn't remember the last time he was hungry, but he felt like he could devour a sack of potatoes his own weight. Besides, he felt tired and wanted to get some sleep, put some distance between the events of the day and himself, to plunge himself into the void of nothingness where he thought no thoughts and didn't have to deal with the unfortunate reality. Despite his silent complaints, the guard continued, "Do you want to take him-"

"Yes, I fully intend to get him under the care of professionals and myself as well as my sister so he could start his journey of integration into our society," Celestia spoke, a hint of impatience in her otherwise soft voice, "I hope you did not expect me to put this poor soul in the dungeon like some kind of vile criminal?"

"No, your majesty. I, I apologize."

"We are departing now, then," the princess said firmly, "Remember your orders, guards," she turned to the former human who was all but itching to get away from this place. If she hadn't started moving right there and then, he would find his own way to get some much-needed rest, "Please, come with me."




The walk from the outpost had been silent. The former human trailed behind the alicorn, keeping some distance from her as they walked along a lone gravel road. A forest, a normal one, was to their right side while fields of wheat and rye were to their left. Some ponies could be seen working in the fields, and pegasi pushed clouds overhead. The former human wasn't oblivious to what was going on, and his mind made a conclusion - weather was tamable by the natives of this world. He wasn't shocked - all things went as far as he was concerned, especially after what he had experienced - but it was mildly interesting to him. Reborn in a different world for reasons unknown, he was the first human to experience an alien intelligence and even different rules of reality. He wasn't too thrilled about the former - his experience of humanity warned him of the worst among the ponykind. This idyllic scenery of ponies working in the field growing crops had to hide something worse, be it semi-modern worker exploitation or plain slavery. 

And someone who was allowing or enforcing it could be walking right in front of him. He glanced at the princess, wondering what hid behind her kind exterior. Was it incest that kept her bloodline pure? Was it merciless racism or discrimination of some other kind she partook in? Was she perhaps a warlord taking pleasure in conquest? Was she a religious fanatic burning people alive for absurd reasons or torturing them in order to "save their souls"? Did she rise up above all others by poisoning them or setting them up to be killed in other ways in order to gain untold power, never thinking of the needs of the people?

Time would tell, and that same time would decide his own actions. With his new body, with his new life, he could perhaps do something. If that princess did turn out to be evil in one way or the other - which he didn't doubt - he would not lay down in defeat but would fight tooth and nail just to see her dead. 

However, he needed to control his impulse, rein in his burning desire for what he saw as justice. He had to study first, gain knowledge and power. If there is magic, he must learn it. If there are martial arts, he must come up on top. And if there is injustice, he must fight it until he is depleted of energy. He must fight until his will is defeated or he triumphs. There was no third option.

In front of him, some twenty meters along the gravel road, a group of ponies appeared from behind a turn, chatter following them. Around ten ponies of different sizes were led by two bigger ones. The smaller ponies, judging by their voices and looks, were young - if the former human had to guess, from six to twelve human years. The two larger ones were obviously adult mares, an escort. The former human watched the group cautiously as he and the alicorn met them.

"Good day, princess," one of the adult mares greeted Princess Celestia before turning to look at the young stallion behind her, "So, this is the one they found in the Everfree?"

"Yes, he is," the alicorn replied. The mare looked over his features and caught his heavy look, and was now drawn into his eyes. He replied in kind, looking deep into her eyes. In them, he saw care, in a sense that she helped the wounded. There was also care for small ponies - foals - in general. 

And once again, in his eyes, nothing showed.

"I... I'm n-not sure what to say," the mare stuttered, breaking the eye contact, "Is... Is he alright?"

"He is a Feral, I'm afraid," Celestia replied with a shake of her head, "But I intend to help him all the same."

"A Feral? Oh dear..." the mare covered her mouth, but then stepped towards the former human, "I'm so sorry..."

He bared his teeth slightly and stepped back, lowering his head. She wouldn't come close enough to touch him, no matter what her intentions were.

"Please, don't approach him," Celestia advised, and the mare quickly stepped back, "He... doesn't like it."

Meanwhile, the idle chatter died down as the eyes of all foals stared at the former human. He returned from his hostile posture into a more calm one, but he wished to be away from this large group either way. He gave the foals a few glances but nothing beyond that, and ignored their stares the best he could.

"Ah, I'm sorry," the mare said, "But he certainly needs to grab a bite, he looks tired and hungry. Mister Sweet Tooth should have something ready soon, I think."

"Thank you, miss Quick Aid," the alicorn nodded, "I hope you have a fun time with the foals."

"It's going to be lovely," she smiled, somewhat relieved at the change of topic, "As long as no one gets hurt, of course. I'll see to that."

With that being said, the group continued on their way, and Celestia led the former human forward. He sighed silently in relief, glad that they moved on. He wondered where he was led, was it the same place the group came from?

He was distracted by a deep horn sound in the distance to his side, behind the forest they were passing. He stopped and strained his eyes, trying to see past the tree tops. His weary mind recognized the mountainous slopes way beyond the trunks and branches and leaves, and a smoke trail could be seen making a line across the foot of the mountain, rising. Further in the distance, high above the ground, something could be seen on the side of the mountain. The former human looked at it carefully, and he was surprised - it seemed to be a castle. Or perhaps it was something bigger - it was hard to judge from this distance.

He turned back to the road and found the princess looking at him with interest, half-turned. He didn't give her a glance, and their walk continued in the same silence as before. 

Princess Celestia was not yet sure what to think of the Feral - he seemed calmer than those she had seen years before. There was an aura of tension surrounding them that was unlike anything she had felt around other Ferals. There was more than a spark of intelligence inside him, yet he didn't - or couldn't - talk or even understand her. Despite his lack of verbal communication, he still followed her without a single issue. Unlike predators and more predator-like Ferals, exposing her back to him didn't elicit a pouncing response. In fact, he seemed to be completely disinterested in her as long as she walked. Even more surprisingly, he wasn't hostile to the group of ponies they met until the moment he was approached by Quick Aid. 

"Who are you?" Celestia tried, stopping and looking at the young stallion. He stopped as well and looked her in the eyes again. This time, the alicorn focused on what his eyes did tell, ignoring the block between her gaze and his personality. 

There was not just a spark of intelligence in the deep grays, but a flame of sapience. He was aware of her, of himself, of everything surrounding him. He knew exactly what or whom he was looking at, and he understood why he was looking. His eyes displayed a hidden intensity and an unspoken simple challenge - approach without consent and be fought. The distance between him and her was just a few steps that can be covered in a single jump, yet it couldn't be any shorter. If it were, he would fight to make her step back. Neither her impressive size nor the length of her horn nor having it and wings at the same time made him afraid of her. 

The former human looked more into her eyes and saw her uncertainty about him, yet the desire to help burned brightly, not letting fear be born of ignorance. He could see where he was led, although it was not a shape nor a named place, but it was a place containing feelings of care and comfort, a place where he would feel warm both inside and out. It made something tingle inside his chest, a flutter of a heart - a good feeling.

A part of him was ready to jump at the opportunity, to embrace it freely. Yet the other part warned him to be cautious and alert. If something felt too good to be true, then it probably, likely, was. And even if it was indeed true, he wasn't sure he could accept it. He felt there was nothing to be done about him, and the best thing he could do was fall into an eternal dreamless slumber. An invisible yet not weightless burden was on him, and he had to endure it until he was no more, and he desired this release more than anything.

The promise of food and even temporary sleep, however, remained enticing, speaking to his basic needs past the rest. Perhaps he could relax, even for a little while. Still his hunger, clean his body, and then slip into long forgetfulness until his body called him to wake again. It was a small but nonetheless welcome sanctuary from the reality of his life.

In his thoughts, he didn't notice how the gaze stopped. He was led to a tall decorated brick wall with an elaborate forged iron gate at the end of the road as an entrance. Above the gate, alien letters hung, reading yet unknown words: 

The Royal Orphanage.
> Chapter 3: The Royal Orphanage
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

After walking through the forged iron entrance gates of the Royal Orphanage, the former human appeared in a well taken care of land. The gravel road turned into brick pavement with no weeds growing in between the bricks, and the sides of the road were clearly separated from the grass. Flowers grew on the side of the road in deliberate disorder, and some bird fountains were present. To the right of the road was an oblong lake full of crystal-clear water, and fish swam in it freely. However, the water would at most cover him to his chin at the deepest point, and there were two wooden towers overlooking the lake from either of its ends. A few foals could be seen swimming, laughing as they splashed at each other. A few adults were seen sunbathing on the shore nearby, glancing at the foals from time to time. Around the middle of the lake, two ponies were in a rowboat: one adult and one foal. The adult sat by and guided the foal through the rowing.

To the former human's left was a forest of many mixed trees, flowers, bushes, and some of them seemed to bear fruit and berries. A small stream flowed through the forest, chest-high at the deepest, and went under a bridge to then go into the lake. Some foals were running between the trees, playing what looked like a game of tag. Animals were seen as well: squirrels climbing trees, chipmunks near the forest floor, a couple small hogs resting under the bushes. The grass and the leaves rustled with the sounds of other, unseen animals, and the air buzzed with various flying insects, most of which were bees.

The former human almost stopped as he remembered his youth, for it seemed just as peaceful as what he was looking at now. When his age was just one digit, everything seemed so wonderful, so full of life. The sky was an excellent shade of blue, the clouds were as white as innocence, and the grass was so lush and green. His life wasn't unlike the idealized childhood many people were nostalgic about: he played games, he had friends, he went to school like everyone else. He had fun, he experienced sadness, and all in all, he lived a mostly normal life, the kind of which is so often idealized by people who believed the old saying 'ignorance is bliss'.

However, his ignorance was far from solid, and it was broken, and his innocence was stripped away. The world was the same, yet his perception of it changed - he skies became gray with pollution, the clouds turned sickly-black, and the grass faded to brown. However, it wasn't autumn that promised a rebirth, and t wasn't dusk that promised a brighter dawn. It was instead slow but certain rotting, an assured destruction. The former human saw it as a steady decline, he saw a world going out with an ever-escalating whimper. 

He may have escaped from such a world, he may have gotten a new life, yet he still carried a burden - his memories and experiences. They told him to be wary, to be observant and aware of his surroundings. No matter how peaceful things looked, war was always on the horizon, in more sense than one. However, despite these thoughts, something inside his chest pleasantly tingled as he looked at all these happy foals living their lives. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps there was something good about this world that didn't hide anything terrifying. This thought made a small yet visible smile appear on his face, and his eyes brightened.

Celestia led him across the short bridge and further into the Royal Orphanage. Now that the two were past the pond, new things could be seen to the right of them. A row of one-story buildings were seen, looking like warehouses. A few boats lay at the side of the warehouses, reinforcing that notion. Only two adults were seen watching over them, and no foals played around there. Beyond the warehouses, a small castle stood surrounded by a playground. Swings, see-saws, carousels, slides, and other things were present there, and around a quarter of them were currently occupied. 

On the left, past the forest's edge, there were a few fields reserved for games, and the former human recognized goal gates resembling football ones, a field divided in two by a net like a volleyball field, and even a clear as day basketball field. Separated from them, another field was designed as a shooting area, and the former human could see locked crates stored in the corner, probably full of arrows, bolts, bows, and crossbows. His eyes sparkled at the shooting area, but he continued walking forward. 

In front of him, stood a huge, sprawling mansion. Various statues, carvings, and other decorations aplenty hinted at the possible owner of this place. Perhaps it was a noble, likely one of the richest. The former human, however, didn't think so - he had a feeling it wasn't a regular mansion. After all, it was extremely unlikely for a noble or even a regular rich person to allow so many foals and adults run around such an expensive property. The former human reason this entire place might have been owned by someone rich and powerful some time ago, but now it was a more public place. However, why was he led there?

While he thought, Princess Celestia led him closer to the mansion's entrance, which was a wide and short stairway leading up to a pair of big wooden doors - undoubtedly more expensive than a modest house by themselves - that were open at this time. In front of the stairway, a fountain was situated, surrounded by benches and sculpted bushes. On the benches, older foals sat and lay, chatting, reading, or even playing some games. The former human's eyes, however, immediately noticed a pair of colts sitting by themselves, kissing. Other ponies seemed to pay them no mind, yet the former human wondered how the princess would react to it. However, nothing happened as she came closer to them - no reprimanding, no words of disgust. 

Noticing the princess, the colts stopped kissing and went straight to her, small smiles on their faces.

"A new one?" one of them asked, coming closer. Celestia stopped, standing between him and the former human.

"Please, don't approach him," she said softly yet firmly, "Yes, he's a new foal. However, he... well, Starstruck, are you familiar with the term Feral, as in a feral pony?"

"Yeah, I... think so..." he said slowly, putting two and two together, "Oh. Oooh. I get it."

"Get what?" the second colt asked.

"That one," the first gestured at the former human, who watched him closely, yet not too intensely. The first colt didn't have wings or a horn, so if he were to attack, he would have to step forward and past the princess to close the distance, "He was raised in the wild."

"Oh, like Prey Chaser?" 

"Yeah, like in the book, raised by timberwolves. I think so, anyway."

"Damn, that's pretty cool."

"Colts, please," Celestia said gently, interrupting the beginning of discussion before it could bloom, "He needs to eat and then have some rest. He didn't have a good day, I'm afraid."

The colts apologized and got out of the way, returning to the bench to watch the former human from there, their eyes bright with interest, and their mouths moving as they talked between themselves. The princess continued to the mansion, and the former human followed her, looking at other foals that noticed him. Undoubtedly, he was going to have a busy day tomorrow once more ponies get the word he was there. Judging by the amount of foals present, the former human reasoned this place was perhaps a day care of some sort.

He thought about the conversation between the colts and the princess. Although he understood nothing from the conversation, it definitely wasn't rigid or insulting. The colts talked with the alicorn casually, never becoming tense. All in all, it looked like homosexuality was accepted in this society. A certain amount of respect had to be given to the princess, and now the former human thought of her more highly. Yet, he had to be wary, for even people who look nice at the surface may still hide something terrible within. Despite his thoughts, this notion now had a crack, however small it was.

Celestia and the young unicorn finally entered the main building of the Royal Orphanage. The inner hallways were wide, easily allowing up to five ponies to walk together. The decorations, however, were more subtle and smoother. The furniture had rounded edges, and the vases with flowers that were present looked like they were made of something elastic instead of rigid glass or hardened clay. The former human noticed a mirror embedded into the wall and approached it to take a look at himself. Celestia paused in her step and turned to watch him.

The young unicorn peered at himself in the mirror and saw his ruffled mane, slightly dirty fur, and a pair of tired gray eyes. His posture remained stiff with stored energy, he was always ready to jump into action. This tension didn't come without a toll - the former human was growing tired physically as well as mentally. This entire view of himself reminded him that he was alive, in a new body, and in a new world. He didn't know what it truly entailed but he was in no particular hurry to find out. He only wished to get himself clean and then sleep in a comfortable bed, and he wouldn't mind never waking up from it.

Celestia watched the young unicorn with interest, noting the fact that he wasn't puzzled by his reflection, and neither was he displaying any hostility towards it like many wild animals do. His eyes reflected comprehension and understanding, and as his eyes went over his body, it was apparent he possessed awareness of what reflections are. All in all, he displayed levels of intelligence and awareness previously seen in Ferals only once.

A sunken feeling appeared in Celestia's stomach - the last time an intelligent Feral was found in the wild resulted in the Crystal Empire disappearing. That Feral rose up to be a feared tyrant full of hate and desire to conquer and dominate. It was almost a full thousand years since then, and the alicorn feared what would happen when the Elements can't contain him any longer. Was this fact connected to the appearance of this young unicorn?

Celestia shook her head, knowing these thoughts of prejudice would not lead to anything good. She had to take part in the life of the young unicorn and help him instead of shunning him or ignoring him outright. Princess Amore made the mistake of ignoring the problem hoping it would resolve by itself, but the solar alicorn didn't plan to repeat that mistake.

Without a word, the princess and the former human continued on their way deeper into the building. After passing by a stairway, they came into a big hall with many tables and chairs. It was mostly empty save for a few foals grabbing a bite or having early dinner. 

"Good day, your majesty!" a big stallion called out across the hall. He was standing behind a long table full of bowls and plates filled with fresh meals, and behind him was the kitchen, "Am I right in assuming this foal next to you is a new one?"

"Indeed he is," she replied, her voice loud yet pleasant and gentle. She led the former human further into the hall and then spoke again, "I think he's rather hungry and needs a full meal. He's also a Feral."

"My grandfather saw one if I recall correctly," the cook said while he effortlessly tossed some meals on one of the bigger trays, "My father definitely hasn't seen one. Alright, here you go."

"Thank you, Sweet," Celestia nodded with a smile, taking the tray by using her magic. Picking one of the furthest tables, she set the tray on it and turned to the young unicorn, "I hope you'll like it."

The former human didn't take much time getting to the table and awkwardly sitting on a low chair next to it. He inhaled deeply, and the smell of the food almost made him dizzy with how good it was. His stomach rumbled. Without a care in the world, he used his muzzle to dig into the first meal - a bowl full of fresh green peas mixed with equally fresh sweet corn. He stuck out his tongue to help him get the food into his maw, and he chewed loudly. He had no idea when was the last time he ate, and he thoroughly enjoyed this food, barely paying attention to his surroundings. After he finished with the bowl, he ate four fresh purple carrots along with cucumber, bell pepper, cabbage, and salad leaves on the next plate which were all lightly seasoned with salt and pepper. Then he switched to freshly baked potatoes covered in mushroom sauce, which was probably the most delicious version of cooked potatoes he had ever had. There were a couple whole wheat slices of bread that he quickly devoured after that, and the last thing was a pile of cookies and a glass of opaque white, slightly beige liquid. He took a whiff of the liquid with suspicion - it was oat milk, his favorite. He used his mouth to pick up the cookies, dip them into the oat milk, and then eat them up. His body shivered with pleasure and he had to suppress a moan of satisfaction as he downed the delicious treats. After the cookies were all gone, he drank up the remaining oat milk and sat back. He was mildly disappointed when there was nothing more to eat, but it wasn't bad - he felt full, and putting more inside him would likely end up with nausea. 

Princess Celestia saw him dipping cookies, and puzzlement was now present on her face. How would a Feral know this way of eating cookies? However, she didn't have much time to think of it as the young unicorn turned to her, a more relaxed look on his face. The alicorn didn't manage to suppress a giggle at seeing a mess on the front of his muzzle. He frowned in response and licked around his lips, cleaning most of it. He then sneezed, and the rest fell off. 

"I see you've liked the food very much," Celestia said with a smile, "Follow me and I'll show you your room."

The former human got up from the table and went after the princess, heading to the different part of the huge mansion. After passing a few hallways along with a couple of doors - which indicated there were large rooms or halls behind them - the pair arrived at a separate wing of the mansion. It consisted of a large open hall in the middle with all kinds of playtime equipment, and two floors with individual numbers on each door, and the entire wing was in a simple rectangular shape. The young unicorn guessed they were dorms, and he tried to make sense of the numbers. 

Figuring out '1' was simple enough - it was a vertical short line, quite similar to what humans used. It was on the first door on the first floor to his furthest left. He thought about it for a moment and, if he was right about his initial guess, figured out ponies read numbers from left to right just like many humans. '2' was two lines on the next door, '3' was three lines, and the pattern followed until '6'. It was like '5' but there was a horizontal line above the vertical lines. '7' added another horizontal line, this time below. '8' added another line slightly below the first horizontal line, and the pattern continued up to and including '10', which was five vertical and five horizontal lines. A number higher than that was represented in a number-space-number format like '10 1'. The former human admired its simplicity but wondered how they made four-digit and higher-digit numbers. And wouldn't ponies be lost with all the lines that looked pretty identical everywhere? 

All the questions he had were for another time, however, as Celestia lead him up to the second floor. There were no rails to prevent the foals from falling to the first floor - instead, there were huge panels of glass, maybe even transparent plastic. There were two parallel maroon lines running horizontally across the glass, blending well with the red woods the mansion's wing had plenty of. The former human was led to a door on the far left, which was plain unlike around two thirds of doors that were all decorated in different ways that would, presumably, show off the personality and likes of ponies living there. His door was, if he was correct about the numbers, two hundred and five, represented by the two lines, space, a circle - which the former human presumed to be zero - space, and five lines. The circle, he noticed, was perfect unlike the zero of the international numeric system of humanity, which was oblong.

Celestia opened the door and went inside, the former human following. As it turned out, it wasn't just a single room like he expected but a modest apartment, certainly enough for one pony to live somewhat comfortably. To the right of the entrance was a shallow sink set into the floor, a picture of two hooves and a drop of water on its bottom. Past that sink was a door which likely led to a bathroom. To the right of the entrance door was a closet, which could easily fit the young unicorn inside and have yet more space. In front, a living room situated - it wasn't quite spartan but the furniture was plain and functional with nothing excessive, which included a square table next to a corner sofa and a chest of drawers to both of its ends. Along one of the walls were shelves filled with books. The walls were white, so was the ceiling, and the floor was simple polished hardwood floor with a protective coating on top. There was a panoramic window floor to ceiling opposite the entrance, a part of which also acted as a door to a balcony. On the same side as a bathroom door stood yet another door, and Celestia opened it to reveal a bedroom. It had its own window, but it was two-thirds of the living room window's height, and the bottom third of the wall was plain, which the former human noticed would shield the one lying on the bed from outside eyes if the curtains weren't rolled down. The bed itself was quite big, taking most of the room's space, and it would easily fit a sprawling alicorn, maybe allowing some space for a regular sized pony in addition. The bedroom had its own closet, slightly smaller than the one in the living room, and there was a mirror next to it. Judging by the hinges at its side, it could be turned to face the wall, away from the window.

The former human desired to fall into the bed, to get some sleep and push his thoughts away for a time, but there were things he needed to do first. Thankfully for him, Celestia exited the dorm, presumably telling him to stay, and closed the door behind her. The former human had no doubts about the door being watched, but right then, he didn't care. Now he had a roof over his head, food, water, and even a comfortable bed. He knew not to let his guard down, but he was exhausted and wanted to rest. However, he couldn't go to bed filthy. Although he wasn't too dirty, his fur certainly had some dusty spots, and sticky sweat was present as well. So, he walked to the bathroom door and used his hoof to tug a U-shaped handle down, which opened the door. 

The bathroom was as big as the bedroom and featured a bath that took a third of the room, spacious enough to allow him to sprawl easily in it if he wanted to. As he entered, light turned on by itself, which surprised him. There was a closet with a few fresh towels, and a sink with a mirror, and underneath the mirror was a shelf with a few tubes of toothpaste and no fewer than six toothbrushes and a pair of regular brushes, as well as two reasonably big bottles of shampoo the label of which he couldn't yet read. There was also a low toilet-bidet combination in the room's corner closer to the door.

The former human got into the tub and wondered how to turn the water on, but fortunately, there was one vertical handle on the wall; its tip had a blue color on the left and a red one on the right. Without changing the angle of the handle, the former human pulled at it with his hoof, and water started cascading down from the shower head attached on the ceiling. The young unicorn was certain it was possible to detach it and control where the water went on his body, but he had no idea how and thus decided to shower without changing anything. The temperature of the water was nice and warm, it was perfect as far as he was concerned. He hadn't had a shower in days before his rebirth, and not for some hours after it, and he was going to thoroughly enjoy this.

As he stood under the shower, his body sagged as tiredness overtook stiffness, the stress finally weighing a toll on him. He sat down, letting the water travel from his head and down his body, hiding the tears as he cried. His composure was gone, and his features displayed a deathly tired and distressed look. The utter insanity of everything that had happened to him after he put a bullet in his heart crashed against him like a tide, bringing horror and anguish with it. The impossibility of it all was apparent, but there he was, alive. The tears were short-lived as the former human forced his emotions back. He inhaled shakily and stood up, then he used his teeth to grab a brush and scrub himself. He would take everything as it came, no more no less. He was denied death and he must accept this fact if he hoped to stay sane... as much as he was able to, anyway.

After getting himself clean, he put the brush back, turned off the water, and got a towel to dry himself. He did it with methodical motions, subconsciously counting them in his head. Wiping all the excess water was more difficult than before, partly because of the lack of hands and partly because he had fur covering his entire body. After he finished, he relieved himself in the toilet, flushed, and then he exited the room, closing the door behind him, the light turning off by itself.

With a sigh, he trudged to the bedroom and fell on the bed, strength leaving him. He exhaled with a soft moan, his body shivering at the pleasant texture of the blanket he was lying on. He didn't bother to get under it and fell asleep within a minute despite the evening sun still shining light through the window. His features went neutral, his breathing was low and steady. This night, he slumbered in oblivion, and no dream nor nightmare bothered him.
> Chapter 4: A New Morning
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The former human slept peacefully through the night and woke up early in the morning. The sun hadn't quite risen all the way yet, but his bedroom was already bright enough to discern more than just basic gray-and-black shapes. His eyes were open, and the grogginess of sleep quickly faded away as his mind came to focus. The first thing he noticed was the absence of all aches - he would often wake up with them in his later years, and especially after an event he dared not think of. Now, there was only a dryness of a morning throat and an annoying pressure somewhere between his hind legs. With a small grunt, he got up from the bed and stretched a bit, waking up completely and warming up his body for the day ahead. Even in his worst years, his body was flexible and mobile, and the new body proved to be just as good at it when he did splits along with some more proper equine stretches that he could think of. Unfortunately, he could no longer scratch his back or fold backwards much - his body was stiff in that direction and he didn't think it would change even with more stretches.

After finishing these brief morning exercises, the young unicorn walked out of his bedroom. He went through the living room, noting a clock he previously unintentionally ignored - it was a circular clock with three arms, looking like the same style of clock humanity used. It also seemed to have the same twelve-hour time measurement system, each hour consisting of sixty minutes, and each minute was sixty seconds. The former human wondered how ponies came to use such a system - after all, twelve- and sixty-based systems were both thought up by humans who used their fingers as a reference. 

With this thought, he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. After relieving himself as best he could with the body limits that he still had, he hopped into the bathtub for a quick shower. To his surprise, the water was warm as soon as he turned it on. In his memory, he always had to wait from a few seconds to a few minutes for it to become pleasant, especially deep in the night or early in the morning, but he didn't mind this change at all. He briefly wondered how to clean his teeth with a toothbrush and, not seeing how he could do it, resorted to showering his teeth and lightly scraping at them with his fetlock. It wasn't particularly pleasant, and his fur had an unusual taste, but it did work somewhat. After spitting the water out, he turned it off and got out of the tub to dry himself off. Following that, he drank some water from the sink, and it tasted well. He didn't particularly care if the water was perfectly clean, but his low expectations of tap water were destroyed by its high quality. The ponies, despite their medieval armament, apparently knew a lot about proper piping and sewage systems, considering their high-quality modern bathrooms. They by far beat the hole-in-the-floor kind of toilets prevalent for the majority of humanity's history.

He paused to look at himself in the mirror. His usual deathly tired look was but a shadow now. A good night's of quality sleep on a comfortable mattress did wonders for his energy levels, and his eyes shone with life. There wasn't a spring in his step or any other external display of the abundance of energy he now had, but he could feel it inside him. His looks gave him confidence - he wasn't malnourished as far as he could tell and feel, his fur was shiny with health and his mane was dense and thick just as he had noted the day before. Overall, he felt better now than any time in the past decade. He flicked his mane back with a small move of his head, and then let a small smile appear on his face - he certainly didn't look too bad either, all things considered.

His eyes then shifted to his scarred ear and he frowned, the smile slipping away as quickly as it appeared. His scars were still there, reminding him of his experiences. He remembered the screech of metal, a flash of pain in his left ear, and hot blood rolling down the side of his head. The rest of his body was badly bruised and beaten, it was a miracle he survived. Many times since then, he wished he did not. Yet, the facts were straight and clear: he was there, and the scar was his mark of survival. He turned away from the mirror and exited the bathroom, hoping to find something else to focus his mind on.

His stomach rumbled in a reminder - it was time for breakfast. He imagined all the fruit he could snack on, especially diced and mixed with oatmeal or something similar; how he could then eat a salad of mixed vegetables, sprinkled with spices to give it a little kick, and then he could maybe have some cookies. His mouth salivated at the thought and he hurried to the door leading out of his dorm. Yesterday was the first time he had a decent meal in months, and he liked the thought of having it again and again - it would be wonderful if he no longer had to struggle to fulfill his basic needs like food, especially when he refused to eat certain things under any circumstances.

The former human tugged the handle of his front door down and exited his dorm. From the skylight, he could see many dark clouds, and the glass was blurry with water running across it. He swore he didn't see those clouds when he woke up just around ten minutes ago. Now, he could hear a steady yet quiet beat of water against the ceiling. However, this weather didn't stop foals of all ages playing around downstairs. They seemed organized, playing hide-and-seek as far as the former human could tell. Aside from them, some foals were sitting further away, talking between themselves or reading. None of them noticed the young unicorn slipping out of the previously unoccupied dorm.

The former human wondered if he was truly left alone with no supervision as he descended from the second floor to the first. He walked quietly as not to attract unwanted attention, keeping close to the walls as to be out of the way. He was ready for confrontations but he was in no particular mood to be looking for them. Thankfully, he slipped out of the mansion's wing unnoticed and headed to the dining hall, remembering the way to it as he went. He passed a few foals who glanced at him but didn't bother him, refraining to whispering between themselves. 

As he was now alone in the corridor, he felt it - an unmistakeable feeling of a presence nearby, someone watching him. Noticing such a thing was a skill one needed to train, but it could come in handy at times like these. The former human stopped in his tracks and listened. There it was - a quiet, suppressed sound of a breath that was not his. He spun around and... there was no one. Did his brain deceive him? He focused, concentrating on his vision. 

In the eyes, there are things that float around, usually seemingly invisible. However, once one focuses on them, they become difficult to ignore until their existence is temporarily forgotten. The former human concentrated on the surrounding area in front of him, and there it was - an outline, barely visible. His eyes traced it and painted him an imaginary picture - it was a pony, an alicorn if he were to be specific. Now he understood - it was not a trick of his brain but a spell of invisibility. He wasn't left unsupervised - he was simply made unable to see it. 

He raised his hoof and gestured at the invisible princess, none other than Celestia. He tilted his head and looked straight where her eyes were supposed to be. Despite not seeing them, he felt the connection, and then felt her emotions - it was surprise mixed in with some fear. She broke the connection along with the spell and popped back into visibility. 

"Hello," she said, barely stuttering. Her face was neutrally pleasant, her eyes had a glitter of interest, "Alright... you, well," she cleared her throat, "You got me. I see you were heading for breakfast, and, well, I can escort you there if you don't remember the way."

The former human inclined his head, wondering what was said. Judging by her tone, the first word she spoke was a greeting, a slightly nervous one at that. The rest had a meaning he couldn't yet understand. In any case, she didn't seem threatening. He expected to feel anger at her for watching him like this, but he found no good reason to feel that way. Instead, there was interest - he would very much like to learn this spell for his own uses.

However, what he needed right now was food. He turned around and resumed walking in the direction of the cafeteria, his mind bringing up an imagined map of the place, and he was sure he was heading the right way. He always had an inner sense of direction, and, as far as he could remember, he never got lost even among the most unfamiliar of places. Like many times before, his legs carried him to his destination without much hesitation.

Celestia didn't do anything for a moment and then followed him, wondering. For a Feral, he was remarkably intelligent - not just any pony can notice the spell of invisibility. Perhaps it was his dangerous life in the Everfree that taught him to be alert and aware. After all, the accursed forest was not a welcoming place for anyone, least of all foals. The young unicorn was bound to pick up certain things in order to survive there.

This thought stung her deeply. Just what did he experience there, what hardships did he have to go through? Where were his parents, what became of them? How much time did he spend in the forest? The scars on his body hid a great many stories, stories of dangers, escapes, and fights. His body was certainly nimble, packing the right amount of muscle. His eyes displayed alertness only seen in the best of the Royal Guards, those with experience. His steps were quiet, deceivingly relaxed, yet the princess could sense his readiness to jump into action when - not if - needed.

The Night Guard of Equestria begun its search for the answers at dusk, yet nothing came of it yet. Records of ponies born twelve to fifteen years ago found no unicorn of a matching description, no missing posters were recovered in the nearby settlements, there was simply nothing. Celestia held hope something would be found, but she suspected it was in vain - the young unicorn was almost certainly alone and the only one of his kind.

The former human was deep in thought as well while his legs automatically carried him through the corridors. He was alive, he felt alive, but... what next? He woke up this day, yet he didn't expect to live past the last night he was human. He remembered squeezing the trigger, hearing the shot, feeling the impact, and seeing his own blood escaping his body. Yet there he stood now, alive and well.

Last time he thought about it, he wanted to cry. Now, however, he felt... empty. He reacted to what was happening around him, but not much more. He felt hunger, so he went to where the food was at. He knew someone was watching him, so he found it out. Once he saw there was no danger, he returned to walking towards food. As his hooves clopped against the tile floors of one of the corridors, he felt nothing about his life. He knew there was still some feeling somewhere, he saw it in the bathroom, but those whispers did little. What was the point?

Everything around him was haze, an unimportant blur. He was a part of that blur, blending in almost perfectly. He didn't notice how he got to be at one of the cafeteria tables, eating slowly and mechanically, noticing the taste but not quite feeling it. Something was said around him, someone passed in front of his vision. Why did any of it have to matter? He died, yet he lived, but why? It made no sense, and all he wanted his life to do is end. However, now he was stuck, his choice taken away from him forever. He knew there was no use thinking about it, yet he couldn't stop his doubts and his fears from coming back time and time again to haunt him even in the little time he had to experience his second life.

That was it. His second life. He never expected it, never thought it could truly happen. However, there he was, sitting on a bench finishing his first breakfast. He finally came back to his senses and looked around: some ponies certainly glanced at him from time to time, few outright stared. The cafeteria seemed a bit quiet, yet no one was completely silent except him. What he did notice was the emptiness surrounding him - no one was willing to sit next to him. He was glad it was the case.

The former human focused and recollected himself. He couldn't stop the flow of negative thoughts, yet one thing had to remain clear - he could do something with his second life. It didn't start in a poverty-stricken desolated part of a world at war, he wasn't sacrificed to a non-existent god, he wasn't beaten to death or eaten alive. Many horrible things could've happened to him, yet they didn't happen. He was instead found and given home, food, and water. Of course, this didn't make the ponies surrounding him trustworthy, but it was a decent beginning.

Hoof steps sounded to his side, and the former human turned his head in the direction. Hesitantly, someone was approaching him - he recognized the pony as one of the few that saw him walk with the princess in just the day before. He was, from what the young unicorn could guess, a colt slightly younger than him in body, an earth pony. He came closer and closer until the former human felt the invisible and imagined pressure of his presence too close for comfort. He rose slightly from the bench, his body tensing.

"Please, don't come too close," Princess Celestia spoke softly to the colt, "He gets agitated."

"Ah, um... I'm sorry," the colt said, "I just want to, uh, meet him. Is it true he was found... in the Everfree?"

"Yes, it is," the alicorn nodded, earning a few quiet gasps among the foals present, "He doesn't talk and he doesn't... like company. Perhaps a friend could help him, but not yet."

The former human eyed the colt with caution, his heartbeat rate increasing ever so slightly. The colt then said something to the princess and left, relieving some tension in the cafeteria. Slowly, the former human sat back down and finished his meal. In uncertainty that followed, he simply stared ahead of himself, thinking - what next? It quickly dawned on him - he needed to learn the language of the ponies. However, it would be next to impossible to do when he didn't want to speak. 

"I hope you liked this breakfast," Celestia said, gaining his attention, "Maybe you're willing to learn the language, young stallion? Follow me, please."

The part following the question was clear to the former human - the alicorn said it when she wanted him to go after her before. Undoubtedly, this was what she wanted of him now as well. He stood up from the bench, and the two walked out of the quiet cafeteria and back into the hallways of the mansion. The princess led him to one of the larger rooms: this one included many different objects, ranging from wooden cubes with different letters or similar symbols as well as pictures on them to complex objects like clocks, cameras, even a few TV sets and what looked like speakers. 

"Let us start with the basics," Celestia said, sitting down in the middle of the room. The young unicorn went around her, keeping his distance, and sat with his back to the farthest wall, making both the alicorn and the entrance visible in front of him, as well as some windows to the left of him. Once he settled, she gestured at herself and said her own name. She put her hoof down and then repeated both the motion and the word. Then just her own name.

The former human now understood - this word was her name. He gestured at her, earning a nod of approval. 

"I am Celestia," she said, gesturing at herself again, "I."

This was simple as well, so the colt gestured at her again.

"You," she said, gesturing at him. Then she gestured at herself and said, "I." She then used one hoof to point at the colt and one to point at herself, "We."

Celestia said those words in random order next, testing how well the former human understood them, and he made not a single mistake. Throughout the exercise, he didn't speak once, however, which worried her.

She had no doubts now - the one she thought was a Feral was extremely intelligent compared to others of his kind. He easily picked up the meaning of the words even without the ability to speak, and he would certainly be quick at learning the basics of the language.

The lesson continued for what seemed like hours. Celestia named every single object in the room, including the walls, windows, floor, ceiling, door, and doorway. She used different kinds of drawings to test how well the former human could understand the distinction between an object and a drawing of an object. She found out he understood how to count, add, and subtract, and thus her impression with him grew.

"I think this should be all for today," she said after some time, "I know you don't understand me just yet, but I will let your mind rest. I see you're eager to learn, but all things should be in moderation, including learning. Now you can... walk around and explore."

Unbeknownst to her, the former human was thinking the same thing. This lesson gave him motivation to discover and learn, and this would certainly begin with making a full mental map of the entire place, starting with this very building. Filled with energy, the young unicorn was ready for the new, and his dark thoughts were pushed away...

For a time.
> Chapter 5: Getting Familiar
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The former human walked around the mansion, knowing the invisible presence of Celestia was watching him from behind. As long as she kept her distance, he didn't mind - he knew she couldn't simply leave him alone with all the foals running around. She likely thought of him as some sort of savage beast who could tear into someone for looking at him wrong. She wasn't entirely incorrect in that regard.

However, he didn't plan on hurting anyone who didn't want to hurt him in turn. As long as he could keep himself calm, he would be fine. He imagined a thick steel-walled box, just standing there in his mind by itself. One by one, he put all his worrying thoughts in it, then locked it. Now his mind was empty, devoid of either emotions or thoughts. He passively acknowledged his surroundings, yet there was little beyond that. He could hear himself breathe, he could listen to the sounds both close and distant, he could feel the floor under his hooves and the air around him. He was simply a part of this new world now, yet another observer and participator in its life. 

The box in which he locked his thoughts was not without imperfections - some of them slipped out of it, returning to him. Slowly, his mind drifted to Celestia - he knew very little of who and what she was, yet he had reasons to be suspicious of her. Royalty, as far as he was concerned, deserved no right to exist. They had inflicted an immeasurable amount of harm on humanity for thousands of years, and all because of the lust for power. For centuries, kings and queens and emperors and khans and tsars plundered the lands, oppressing and exploiting people who simply wanted to make their own lives easier. Thousands upon thousands, millions of deaths, millions of lives ruined and miserable, could all be attributed to those 'high' people and their followers. This very thought made a fire of hate grow larger and hungrier inside him, struggling to get out. He kept it down, knowing these emotions were of little use yet - after all, he could cast little judgement on Celestia before he found out more about her. He had to keep in mind that it was her who brought him to this place where he could eat, sleep, and perhaps even be safe. Her eyes were kind, and her intentions seemed noble and good - yet the former human simply couldn't stop expecting a different, darker side to surface sooner or later. He firmly believed there was no way she was as she outwardly appeared.

As he walked around the mansion, he didn't forget to pay attention to his surroundings. There were various paintings on the walls throughout the building, and all of them were, for a mysterious reason, sceneries. There were some ponies here and there, but they were vague, undefined, without a clear identity one could recognize beyond what was presented on the paintings themselves. Some sceneries the former human recognized: a mountain with what looked like a castle on its side, and a painting of the mansion. Then there were plenty of sceneries the former human had yet to learn about, including what looked like a late twentieth-century city, eerily similar to New York in appearance. From this information, he concluded the civilization of ponies was even more advanced than he expected, all while retaining medieval armament. He didn't think it was just for show, but he was puzzled by this huge of a difference in military and civilian technology. 

As he passed another hallway, he did see a somewhat more advanced piece of protection - a couple suits of full plate armor, certainly late medieval to early renaissance. The pony suits of armor and decorated halberds stood in a big glass display on the side of the hallway, and there was something written on a rectangular piece of thin metal riveted to the glass. Ignoring what he couldn't understand just yet, the former human used his eyes to inspect the items on display instead. The weapons as well as the suits were clearly ceremonial: expensively decorated, with elements that would hinder combat, and certainly too heavy and cumbersome; the weapons, of course, were blunt. Unimpressed and disgusted, the former human turned away from the display and continued on his way.

The subtle change in his otherwise empty expression did not go unnoticed by the princess, and a question arose - did he recognize the armor? It couldn't be true - the suits had been standing there in the very mansion for more than three hundred years. They were an exquisite work made for the long-gone previous owners of the mansion who wore it, according to her memory, exactly once before they met their end. She tried not to think of them - at least the mansion served the ponies now, repaying for all the crimes the previous owners had done. 

Quick gallop sounded from around the corner, making the young unicorn tense up, getting in a fighting position. To his great relief, it was a pair of young foals making the noise, chasing one after another in what was likely a simple game of tag. The former human stepped aside, his posture relaxing, and they zoomed past him, giving him not a glance. He simply continued on his way.

Celestia raised her brows in puzzlement - why didn't he react more aggressively? The foals came very close to him, almost brushing against him as they galloped. However, he seemed completely fine and unfazed, not even following the foals with his eyes after they were past him. He had already shown himself to be uncomfortable around older foals and adults - could there be a hidden reason behind it? Noting it for herself, Celestia continued following the young unicorn. 

He suddenly stopped in his tracks, his ears turning to his left. A small frown appeared on his face, tension rose in his body. He swore he heard... whispers. The words were indiscernible, yet not muffled. There was no door to his left, no room, and nowhere to be hidden if one indeed whispered from that direction. The former human slowly went around the corner in front of him, and then he saw a door on his left - it was a plain door without a lock. He pulled it open and stepped inside the room behind it. It was completely windowless and smelled of old wood and paper, as well as stale ink. Bookcases lined every wall of the room, and only the light from the open door illuminated them. In the center of the room, a table stood, a few books lying on top of it, unreadable to the former human but clear to the alicorn behind him: "The Shattering of Crystal", "The Loveless Swarm", and "The Dark Moonrise". 

Cold sweat ran down Celestia's spine - this was not an accident, she knew it with all her being. When fate wanted to speak, it spoke, and this time, it was bold and direct. One way or another, these books and what they described were tied to the young unicorn. He didn't react to it in any way that she could tell, probably because he couldn't read yet, but she believed he did feel at least something even if he didn't show it. 

Without much of a delay, the former human turned around and returned to the hallways to continue his exploration of the mansion. Celestia noted for herself to re-read the books she had just seen before following him.




The rest of the travel through the mansion proved uneventful, and the former human memorized the layout. Overall, it was not difficult: a dorm wing, a cafeteria wing, and what looked like a teaching wing, all of them forming a vague triangle. Perhaps they used to be different before, but that had changed since. In any case, he decided it would be best for him to head outside and breathe some fresh air. 

By the time he reached the front entrance, the rain has stopped, and the sun appeared from behind the now-white clouds. The warmth of the day came upon the land, and the air became slightly more difficult to breathe in as moisture evaporated from the surroundings. However, it now smelled of freshness one could only smell after a good summer rain. The former human couldn't help but inhale it deeply, then exhale it slowly. It was, quite literally, a breath of new life, one among millions that he would likely make in his life here. Deep inside his mind, this thought filled him with joy - yet a larger part of him was dismayed at still being alive. 

He didn't fail to notice pegasi pushing the clouds away, and he stopped in his tracks. A look of befuddlement appeared on his face, and his lower jaw trembled slightly as if he wanted to say something. As he watched, the sky was quickly cleared with the efforts of the pegasi, and then they dispersed. Soon, nothing looked out of the ordinary. He shook his head in amazement, then continued on his way down the stairway to the orphanage grounds. Celestia didn't fail to notice the changes in his expression, wondering just how intelligent he was. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he was simply from a foreign country that didn't know much about the ponies. 

The former human headed towards the pond he saw on his way in. A slow stream of foals emerged from the entrance following him, and soon many others were playing outside. The former human, however, ignored them and soon arrived at the pond. Without a delay, he entered the chilly waters, shivered, but continued forward. Soon, he laid down, only leaving his head above the water so he could breathe. He closed his eyes and relaxed, the tension in his body going away little by little with every breath he took. Celestia watched him curiously from the shore.

He remembered the time when he used to do the same with the lake in which he died. When he felt uncertain, when he needed to get away from things, he came to the lake and just sat in it, sometimes for hours, simply relishing in the freshness of the water. If only for a little while, he was just a part of the lake, swaying with it, breathing with it. All his thoughts were gone, replaced with the quiet ambient noise of the surroundings. For some time, he felt truly alive, without a worry in the world.

He heard quacking nearby and opened his eyes. Mere meters away from him, a flock of ducks approached: one drake, a couple hens, and a small group of ducklings. They circled around the former human and then got closer, making quiet noises along the way. He watched them, a shadow of a smile on his face. One of the ducklings closed in on him and attempted to climb on his head, only to fall and make a splash. His smile grew bigger and he chuckled in amusement before slightly lowering his head. This time, the duckling successfully climbed on top of it and settled there between his ears. As the ducks dived underwater for food around him, he simply remained in his position and relaxed completely.

Celestia couldn't help but notice that he displayed no hostility towards the ducks - why was that the case? Why wasn't he afraid of their touch? What made them special? There was no explanation that she could come up with at this point. However, she did enjoy watching the young unicorn relax and be at peace even for a little while. And the chuckle he made was certainly pony-like, not feral. She had never seen Ferals chuckle so readily without having adapted to the pony society, it was simply unheard of in her experience. 

One of the foals around the pond chose to approach the former human. As soon as their hoof touched the surface of the water, making a tiny splash, the young unicorn's ears swiveled to hear it, and then he sharply turned his head, almost making the duckling fall off. His intense gaze settled on the foal, looking them straight into the eyes. The foal stopped, then retreated, uncertainty clear on their face. 

With that settled, the former human slowly turned his head back to its original position and settled down, the tension from his body disappearing as quickly as it came. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. He had nothing to worry about, he was a part of the lake. No one was out to get him. No one wanted to hurt him. No one wanted to make him suffer. 

Many minutes passed, and Celestia decided to become visible again. After summoning a beach sheet, she settled down on the shore of the pond, basking in the light of the sun, her eyes half-closed in relaxation. A few foals noticed her but continued doing their own things, leaving her to spend some quiet time by herself. 

The young unicorn closed his eyes and drifted into a state of semi-sleep. In this strange dream that came upon him, he glided across the pond, dancing all the while. His movements were vague, blurry, and undefined, yet filled with grace and beauty. He didn't know how to dance, yet he did so effortlessly, and a smile spread on his face. He even wanted to sing, yet his mouth was clamped shut. He faltered in his step, ruining his dance, feeling the lock on his mouth. He wanted to sing, but nothing could happen when his mouth was forcefully shut. Slowly, panic overtook him, and then he opened his eyes.

His heart was beating strongly in his chest, a wild expression on his face. However, the pond remained as before, and the ducks around him remained peaceful. He sighed - this dream ended his serenity, it was time to end his unity with the pond, at least for the time being. He slowly shook his head and lowered it, letting the duckling back on the water. Then he slowly turned around and stood up, heading towards the shore. There, Celestia was chatting with an adult, from what he could tell. She noticed him coming out, finished her talk, and then teleported her beach sheet away after standing up. The former human blinked at the display of magic, yet continued back to the shore. After saying their goodbyes, Celestia and the other adult parted ways with the alicorn following him as he decided to explore the rest of the orphanage grounds. 

His ears perked up as he heard a yell from one direction, and he turned his head to take a look at what caused it. From the entrance to the mansion, a group of foals with an adult at the head exited, all of them holding one manner of weapon or the other. The adult led them to a nearby clearing where no one was busy, and soon the group was setting up dummies and mats. The former human decided to get closer and watch them do what was undeniably swordsmanship practice. 

The practice began with all the ponies trotting around and doing various leg warmups. The young unicorn noted it was how he began his own swordsmanship practice in the club he used to attend. Of course, ponies had a different idea on how to warm up - they didn't have arms to warm up separately from the legs. After the warmup, the adult divided all the foals into pairs, making them practice distancing. He corrected those who didn't do it right and praised those who did. Unlike how the young unicorn trained as a human, these ponies trained distancing by eye - they had no arms to check if they could reach their opponent. Judging by what he observed, this way of training looked to be efficient anyway. And unlike humans, ponies had no advantage of making themselves look thinner by turning slightly to the side. If anything, ponies exposed more of their body to the opponent by not facing them head-on. 

Next came the strike practice, and that was what the dummies were prepared for. Each foal grabbed their weapon: mostly spears, but some had one-handed and one-and-a-half-handed swords - although the former human didn't know how exactly the terms could apply to those who had no hands in the first place - for unicorns and some ponies from the other two tribes. Basic weapons, the training with which could prepare the ponies for all manner of other weapons. Every pony with a spear had a special harness fixing the polearm in place to their bodies, but there was also a lever stemming from the contraption straight to the maw, and the former human saw the spear could be adjusted by using the lever by gripping it with the teeth and moving it. A clever if not somewhat complicated and slightly unsanitary system. Swords were gripped in maws as well, without any contraptions. However, the swords had a D-shaped handle, the straight side of which was parallel to the guard, thus making the swords look like weird shovels. Of course, unicorns didn't need such a shape to hold their own swords, and thus the handles had a traditional straight design. The former human didn't know how well D-handled swords worked, but they likely worked well enough because ponies, after all, did use them. If they were inefficient and cumbersome, he reasoned, ponies wouldn't use them. Fine neck control would be needed in order to rival telekinesis in a sword fight, but at least ponies had thicker and longer necks, making them not nearly as vulnerable and weak as human necks.

Unicorns, as he had already noted, used their magic - telekinesis - to handle their own weapons. Unlike with hands, there wasn't a limit of dexterity or flexibility with telekinesis, and thus it allowed a far greater range of movement with attacks that otherwise would twist a human into an impossible shape. Very useful - if only the former human could learn it. So far, he only felt a slight tingle in his horn from time to time, but he had no idea how to activate his magic. 

He continued watching the training and noticed the dummies sometimes glowed green, yellow, or red depending on how and where they were hit. From what he could understand, it also depended on edge alignment - the better it was, the greener the dummies were on the strike. They were clearly enchanted to show not only the physical response to being hit but also grade on how well it was executed. In his opinion, it was very useful, especially considering the fact that foals didn't need to use sharp, dangerous weapons to train this aspect of swordsmanship.

Next, the ponies were broken into pairs once more for simple attack and defense practice. The former human frowned, wondering why they did it without protective equipment. However, ponies seemed completely unfazed at being hit pretty much anywhere. Were they so much tougher than humans? Or were the weapons enchanted to be essentially harmless? It was very likely the latter, he reasoned. 

After the end of that practice, one pair at a time fought in a duel, trying to show their best. Once more, it was done without any protective equipment, yet no one was hurt despite some pretty nasty hits the former human almost cringed at. He couldn't hear anyone complaining about being hit too hard, and the ponies fought with intensity belonging to real combat. The young unicorn nodded to himself - this way of training was certainly more practical if ponies ended up fighting for real someday. On top of that, it was also more authentic if they fought in regular tournaments and medieval-like role-play games. 

From his observations, he judged the unicorns to be the most versatile. While they were less agile compared to the flying pegasi and weaker compared to earth ponies, telekinesis allowed them a wide range of attacks and responses to choose from. The pegasi were much more maneuverable on their wings and hooves both, allowing them to strike fast or from unexpected angles. Some pegasi used their wings to quickly redirect their bodies even on the ground, allowing them to use the spear harness to its full potential. Meanwhile, earth ponies were the biggest, the strongest, and with the most endurance - their attacks were unrelenting, allowing them to tire out their opponents quicker without losing momentum themselves. The former human noted it all for further consideration.

Once the training ended, the tired and sweaty ponies put their weapons in a pile and went to the pond to take a swim in order to soothe their aching muscles and clean themselves as well. The former human, in turn, decided to wander around the orphanage grounds and memorize the layout as well as possible places of interest. He, for once, would certainly partake in the local swordsmanship club as soon as he could understand ponies better. 

This new life held much promise for him, undoubtedly. He could hope it would help him become a new, better person. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to leave his old life behind... if he tried hard enough. It seemed an impossible task, one someone like him would never be able to achieve. Yet, he had hope, as little as it was. 

He would only need to keep himself in control.
> Chapter 6: First Day's End
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The former human's first half of the day concluded with a hearty dinner consisting of a mix of green peas, corn, lentils, and beans, followed by a pile of roasted potatoes and some fruit for dessert. After washing it all down with a couple of generous cups of water, the young unicorn was immensely satisfied. He felt full and he felt good, something he couldn't achieve as a human before his death. He didn't exactly think of his nutrition too much - earlier in his life, he simply ate what was given to him. Later in life, there were many events that left him without appetite or even any desire to keep himself healthy. It felt wonderful to be out of that terrible dark place in his mind. 

He decided to lay outside in the grass and observe the ponies from under some shade. By this point, the word about him had spread, and no one approached him, only looking at him from the distance and whispering between themselves. He wasn't bothered - as far as he was concerned, it would be just fine if no one came to him. Even if someone did approach him, he didn't know what he would do - while the concept of friendship wasn't foreign to him, it had been a long while since he made any friends. Not that he needed them - he thought he would be just fine on his own. He made his way outside once more without any issue and took a place under a tree not too far away from the entrance to the mansion. 

Under the shade of a small grove away from him, a group of foals formed a semi-circle around an adult as she explained something to them. They listened attentively, sometimes asking or answering questions, and generally were peaceful and, to the surprise of the former human, rather quiet. In his experience, human children were loud and obnoxious if not sometimes downright malicious, throwing off all attempts at peace and order. If something wasn't given to them, they would shout and cry; if their attention wasn't kept, they would do something stupid to busy themselves, and oftentimes it came down to hurting others for fun. Yet there he was, listening to what was probably a class held there out in the open. The foals weren't running off to play and neither were they interested in talking to each other more than in listening to the teacher. He of course had heard of such things happening somewhere in Europe, but he still had no idea how some people managed to pull it off. Not that he was against it - he much preferred peace and quiet to the disorder and annoyance. If ponies were this good at teaching their young, then maybe he would find it easy to learn as well once he knew the language well enough.

This afternoon, ponies who were not partaking in any classes were either by themselves or under adult supervision doing one activity or the other. Despite the swordsmanship training ending earlier today, a few ponies were sparring, with and without armor. Some chose to spend their time playing a pony equivalent of football, others chased each other for fun or competitively. The shooting area wasn't empty either: certain ponies chose this time to practice their marksmanship. Earth ponies and pegasi used exclusively crossbows thanks to how easy they were to operate compared to bows, the use of which seemed to be impossible for anyone but unicorns. The former human noticed neither bows nor crossbows had any sights - ponies, just like humans in pre-modern times, had to aim instinctively or use the point of the arrow. If he got his hooves on a crossbow, he would certainly add some proper sights. Of course, it wouldn't be optic - he had no idea how to make it. However, he knew well enough how iron sights worked, so he thought it would be an easy project for him to complete.

By the pond, a few ponies were swimming by themselves, playing in the shallow water. The former human had to consider learning how to swim as soon as possible, but not this very day. For now, it would be just enough to observe everything from the sidelines. He knew the watchful eye of Princess Celestia didn't let him go for longer than a few seconds, and he wanted to not be seen as suspicious. As long as he wasn't asked questions, he could simply blend in and try to have a somewhat normal life. He knew he couldn't simply get rid of his past, but the least he could do is to make sure ponies didn't get worried about him and didn't suffer because of his actions. As long as he controlled himself, he and those around him would be fine. For now, his negative thoughts were kept away by the peaceful scenery surrounding him, and he hoped it would continue to be that way. Unfortunately, he didn't doubt these thoughts would return as soon as the distractions were gone. But until then, he was just another pony, just another person. 

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. It was no time to wail in his misery nor was it time to attract it. The ponies surrounding him didn't care nor did they need to. What he was and what was done to him was his and his alone to deal with, and he would deal with it when no one would bother him and when he couldn't bother anyone either. His human life was over, there was this new life, what came before mattered only to him. And if ponies knew about him, they would cast him out, throw him back to the timberwolves, and rightfully so. 

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly one more time. He allowed himself to drift where he didn't need to be in his mind at that time. He needed to be calm, collected, and attentive to things around him, not inside him. With that thought firmly pressed into his mind, he continued his observation of ponies. 

The youngest foals were over by the playground, climbing on things, talking slightly louder than necessary, and building things in the sandbox. The former human smiled while looking at them - they were so careless, they were happy, and they were free. They had no worries, no expectations, nothing that made life so complicated. For the time being, they could afford to remain this way, and this was the time the former human himself deeply treasured. He was once like them, he reminded himself. One boy among many, growing up among other kids and playing with them. He wasn't the perfect child, nor was he the quietest or the most attentive, but back then, it didn't matter - he lived his life having fun with his friends, and that was all that mattered.

A group of foals was led by a couple of adults from the mansion to the gates of the orphanage - no doubt to show them something, maybe take them to a museum or show them various job sites that they, in the future, would work at. The former human didn't know what his life would be in this new world, he had no idea what he would do for a living. He was much like a foal in this - new to the world, new to what it offered. He was sure he would learn about everything in time, and by then he would know what he'd like to do. He didn't have a choice nor a desire to choose anything when he was a human - certain... circumstances changed him forever, and his life couldn't continue in that wretched, damned, awful place. He shook his head - it was not the time for hate. He had plenty of it to spare, he had more than enough things to hate, but he would rather observe what ponies did instead. It was better this way.

In a few minutes, he managed to steady his wavering mind, making it calm for just this time. The tension in his body faded away, giving way to relief and a sense of serenity. Despite his position - lying on his stomach yet keeping the legs folded underneath in case he needed to move quickly - he was as relaxed as he could be. He even allowed a dragonfly to briefly land on the bridge of his muzzle before taking off elsewhere. A squirrel used his head as a vantage point before jumping onto a branch tree just to his side. A couple birds were courting each other among the foliage, singing their songs. The young unicorn enjoyed this moment of peace as his eyes lazily drifted from one group of ponies to another. 

His left ear twitched as someone approached him from the side, and he needed to turn his head just a little bit to see Celestia come closer to him. His body instantly tensed up, but she stopped at a respectable distance while still being under the shade of the same sprawling tree, and laid down. Her position was more relaxed than his as she allowed her legs to rest to her side and not folded underneath her. 

"This is indeed a beautiful day," she said gently. The young unicorn's ears flicked but he didn't respond either vocally or with his body, "I'm glad to see you're enjoying it despite who you are."

For a moment, she was silent, simply studying him with her eyes. He pretended to ignore her, turning away slightly without losing the sight of her. In this moment, he wished he could understand her, to hear what she was saying to him. Her gentle voice made him feel at ease, but at the same time, his ignorance of her words made him tense. 

"As for who you are... you need a name," she said, and his ears flicked once again, making him turn his head to her. Despite the language barrier, he understood her, to his surprise. She was talking about his name.

He didn't know whether he could give the one he used to have. It held no meaning to him, and he wanted to forget it. But what would his new name be? He didn't have the slightest idea. None of the human names he knew fit him as far as he was concerned, and he couldn't find anything to call himself by. For all intents and purposes, his only choice was to remain nameless.

"In our society, a pony has two names," Celestia continued, mostly to herself, "The first is given by the parents to their foal when the foal is born. The second name the pony chooses for themselves once they attain their talent," she looked at the former human, "You are, of course, a special case. Do you have a name?"

To her surprise, his ears perked up at her question and he turned to look her straight in the eyes. In this one moment, he understood her question completely, and the clarity of it was such as if he asked it himself. He then frowned - how could it happen? With no rational explanation in sight, he could only chalk it up to magic. This new world clearly didn't use conventional rules.

His answer was a shake of his head - his old name was just a word, and it was meaningless where he was now. He couldn't show how to pronounce or write it in the new language either way even if he wanted to.

"Then would you allow me to choose a name for you until you can pick one yourself?" the alicorn asked slowly. For a long moment, the young unicorn stared at her, then nodded with a measure of both caution and disinterest. 

"I have a feeling a certain name will fit you," Celestia continued after watching him give his reply, "I name you... Wild."

A soft yet certain feeling of what could only be understood as heartbeat-like thump happened inside the center of the former human's body, resonating throughout. He understood the name Celestia gave him and understood what it meant. In fact, it was perfect for him, at least for now. He was certain magic played a key role in this, somehow. He blinked a few times, then slightly narrowed his eyes - what else could magic do? He needed to learn it before he encountered any unpleasant surprises.

"Yes, this name indeed makes sense..." the alicorn said slowly to herself, "I hope you find a good life among us, Wild."

She stood up and went back to the mansion, confident in letting Wild be by himself - despite where he came from, he was more than 'somewhat' intelligent - he had the capacity to not only understand her but to reply to her in a manner no other Feral before him could. Undoubtedly, the time he spent out in the wild didn't hinder his ability to grow intellectually, however impossible it seemed. And intellect, she knew, meant he wouldn't hurt others unnecessarily as long as no one provoked him, and her warning had already spread among all the other ponies in the orphanage.

Celestia sighed in relief - one question was solved, although it added more to the mystery of the young unicorn. His uniqueness couldn't be ignored and needed to be investigated. It was certainly no coincidence or luck that he was as intelligent as a regular pony of his age - something was at play here. Considering what she had seen so far, it wasn't good, and she was determined to find whoever was responsible for the young unicorn's state. 

Wild followed her with a puzzled gaze - he realized he had just had a small yet perfectly understandable conversation with the alicorn. He understood her, and she understood him. Of course, he didn't speak - he didn't need to and didn't want to - but it still proved there was something very interesting to this new world that changed many things he thought he knew, and he expected more surprises to come. There were hints before, but now he was certain even the basics of the universe were very different from what he learned when he was a human. 

He stood up from where he was lying and went to the mansion, hoping to rethink everything back in his dorm where no one and nothing could distract him. 




Once he was back, he took a short shower and sat on the couch in the living room. Then he thought deeply about what he had just participated in.

He already knew there was some magic at play before, considering unicorns used telekinesis and the pegasi pushed clouds around. This much was clear from observation alone. Now, however, he knew magic was more than this - it was deeper, it permeated his entire being, and it was more than just some kind of energy. After all, he reasoned it couldn't just make him understand Celestia so easily if it were a force like gravity. Gravity didn't translate things or explain itself, neither did any other phenomenon he knew of. Magic was something different entirely, and now he wanted to learn it more than ever. He needed to understand its secrets, he needed to know how it worked, if only to protect himself. 

The first thing he could start with was telekinesis. He was a unicorn, he should be able to do it easily enough if all the other unicorns could. He looked at the shelves opposite the couch - as he noticed when he first arrived, they were filled with books. He could just as well start with trying to move them. At first, he simply concentrated on a random book, trying to will his magic to grab it. However, despite his physical strain - which was just unnecessary tension in his body - nothing happened. He tried to relax, then he reached out with his mind, imagining an arm extending from him and grabbing the book. Once again, nothing happened. He tried to repeat it in different ways, yet he failed every single time, and he couldn't feel anything magical. 

Then he thought about his horn. He was so far trying things with his mind and imagination - he realized his horn was the obvious starting point. He focused on his horn instead, and felt something - a faint tingle. Snatching the opportunity, he increased his focus, concentrating fully on his horn. The tingle remained the same - vague, but certainly there. He frowned - what was he doing wrong? Unfortunately, he could neither ask nor read about it, this being the downside of his illiteracy of the pony language. 

He made another attempt, this time imagining the magic going from his body through his horn and then grabbing the book like he would do with his hand. To his satisfaction, a glow indeed appeared around the book - it was faint, barely visible, and silver in color. He felt around inside his body using his mind and finally realized what invisible muscle he had to flex to connect his mind to magic and to his body. With the realization complete, he poured his magic into his horn and outwards to the book, and finally managed to pull it from the shelf and bring it to him. To his surprise, the shape of the magical aura around the book wasn't a shimmering shapeless blob but a hand - his hand. He put the book next to him and let go, and the magical hand remained. He closed his fist and then released it, looking at his hand from all the directions he could think of. At first, it was weird - a hand was never supposed to bend like this, especially not with such ease. Then, as he thought about his other hand, it appeared as well, and now he was flexing both in front of his eyes. 

With a thoughtful frown on his face, he made a fist with one of them and punched the couch. It reacted as he would expect a couch to react to a hit. He hummed to himself about the discovery, then went around the living room manipulating the books and other objects with his magical pair of hands. He could feel the temperature and the texture of everything he touched, but the feeling was completely detached from his body and seemed to stem from inside him instead. It was unusual and odd, but he had a feeling he would get used to it sooner or later. 

Wild put everything back where it belonged and then, true to one of his habits, attempted to pop his knuckles. He went through the motions but no sound was made aside from a quiet hum of the magical aura that was present throughout his magic usage. He attempted a clap, and it made a sound of air rushing from between his palms to the outside, yet it didn't exactly sound like a clap.. He knocked the knuckles together - it had almost the same sound as before, although quieter. He scratched his head in confusion. 

Telekinesis certainly acted differently compared to just using arms. With a brief thought, he made his magical hands disappear, and he sat back down on the couch. Now that he knew the basics of telekinesis, what could he do? At the very least, opening and closing things, as well as eating, would be easier. Then a better thought visited his head - he could get into swordsmanship and carry over some skill from his human experience! And now, because ponies didn't look like they had any truly advanced weapons, his skills with medieval weapons would be useful outside of recreational activities. If it came down to it, he would probably be able to hold his own in a fight. The question remained just how much previously-learned skill he could use with his new body and with telekinesis. Undoubtedly, he would have to unlearn some of his entrenched habits - telekinesis was not as limiting as hands and arms, so he needed to learn not to limit himself. And on the other hand, maybe the way he was taught would be beneficial against people used to seeing telekinesis in combat. Only time could tell.

Wild decided it was a good time to get a good jog into him while his mood was good, as well as try to replicate the moves he had seen ponies do during their swordsmanship training. After that, he would likely have a snack and go to bed - he hoped to tire himself out completely by the end of his training.

Overall, he thought this first day held promise for the new world and ponies especially - he didn't expect this day to go as smoothly as it did, and maybe, just maybe, this world was indeed much better than the one he died in. 

Regarding this as a positive thought, Wild headed outside.
> Chapter 7: One Week
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

One week had passed since Wild received his name. It passed rather quickly despite him not having many things to do aside from watching other ponies and learning the language from Princess Celestia. With the latter, he turned out to be pretty good at it - by the end of the week, he could understand certain simple sentences and knew how to call a large variety of items. Of course, it was still a long way ahead of him to be able to converse in this language freely, but he felt he would be able to do it well enough in a year at worst if his progress continued at the same pace. He had a sneaking suspicion magic helped him learn. He expected to have more difficulty with learning his third language, yet he was improving daily in a way he considered significant. Simply put, he gained understanding of things just from a few examples without needing much practice. He didn't exactly remember how he learned either of his two first languages, considering that he was taught them since he was young, but he certainly didn't expect to have such ease in learning the third. He could now understand the structure of the sentences, which was similar to Russian and English, the two languages he knew. Perhaps it contributed to his quick rate of learning.

There were no exams, no quizzes, no questionnaires, nothing to test his knowledge in any way outside of listening to others and trying to understand what was being said. It was odd, to say the least. However, he wasn't complaining - everything was proceeding just fine the way it was. He couldn't speak, but Celestia was teaching him the pony version of a sign language - certain gestures performed with his head, ears, and front hooves. This was what he had more difficulty with, and he failed to grasp what the pattern of how words connected through those signs was, but it still proceeded well enough. 

Outside of language learning, Wild was very interested in the local swordsmanship club, and he often observed them, studying the way they moved and fought. Four legs certainly provided more stability, as well as more power, but it also meant striking just one limb would often be debilitating. On the other side, he and other unicorns didn't need to fear where their weapons went because their magic was unaffected by strikes, making it difficult to disarm them. Of course, earth ponies and pegasi had no such advantage - their muzzles as well as their harnesses could be struck. Unicorns had to be especially protective of their horns, as horns were rather delicate as far as withstanding weapon strikes went - a good blunt strike on the horn would disable their magic for a few precious seconds, making unicorns far more vulnerable. 

To Wild, it was clear he needed to learn both types of combat - with and without magic. This way, he would be ready for everything. Or he needed to become skillful enough to avoid any damage to his horn in the first place. Of course, he could always do both - nothing stopped him from spending extra time on his training aside from his own will, and he expected the training to be harsh. Many times, he saw ponies leaving the swordsmanship club completely exhausted, practically dragging themselves to rest. This, as far as he was concerned, was good - it meant the training wasn't just for show. He would certainly join them once he was ready.

One day, he walked up to the shooting range and watched how ponies used crossbows. The pony crossbows were almost the same as human ones, and they were shot from a sitting position by non-unicorns. They aimed by holding the end - a D-shaped handle like on the swords - with their maws, the front with one of their forehooves, and pulled a large trigger with their other forehoof. Undoubtedly, unicorns had it easier - they only had to use their telekinesis to hold and shoot the crossbow, allowing them to be mobile, while other pony tribes, no matter how quick they were, had to stop, especially to reload. Thankfully, there was a somewhat animal-shaped attachment one could use to pull the string of the crossbow back without as much effort as would otherwise be required if they tried to pull the string directly. Even unicorns found such a contraption useful. 

Wild decided to try his telekinesis at shooting a crossbow. He picked one up and, under a watchful gaze of an overseeing adult, pulled the string, then loaded the bolt, and aimed it at the target - a pony-shaped straw dummy with a target painted on it. Without proper sights, the former human could only align the length of the bolt in a straight line towards where he intended to hit, and then pull the trigger. The bolt shot forward, but slightly to the left, ending up impacting the dummy in the shoulder. An undoubtedly debilitating shot for an equine, yet it would have certainly glanced off if there was decent armor or get stuck before reaching the flesh if it was a simple gambeson - a jacket made of layers of cloth. The crossbow he was holding certainly didn't have enough power to penetrate anything above that kind of armor even at better angles.

Wild wondered whether he should try making guns. He was no gunsmith, but he had read many things about guns and how they work, and it wouldn't be too difficult to make something as straightforward as a muzzle-loader. But then, there was a question - should he bring such an invention to this world? He did enjoy shooting, but was it worth giving ponies a way to kill each other more efficiently? He didn't think so - he enjoyed the peace he experienced so far and hoped it would last. Technological limitations of pony warfare would probably dissuade them from becoming killers. After all, it was far easier to shoot someone than to stab or slash them - the latter was far bloodier and more traumatizing, more personal, and Wild thought ponies didn't really have it in them to do something like this as easily as humans did for thousands of years. Ponies looked way too... innocent, generally cheerful, and simply more pleasant to be around with. They had furs of all colors, making Wild wonder how they managed to survive this far without having any sort of camouflage to hide them in the wild. And their faces... they were so expressive, and also very pleasant to look at. They weren't the faces of predators, nor were they ugly flat faces of unpredictable and surprisingly violent humans. In some ways, ponies looked like cuddly toys for children, the notion which was reinforced by their positive day-to-day attitude Wild could clearly see.

After sending another bolt downrange, the former human thought that maybe he wasn't being tricked. He didn't know much about ponies just yet, so he reserved his suspicions, but he did have to admit that they seemed far more peaceful than humans. In the days he spent there in Equestria, he saw few conflicts arise between ponies, and they were solved quickly and peacefully. He hadn't seen a single fight, a single punch, a single spit in the face or even an angry shove. Back in his first life, he heard rumors of what happened at various orphanages, including abuses of magnitude he had no desire to describe. Various gang activity, abusive adults, and just plain poor living conditions seemed to be commonplace, although he had not once seen an orphanage. However, orphaned foals here were having fun and growing up well as if nothing was wrong at all.

Which left him puzzled - how could it happen so well? When there is power, someone will seek to abuse it for their own ends, always. When there is an incentive of profit over the well-being of others, it will be taken. Why didn't it happen here? He wasn't disappointed, of course, but merely confused - it all seemed way too perfect for his liking, and so he ended up wondering what kind of dark secret he would uncover sooner or later. 

His last bolt missed the target, and he noticed he was slightly shaking. He took a deep breath, then put the crossbow away. These thoughts reminded him of memories he would like to never touch again. For a moment, he sat in place, breathing deeply, pushing those memories down and away from himself. Soon, the invisible pressure on his mind eased, and he allowed himself to make a quiet, tired sigh. He decided to walk around and burn off that excess negativity still left in him. Maybe ponies were simply better and there was no abuse going on, at least he hoped so.

Unbeknownst to him, Celestia observed him from afar, and she was amazed - Wild managed to operate the crossbow on a good level despite likely never seeing it before. She didn't fail to notice the weird form of telekinesis he was using - his aura took the shape of a pair of hands instead of being formless. They also stayed visible without touching anything, which was even more surprising - unicorns almost always had their aura around an object they were manipulating, and very few could make their aura just hang in the air by itself even for a short amount of time. She wondered why exactly his aura was behaving this way - was it because he grew up around monkeys and apes? Some of them certainly lived in the Everfree and were known to be pretty intelligent and resourceful. However, Wild's movements were more precise as if he had done similar things before. It was certainly something to think about. 

So far, Wild had proven to be tame, contrary to his name and to the first time Celestia saw him. He kept to himself, never spoke, never attacked anyone, never even approached anyone. He avoided close contact and never approached ponies except to watch them from a distance. His face showed no emotions whatsoever most of the time, although Celestia knew he could feel and express them, such as when she first saw him - she saw fear, she saw panic, and she also saw anger in him. She wished she could learn more about him, but he either didn't understand or ignored her questions about him. Her sister was also unable to find anything about him, as she wasn't able to find his dreams.

Celestia wondered why he never spoke - he clearly had a certain understanding of speech, and he should also be physically capable of it. However, she had not once heard the sound of his voice, not even a single vowel. He certainly did hum to himself a couple times as well as chuckle, and these were the only intelligent vocalizations she had heard from him so far. Never once had he made an 'ah', 'oh', or 'uh'. In fact, he had never opened his mouth to vocalize anything. Clearly his facial structure wasn't the issue - he could eat and drink just fine. So, what was it instead?

The stallion continued to be as mysterious as ever, especially now that the princesses knew the Everfree Forest had no other ponies hiding anywhere. As far as evidence went, Wild appeared out of nowhere. No one had heard of him, no one had ever seen him, and the only trace of his existence were hoof marks in the dark soil of the Everfree, which disappeared in but a few days.

Just where did he come from?




Deep in the evening, Wild finished his usual routine of showering, brushing his teeth - now with the aid of an actual toothbrush - and going to bed. He lay on his stomach, his legs sprawling, and he breathed evenly as he recounted what happened during the day and slowly drifted off to sleep. For this entire week, neither regular dreams nor nightmares bothered him, allowing him to rest well and be full of energy the next day. He hadn't had such a peaceful week in what seemed like years, and he was glad he was able to rest without feeling like a wrung out rag the day after. His dark thoughts, his fears and anxieties, and his anger were kept at bay, for now. 

His body relaxed, and he felt the sleep coming. However, he also felt like he was flying, as if he was suddenly weightless. He opened his eyes and noticed that he was hovering above his body as it slept without him inside. He blinked in confusion, but his body remained still, certainly asleep. He looked around - it was his room just as he left it before going to sleep. The moon was quickly and steadily rising outside the window, and a light breeze let in fresh air through the slightly open window. The evening insects were chirping just outside, adding to the peaceful ambiance. 

Wild looked at himself and saw that he was nothing more than a black smoke-like cloud. The mirror on the wardrobe next to him showed the same, only he had two deep red ragged holes for eyes and no more defining features. The smoke comprising his 'body' swirled and wavered in an unseen wind, and his eyes were something different entirely. They were piercing, burning with bottled-up anger and hate, as well as fear and loathing. In them, he saw what he so tried to avoid thinking about - he saw himself, miserable and tired and angry. His life was nothing but fighting one battle after the other, dealing with disasters until his very end. He knew how it all began - his parents once fled a collapsing country, seeking better life elsewhere. As he knew, things did look up for a while, and his parents decided to have him. Perhaps there was a chance his life would be good, but little did his parents know how it would all turn out. 

Wild finally looked away from his own eyes, shaken by the experience, desiring to never gaze into them again. He knew how his life followed, he knew where and how it ended, and he knew every painful moment that led him there. He needed something else to think about.

Finally, there was a question - was he having an out of body experience? Last he heard, they were simple imaginations and weren't actually out of body. Despite his disturbing experience with looking into himself, he was Interested. If he had an out of body experience, maybe he could do something that would prove it to him once he woke up. At first, he tried to open the wardrobe while avoiding looking into the mirror. He failed as he couldn't grasp the handle, the tendril he made for his hand simply passed through, only giving him a faint tingling sensation. He frowned - or at least he thought he frowned - and tried to leave his room by opening the door. Likewise, he couldn't touch it, never mind open it. He inhaled deeply and then simply walked - or floated - through it. It was a strange experience - he got very close to the door, then there was darkness as he went through, then he was in the living room. He passed his head - or what he imagined his eyes were in - through the door multiple times at different speeds, and achieved confirmation - when his eyes were inside the door, he couldn't see anything, it was as black as it could be. If one of his eyes was covered by the door, it also didn't see anything. Being partially covered made that part black as well. It was somewhat disturbing, to say the least.

He heard someone whispering just outside his door. His body tensed - or at least he expected it to. He noted that the tension he felt was inside his mind and, on inspection, his actual body was still in the bed, relaxed, deeply asleep. Carefully, he made his way to the entrance door and effortlessly passed through it. There was no one on the outside, but something made him look up at the glass ceiling. The stars were twinkling, and the moon was now high in the sky. Some of the stars almost looked as if they were observing him, gazing at him with interest. He shivered mentally, then looked around more. There was not a pony in sight, and he reasoned everyone had to be in their beds by this time. Of course, presuming he was actually experiencing the outside world and not what his imagination painted in its stead.

He looked from the second floor to the first, wondering if he could simply phase through the glass and be fine. He tried, walking straight through it, and noticed that he didn't fall. As soon as he thought about going down, he did, and he quickly reached the floor without hitting it. It was as if someone carefully lowered him by ropes or wires attached to his body in a way that he wouldn't notice, but here was no such contraption - he did everything himself.

A whisper came from the hall leading further into the mansion. He wanted to investigate what it was, so he slowly followed, cautiously looking around as he went. He wasn't afraid of the dark, but he had that disturbing and persistent feeling of being watched, and he had no idea who they were or where they were watching from. It certainly wasn't Princess Celestia - he would've noticed her by then. She had improved her invisibility spell since he had first seen her use it, but her presence was still noticeable. This time, there was simply nothing but a faint yet certain feeling of... not quite danger, but he had to be wary. 

He made his way almost to the entrance of the hall before he saw a dark figure appear from around a corner - it was an alicorn judging by the shape he could see. The alicorn stopped upon noticing him, clearly surprised. For a moment, the two stood in silence, simply looking at each other. Beyond the general shape of the alicorn, Wild couldn't see anything that would define them, but he knew they weren't Princess Celestia - this alicorn was both shorter and smaller, and their mane flowed in a different way, as well as looked entirely different - it was a sea of stars instead of the different stripes of color. 

"Who are you?" a feminine voice asked.

In what seemed like an instant, he was lying awake in his bed, his heart beating loudly. Was it just a dream? He looked around - the room was just like he remembered in this dream. It wasn't enough for him to be certain about anything, but he felt like it wasn't a dream at all. In which case, he wondered, did he really just walk outside his own body? And if he did, who was there in the hall?

He didn't want to know, definitely not yet. This possibility simply scared him, and he wanted nothing more than the new day to come. He closed his eyes, pushed his thoughts away, and calmed his body. After a while, he was back asleep, this time without any adventures. 




On the first floor of the dormitories, Princess Luna stood, a look of puzzlement on her face. Her spell revealed no nightmare made real nor a rogue spirit - everyone was how they were supposed to be. Some foals were awake, many were asleep, but that was it.

Just who was there in front of her?
> Chapter 8: Discoveries
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the morning, Celestia and Luna were in a cabinet together as the alicorn of the night provided the short tale of her strange encounter during the night.

"I didn't get much of a good look at it, I'm afraid," she said in conclusion, "It definitely was a black cloud with two red eyes, but that is all that I can remember. It didn't take the shape of a pony or any other being that I know of. I also didn't feel any hostility from the spirit. However, its eyes... I only had a brief look into them before the spirit simply disappeared, and..." she took a sip of tea Celestia provided, "I'm not sure what to think. What I felt was... a hurricane of emotions, something I can't describe without looking into those eyes again," she sighed deeply, then slowly said, "Could it be one of the souls left behind after..."

"Definitely not," Celestia shook her head maybe just a bit too forcefully, not even letting Luna finish, "I've made sure all the souls passed away peacefully. There was not a single one left behind. This one is... from somewhere else, I feel."

"Could be," Luna nodded, taking another sip, "This also reminds me of... and I don't want to assume, but..."

"Do you think it's someone like Sombra?" Celestia spoke in a quiet tone.

"An umbrum, yes," the alicorn of the night nodded, a deep frown on her face, "However, I don't think that's the case here. The Crystal Empire is quite far away, even an umbrum wouldn't make its way here easily. And if it did, then why? It doesn't make sense..."

Both mares sat in silence for a while, deeply thinking about the predicament. 




Wild awoke early in the morning, not too long after the sunrise. For a long moment, he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling blankly, the events of the night still clear in his memory. He wondered why that was - he usually didn't remember his dreams. Or was it not a dream at all? 

Perhaps it didn't matter, at least not yet. He stood up from the bed and went through his usual morning routine. It was quite simple and made him feel good about himself. It was a routine that assured him he had a better life now, a life that seemed like it was worth living. Despite what he had experienced in his previous life, he was more and more drawn towards living the new one. It was not the fear of appearing in a yet another world if he tried to kill himself again, it was now a genuine interest in what the second world had to offer. Despite everything he had felt, he had to admit the new life held much promise, and he could see it clearly just one week into it. 

He walked out of his dorm, descended to the first floor, and proceeded to the cafeteria, just like he did all the previous days. Foals glanced at him as he passed, whispering between themselves, but he couldn't care less - as long as they didn't approach him, he would be fine. He didn't care much about them and didn't see why they would care about him. He didn't expect nor did he seek to make friends here - he didn't see how he could relate to other foals, especially the younger ones. They hadn't experienced life, they hadn't experienced hardships that he had. Not that he wished they did - he was glad they didn't, and he hoped it would stay this way. 

Wild made his way to the cafeteria, walked in, and froze at the entrance. At one of the adult tables, Celestia was sitting, and next to her was another alicorn, the very same one he had seen in what he thought was his dream. He stared at her for a moment before regaining his mind and continuing into the cafeteria and to the counter, doing his best not to glance at the alicorn too often. On the counter, a tray of food was waiting for him, just as it was supposed to be. He used his magic to grab it and then made his way to one of the corner tables where he sat down alone, the entirety of cafeteria open before his eyes. 

This day, breakfast had a couple fruit, a bowl of oatmeal sprinkled with chia seeds, a small plate of an arrangement of nuts, and a glass of oat milk. A healthy and delicious start of the day, as far as Wild was concerned. He was also glad there had never been any animal products - he was morally repulsed by them even when he was a human. He knew what went into them, he knew how much suffering they caused, and he chose to not support it anymore. However, before he appeared in Equestria, he never bothered to learn proper nutrition, so instead he punished himself with hunger. He convinced himself he deserved it, and so he slowly wasted away until he put an end to it by killing himself.

He sighed and focused on his food, trying to will his negative thoughts away. What was before didn't matter - he no longer contributed to such suffering, he was no longer part of that world. He was no longer a part of humanity, and he was glad about it. Even if his bad deeds were neither forgiven nor forgotten, he did better now, and it had to matter somewhat. He was now eating healthily and eating well, knowing no one needlessly died for his meals or, as far as he knew, for anything else this pony society made. It was a very welcome change, one he could only praise ponies for. To him, this one thing had already proven ponies to be better than humans.

As he ate, he couldn't help but glance in the direction of the second alicorn. He hadn't seen her before yesterday, and he wondered who she was and whether she knew the thing she saw yesterday night was him. If she knew, she didn't show it - there was not a glance in his direction from her for quite some time. However, it changed when Celestia mentioned him by his name - something he couldn't ignore. 

"Poor colt," Luna said to her sister, "Out there alone, growing up in that accursed forest... Undoubtedly it left its mark on him, and I'm not only talking about his scars. However, it also made him stronger, didn't it?"

"A poor compensation for a lifetime in that place," Celestia sighed, furrowing her brows, "The forest also made him... apprehensive of others. He hasn't yet tried to make any friends, he can't even speak. I'm not even sure whether he can't or he won't..."

The alicorn of the night glanced at Wild and noticed him staring at her. His expression and his eyes were both unreadable, and he didn't look away from Luna. He finished his glass of oat milk, all the while looking at her.

"His magic is certainly interesting," Luna commented, noting the hand-like appearance of Wild's aura that surrounded the glass, "And his eyes are... unsettling," she turned back to Celestia, "I've never seen anyone like him. And you say he has never tried to harm anyone?"

"Despite his... uniqueness, he has never done that indeed," the alicorn of the day nodded, "So far, he has only kept to himself. I think he expressed some interest in the martial arts club, as well as crossbows, but that is it. As long as no one comes too close to him, he is content to just stay out of everyone's way."

"Martial arts, you say? Interesting..." Luna scratched her chin with her magic, "Tell me, how well does he understand speech?"

"Simple sentences, nothing more so far," Celestia replied, "After all, it has been only a week. However, he's made quite a lot of progress, more than an average pony would be able to. He seems to be very intelligent for a Feral, certainly at least as intelligent as an average pony his age. What are you thinking about?"

"Have you tried to communicate with him using pictures?" the alicorn of the night wondered, "Maybe he would be willing to answer some questions that way."

"I've... not thought of that," Celestia admitted with a degree of shame in her voice, "Well then, let us try. It looks like Wild is finished with his meal, maybe he wouldn't mind us talking to him."

The two alicorns walked up to Wild who was watching them cautiously from his place. He stood up as they approached him, and the two stopped at a respectable distance. 

"I am Luna," the alicorn of the night gestured at herself, to which Wild nodded slowly, wondering what would come next. Did she know it was him that night? Then she summoned a picture portraying herself, Celestia, and Wild talking. Then she made it disappear and inclined her head, question in her eyes. The young unicorn realized what was going on and slowly nodded, then gestured to the exit and raised a brow. Luna smiled at him and turned to Celestia, "See? I knew it would work!"

"Let's go, then," the alicorn of the day said, and the three exited the cafeteria, heading to a more private location. The foals around the cafeteria whispered between themselves, following them with their eyes.

Wild didn't show it, but he was afraid of what the alicorns wanted to talk to him about. He knew - or at least he believed - they didn't intend him harm, but what would they do to him if he told them the entire truth about himself? Would they throw him back to the strange wolves made of wood, would they put him in prison, or would they simply kill him just in case? He knew he was not a good person - he had done enough to deserve a place in hell if it existed. Even if he hadn't done the things he did, he was still a human, and that meant he was dangerous, unfit to live in a peaceful society. He could justify his actions, he could bring up many reasons why what he did was right, but in the end he was nothing but a violent human. Even now, he desired violence, no matter how tame and controlled it would be. 

His expression twitched, but thankfully the alicorns didn't notice it. He knew he wouldn't be able to hide the truth forever, he knew he would have to face consequences for his past. He knew it and he hated it with deep passion, wishing he could be someone else, someone other than himself. Yet, he couldn't help but admit that he did feel good about what he had done in his past life. He didn't regret it, he would never be able to regret it. If it came to this, he would do the same thing all over again. However, it didn't absolve him of his responsibility to be better, and he failed, and he knew he would fail again. Yet, there was a chance he could become someone better now that he wasn't a human in body. 

The princesses and the young stallion picked a room and sat down. Luna first showed an image of Wild without scars, smaller, obviously younger, and in the Everfree Forest. The image then split - on one half, he was with two other ponies, adults, a mare and a stallion. In the other, he was all by himself, small and defenseless as he was.

Wild almost sighed to himself in relief - the alicorns had no idea who he actually was. They believed he grew up in that strange forest, and they wondered whether he had his parents by his side or someone abandoned him there all alone. They didn't even come close to the truth. The young stallion decided to shrug and shake his head, making the alicorns exchange worried glances. However, they chose to accept it - after all, he would likely be unable to remember his youth, be it because of how young he was or because he didn't want to remember it. 

However, it did raise a question - he understood pony body language to a degree. How had he learned it? Or was he replicating a familiar body language of some other being he had seen in the Everfree during his time there? 

Next picture was young Wild reading books in a castle inside the Everfree, and Luna looked at him questioningly. He shook his head - he believed it would be the right answer to give. However, it led to both alicorns looking surprised.  Was that castle famous or noticeable? Wild wondered whether he would know that place if he lived in that forest all his life.

Another picture was Wild looking at monkeys, then the picture shifted to his horn surrounded by a magical aura, and then at him forming hands with his magic. The young unicorn inclined his head in confusion, wondering what Luna meant. She repeated the sequence, now focusing on the hands of the monkeys. Then it finally came to him - perhaps she thought his magical aura being shaped and acting like hands was because he saw monkeys do things with their own hands. He decided to nod, knowing it was a simpler and still believable explanation, much more convenient than trying to explain the truth.

Celestia and Luna looked at each other - at least one mystery about the colt was unveiled, even if the rest remained obscured. It never crossed their mind that he was or could even be lying about it.

Luna showed him the last picture she had in mind - it depicted Wild how he looked now and an undefined pony fighting using swords. Then the alicorn looked at him with a question in her eyes. Before he could even think much, he nodded - he desired nothing more than to train again, to get into the routine of making himself stronger, faster, and more precise. The swordsmanship club he frequented - if not spent almost all of his free time at - when he was a human was a welcome refuge from the world around him. The feeling of a weapon in his hand, the rush of adrenaline with each strike, the feeling of satisfaction upon hitting his opponent or pain upon being hit himself, he needed them all. 

However, a question arose in his mind - once the alicorns saw how skilled he was, wouldn't it make them suspicious of him? He mentally shook his head - it didn't matter as long as he got to be in the fight again, fighting without any consequences other than bruises. He needed to feel it, he needed to be in it again.

The alicorns seemed to be surprised by his eager answer, but nevertheless thought of obliging it. It was no harm teaching him the art of combat as long as it was done under competent supervision.

"When's the next time the martial arts club gathers again?" Luna asked her sister.

"In around half an hour if I'm not mistaken," Celestia replied, "I'll go ahead and talk to Swift Strike to explain Wild, he would certainly need some help teaching him. Meanwhile, can you try to make Wild understand how it's going to go?"




Half an hour later, the martial arts club was gathered in their usual place, and Luna was observing them. Despite how late into the day she had stayed already, there wasn't any sleep in her eyes - on the contrary, she was quite excited to see how Wild would train. She quite enjoyed combat herself, and introducing someone else to it, someone who was as excited about it as she was, felt good.

"So, Wild," Swift Strike, a unicorn stallion in his late forties yet obviously still quite athletic, said, "First, you'll need to choose your weapon. We have enchanted crystals that will make the weapon whatever you want it to be - within realistic limitations. This weapon works only for training and won't ever be capable of hurting anyone."

Luna translated it into pictures for the young unicorn, who nodded in response. This explained how ponies trained without any protective equipment. He already knew what kind of weapon he would pick. He hadn't seen one here before, so he wondered how it would be received. Did such a weapon exist in the entire world? Its idea was certainly not hard to come by even randomly, but still.

Swift Strike gave Wild a simple white crystal and instructed him to pour magic into it while thinking of a weapon. Luna translated it, and then the young stallion produced a weapon that made both the trainer and the alicorn surprised - it was a sabre of a design that obviously suited a user who had hands. It had a curved blade, a crossguard with a knuckle guard, and a short handle capped with steel at the end. Wild was satisfied with how his favorite weapon - a Polish sabre - came out.


"An... unusual choice, but we can make it work," Swift Strike said slowly, "I've some experience with Saddle Arabian scimitars, this one seems close enough."

Meanwhile, Wild weighed the sabre in his magic. It seemed to have the perfect balance, the perfect length, and the perfect weight overall for what he wanted from a sabre that suited his style. He was quite eager to try it out in practice. He certainly needed to know where his skills were now after months of lack of practice. 

Wild thumped his chest with his hoof, gestured at Swift Strike, and then pointed the sabre at him in a clearly challenging matter.

"Do you... want to duel?" the older stallion replied, uncertain. After Luna translated his question, Wild nodded, to which Swift Strike said, "Very well, but don't feel bad when it ends swiftly."

The trainer had quite a few young hot-headed stallions come to him wanting to show off, and he was always glad to put them in their place or, on the rare occasion when they didn't make fools of themselves, offer both praise and criticism. He was fairly certain, from what he knew, Wild wouldn't last a second, but something told him it wouldn't be the case. He couldn't read the eyes of the young unicorn, but there was something interesting to them. 

The surrounding students made room for the two, forming a circle roughly seven meters in diameter - just enough for a duel. Some students were smirking, knowing full well what happened to most challengers. Others were simply interested, reserving their expectations. Luna herself was practically glowing with excitement - she expected things to go down in ways no one expected. 

Wild raised his sabre in a salute, and so did Swift Strike - the older stallion decided to go with a relatively short sword, an arming sword as far as human classification went. If he went with a sword-shield combo, he would probably give Wild no chance at all, and he did intend to see how well he did.

Swift Strike expected the fight to be over quickly - Wild's stance was quite off, he exposed more of his side than he needed to. His sabre was in the high position, the tip aiming backwards - it was an obvious tell of a top-down slash. The older stallion meanwhile had a more conservative stance, facing his opponent straight without exposing anything unnecessarily. His sword was tilted towards Wild in a middle stance, making it the most versatile in both defense and attack. 

Wild was ready, his grip on the sabre tight, yet not more than necessary. The shape of the handle allowed him to grasp it in his preferred way - a grip where his middle finger was more forward than the ring finger, and his index finger even more forward than the middle one. It allowed him to tilt the sabre slightly forward, making an obtuse angle between the straighter part of the blade and his imaginary forearm. Of course, he didn't even have arms anymore, but the techniques he knew required a point of reference, even if it wasn't real anymore. His second arm would then be on his side or relaxed, which he imagined it was, but in reality he simply willed the second hand away. 

Swift Strike lunged forward suddenly, hoping to end the fight quickly with a simple and direct thrust. Wild brought his sabre down in a slightly diagonal motion instead of the perfect vertical one, knocking Swift's sword down and to the side before it could reach him. Then the young unicorn followed it up with a diagonal down-left to up-right cut, hoping for a clear slash of the stallion's chest. The old stallion jumped back, his sword lightly colliding with the sabre to redirect it just enough that the edge of the latter wouldn't even touch his fur. 

Wild continued his attack, pressing forward with another wide yet quick slash. Swift Strike attempted to parry it and go in for a second thrust, but Wild deflected it by slapping the sword aside. The older stallion was impressed - his opponent was swift in his attacks despite being somewhat awkward in hoof movements. He would certainly have to work for his victory.

The fight continued for a slow minute as Wild pressed on aggressively with slashes while Swift Strike did his best to deflect or parry them, but the speed and the ferocity of Wild didn't let any of Swift's attacks through. If the fight continued for long enough, it would turn in favor of the one with better endurance, which would more likely than not be Wild. While Swift Strike was well-trained for his age and still relatively youthful, his older body came with certain limitations younger bodies didn't have. 

Wild, meanwhile, felt the older stallion's defense, and learned. Swift Strike was quick, and he attempted to go back on the offensive against Wild. However, the young unicorn knew precisely how many people did that, and he always countered without breaking his attacks. A deflect to the side, then immediate slash. Dipping the blade under his opponent's, a dodge to the side, thrust. Although he missed, he quickly made a swooping motion to distract his opponent and allow himself to retract the sabre in order to bring down yet another attack. 

It was perfect - among the beats of his heart and his quick breath, the burn growing in his muscles, and the feeling of sweat running down his body, he was truly alive. In the middle of a fight, in the thickest of the strikes, among the sparks that flew from the swords as they collided, he was himself to the fullest. There was nothing but fighting, he only needed to give in to it. And he did, embracing the adrenaline and the burn inside him so that he could strike even just one more time. 

Swift Strike was struggling, now maintaining a purely defensive position, not knowing when an opening would present itself. Despite Wild's constant aggression, the young stallion didn't neglect his defenses and, to the surprise of the trainer, managed to combine them with his attacks. A deflection grew into a slash, a block into a thrust. There was not a single moment Wild was forced to defend without advancing even by a little bit. He fought with the speed and ferocity Swift Strike didn't expect from the reportedly untrained unicorn.

The fight ended suddenly for everyone involved. Swift Strike went for another thrust, but Wild expected it and went down, making his entire body collapse in a controllable manner below the line of the thrust. All the while, he propelled his sabre forward for his own thrust. The blade went past his opponent's sword and connected with the center of Swift Strike's chest. 

The older stallion looked surprised as he lowered his sword and stepped back. Wild gathered his hooves underneath him and then stood up, lowering his blade as well.

The students and the princess were silent, surprised by the outcome as much as the trainer was. 

"You have given me a run for my money, I have to admit that," Swift Strike said, breathing loudly, his heart still beating fast, "Congratulations on your victory, young stallion."

Wild slightly bowed in response - it was a respectful thing to do at the end of a duel. He was winded as well, but not as much as Swift Strike appeared to be. 

"Your technique with the blade is quite good," the trainer continued, "You are quick and precise, you react very well. However, your technique is also rigid, not as creative as it should be. Your stance and hoof work could certainly use some improvement. But overall? You're quite good. You're very good."

Internally, Swift Strike had to admit he underestimated his opponent and thus wasn't mentally ready for such an assault. He was caught by surprise and never allowed to recover. He noted that for himself - he certainly had more to learn from this experience.

Luna translated what the trainer said as best she could to Wild, who nodded in turn, his expression as neutral as it was during the duel. However, on the inside, he was excited - he felt this duel on a deep emotional level. He didn't know if anyone noticed, but he was shaking and shivering with the energy it gave him, he was positively ecstatic to his very core. A part of him told him it wasn't good, it told him he shouldn't feel this way about fighting anyone, seriously or not. However, he didn't care - he felt good about this, and he couldn't deny one thing - it was what he wanted.

"Alright, everyone, you know what to do," the trainer spoke loudly, "The exciting part is over, sorry."

Unbeknownst to everyone, Celestia was watching the entire thing unfold from one of the mansion's windows. A deep frown was present on her face, her eyes on Wild. How could he fight so well with a scimitar, a traditional weapon of Saddle Arabians, when he came from the Everfree? And his techniques were quite clearly minotaurian in origin. Such an unusual combination for any pony, but much more so for someone who came from the Everfree and hadn't had any track record of existence, let alone travels to foreign countries. It didn't take much to put two and two together and figure out that something didn't make much if any sense at all. 

Wild undeniably had some sort of training, considering that he had no talent mark, and neither did one appear on his flank during or after the duel. If it wasn't magical talent, then it had to be extensive training of at least a few years. However, there wasn't a single being providing that training in the Everfree. There was wildlife with jaws and claws, but never someone who could fight with artificial, forged weapons. 

Once more, she was unsure of what to think of the mysterious young stallion.
> Chapter 9: Training
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild was ecstatic - it was finally time to resume his training, to hone his skills, and to learn new techniques. Ever since he was forced to deal with what he didn't wish to think of ever again, he desired nothing more but to return to the routine he knew and liked. Now was his chance to do it, and he gladly took it.

Despite the fight having him warmed up and ready for training, he didn't miss the chance to jog along with the other students, keeping a reasonable distance behind all of them, but never allowing them to be ahead of him too much. Then, without a pause, there were jumps. He didn't do them all that well, but he hadn't fallen once, which was good already. The warm-up continued with jumping from side to side while moving forward, which proved to be even more difficult but still manageable. Then he had to walk some distance in a half-squat, which seemed pretty awkward for an equine. 

After the warm-up, Swift Strike divided everyone into pairs, and Wild went with an earth pony stallion of roughly the same age to practice proper distancing. With the help of Luna, the trainer explained everything to the young unicorn, and the training continued.

Wild's undivided attention was on his opponent. Neither were allowed to attack, so they stared at each other, moving in unison, closing or going farther away. The young unicorn trained his eyes on the earth pony's hoof movements as well as on his eyes. Quite a few times, he caught a move before it even happened and reacted accordingly. Meanwhile, Princess Luna was watching him, wondering if she would ever cross blades with him in the future. She saw much potential in the young unicorn and, given the chance, would also like to train him personally. Unlike her sister the diplomat, she was more of a warrior herself and knew quite a lot about combat, and in Wild, she saw the possibility to pass on her knowledge to a worthy pony, to continue the tradition of rigorous training, perfect form, sharp skills, and excellent techniques. He was clearly dedicated to this and didn't simply pick combat as a way to alleviate boredom.

Wild bumped his rear against one of the students, and a painful memory flashed before his eyes, making him stumble and almost fall. His heart beat faster, his breath became panicked, and his eyes opened wide. His partner stepped back, unsure of what to do. The young unicorn swiftly turned around, facing the one who bumped into him.

"I'm... sorry..." the pony said slowly, reeling away slightly from Wild, seeing his frightening expression. His pupils shrunk to pinpricks, his face was pale, and his ears were back, and beads of sweat could be seen on his forehead. He breathed loudly through his nose, holding himself from either running or fighting the pony.

Luna frowned, standing up, ready to intervene if needed. Swift Strike noticed the situation and was on his way.

Wild looked around, the haze in his head now gone. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm his nerves. What happened before didn't matter. That memory was just a memory. The pony who bumped into him didn't wish to harm him. There was nothing wrong. 

The young unicorn turned back to his partner, shook his head slightly, and assumed the fighting position. His eyes were back to normal, his breathing stabilized, yet there was still cold sweat on him. The earth pony nodded with uncertainty, and the training resumed as normal, but Swift Strike excused himself to go talk to the lunar alicorn.

"I have seen it too," Luna said before he could speak, a deep frown on her face, "I'm afraid to think about what it could be."

"Is it a good idea to have him train with others?" the stallion asked, "I wouldn't want him to hurt anyone."

"He took a hold of himself in time," the alicorn noted, "His behavior is... troublesome, but I think he'll manage. If anything happens, I will be there to break it up."

"If you think so, Your Highness," Swift Strike nodded, "But he won't be coming here again if his behavior causes issues for the rest of the students. Hot-heads aren't welcome here."

"I don't believe it's the issue of being hot-headed," Luna disagreed, "I will have to find out if anything's wrong after the training is finished."

"Is it something more serious than that?" the eyebrows of the stallion rose, "That is out of my expertise, so I'll trust you on that, Your Majesty."

From then on, the training continued as it should. Wild moved on to practicing attacks, and Swift Strikes helped him see unusual by human standards angles of attacks. The young unicorn immediately had trouble with them, always wishing to default to what he knew. However, the trainer insisted he learned the more difficult path instead, and Wild did agree - it was simply the matter of being used to it. One of the new attacks was faking a side strike only to switch sides and, in the case of the sabre, to switch edge direction all in one go without overswinging. With a regular human body, it would be an awkward attack at best, but telekinesis was not limited in the way human arms were. Then there was the same kind of attack but changing downwards to upwards cutting motion along with edge alignment. It was far quicker with telekinesis than attempting to do it with arms. Undoubtedly, Wild would learn many new techniques just by virtue of being a unicorn. 

His edge alignment proved to be good, and the dummies lit up green most of the time. However, it deteriorated quickly when he tried one of the newer attacks, so he had to focus on them in order to improve. One hit after another, he worked out a comfortably rhythm, and his entire mind was focused on correcting his mistakes and making sure he achieved good edge alignment. With time, he would be proficient with it, he knew, as long as he put enough effort into it.

After the attack section was finished, blocking practice came. Swift Strike paired himself with the young unicorn and tested him with the same attacks he had shown him just before. Wild was quick at blocking them, albeit he was slower than would be ideal. If Swift Strike simply ramped up the speed of those attacks, Wild would eventually be unable to keep up. The older stallion noted that for the future - perhaps his duel with the new student would've turned out differently if he thought of this during it. However, now it wasn't the time to take advantage of it - he was there to teach, to pass on his knowledge. 

Then Swift Strike allowed Wild to attack as well in low intensity just to help him see how an experienced live opponent would react to attacks. The young unicorn was already trying to incorporate the new attacks, but they were somewhat slow and imprecise compared to his usual strikes. The trainer corrected him when necessary, and the two continued for a time.

Finally, it was time for dueling. Wild was paired with an earth pony he partnered with during distancing practice. The weapon of choice for the earth pony was a spear. The young unicorn went with his sabre again, expecting this duel to be somewhat difficult. A spear had mass, agility, and reach on its side, easily able to swat away a one-handed sword. However, a spear was only threatening as long as Wild didn't manage to go past the point. By then, he could wrestle the spear away or endure being hit with the wooden shaft until he could strike with his sabre.

The duel began, and the earth pony immediately moved forward, angling the spear appropriately. He attempted a quick thrust, but Wild jumped back and to the side, his own weapon raised to deflect. The earth pony continued his advance and attempted another stab, aiming for the neck. Wild duck and propelled himself forward past the spear tip. He used his telekinesis to grasp the pole of the spear and push it away, opening up the earth stallion for a strike. A quick slash to the neck ended this duel.

"You were too eager," Swift Strike commented, addressing the earth pony, "Yes, you do have a superior reach, but Wild is quite nimble and he used your own enthusiasm against you. You overreached and he exploited that to get in close where none of your attacks would be effective. You couldn't step back in time."

The earth pony nodded, accepting the criticism. 

"Wild, you've done well," the trainer addressed the young unicorn now, "However, a more experienced opponent would know to keep their distance. Don't take this victory as a sign of spears not being dangerous to you."

Luna was quick to translate Swift Strike's sentences into what Wild could understand, and the young unicorn nodded. He knew not to underestimate his opponents, and he agreed with the trainer wholeheartedly. He would like to point out that he simply exploited what he saw, but he could not explain it with words or pictures if he tried.

After a few duels, Wild was up against a pegasus filly a year or so younger than him. Her weapon of choice was a pair of clawed hoofguards on the front hooves as well as a sword with a D-shaped handle as a backup. However, she also had a few narrow weighted daggers strapped on her chest within the easy reach of her muzzle. The duel began with her immediately taking off. 

At first, Wild was unsure of what to do - he wouldn't dare throw his weapon at her, expecting he would miss and then would also be left without any means to defend himself. However, he couldn't reach her with it any other way. Her head then quickly moved, and a dagger flew down at the young unicorn. He jumped aside, avoiding being impacted in the head. Another dagger flew close by, narrowly missing the side of his ribcage. The third dagger was close as well, but he thought quickly and snatched it out of the air and threw it back at the pegasus. Unexpectedly, he didn't miss, hitting her right in the chest. He was never a good knife thrower, so he was genuinely surprised he hit a good spot. At that point, the duel ended, and the filly landed.

"You should've moved quicker and more unpredictably," Swift Strike told her, "You should also continue working on the precision of your throws. Narrowly missing is still, unfortunately, missing."

The filly nodded, although she obviously wasn't too happy about losing, but decided to keep it to herself. After all, it was a fair loss.

"You managed to hit her, but I'm unsure whether it's a lucky shot or a skill," Swift Strike told Wild, "You should practice knife throwing. Against a pegasus, it is rather difficult - the air from their wings can easily disrupt such throws. You managed to throw the knife at the time when they wouldn't, which is good, but don't expect to be lucky every time. Catching the knives mid-air is good as long as you have the reaction for it, you should train it as well. And lastly, a pegasus' knife bombardment can be nullified by having a shield."

Wild nodded after Luna made a translation. He knew shields were tremendously useful even if they didn't quite fit his style. Maybe getting a buckler - a small-diameter shield - would make sense. It wouldn't cover much of his body, but it would be good for deflecting strikes and missiles both. However, could he possibly do it with telekinesis? Obviously, he already managed to catch a knife mid-air. Perhaps he would be able to use his magic to act as a shield as well. He needed to look into it.

He ended up on the side of observation for the rest of the dueling practice. He decided to focus his attention on the pegasi - they employed unorthodox - by his standards - tactics, and learning how to counter them was paramount. Obviously, aiming for the wings was the right way to go, considering it would be difficult to armor them without limiting their mobility. Pegasi, being the flying creatures that they are, obviously would armor their underside whenever possible, so in a real fight, damaging that area would be difficult even if one managed to hit them.

After the end of the dueling practice, the training ended as well, and the tired ponies began to trickle back into the mansion. Wild found out he could simply stick his sabre to his side, and a scabbard appeared right on it, giving him the appropriate feel. It had two points of contact with his body: first, it was a lambda-shaped belt harness wrapping around his chest, going over both of his shoulders, and connecting in the middle of his chest. The second was a much simpler belt wrapped around his midsection. The young stallion knew it was all a magical illusion, but it felt quite real. 

Princess Luna approached him, making him tense up.

"Do you want to talk about this?" she asked, visualizing what she meant. Wild simply shook his head and went past her.

He decided to go for a jog around the entire orphanage grounds to unwind himself and expend the rest of his energy. Another reason for that was one he attempted to push down - he needed to forget the resurfaced memory. Perhaps, if he was tired enough, he wouldn't have the energy to think about it, and so everything would continue as it should've been. 




Princesses Celestia and Luna met again in the cabinet. The lunar alicorn told her sister what happened during training. 

"It's the second time something like this happened," Celestia said, and Luna nodded, both knowing what happened when the former first met Wild, "I'm still unsure what to think... Why is he so averse to the touch of others? Plenty of animals do avoid being touched unless they trust you, but they operate on instincts, not intelligent thought. Wild had already demonstrated a tremendous potential when it comes to the latter, so I'm unsure why he would continue to display the same aversion he had during our first meeting."

"I believe he is simply not telling us the whole story," Luna said, "His story is... strange. He claims to have never been to our old castle. If he spent his entire life in the Everfree, he would've visited it at least once. And... there is one more thing."

The alicorn paused for a moment, deep in thought. 

"On the night of my return..." she worded carefully, for the memory still stung her, "I do not remember sensing Wild's presence anywhere in the Everfree. If I did, I would have... used him to my advantage."

"Do you think he's lying, then?" Celestia asked, frowning.

"Indeed, but..." Luna looked uncomfortable for a moment, "I feel like this isn't a lie done in malice, but one he made to, perhaps, protect himself. Perhaps he lied not to trick or fool us but because he simply doesn't trust us with the truth. Maybe he believes we will harm him if he says what really happened to him. I... cannot say I blame him if that's the case. No pony ends up in the Everfree by accident, and he could have very well gone there deliberately."

"I'm afraid to think of what happened to him to make him go there..." Celestia said in a quiet voice, her ears drooping.

"It hurts me just as much, my sister," the lunar alicorn nodded, "He is so young, yet he found himself in such a situation. I'm glad he was found when he was. Maybe he can be helped now that we know something is wrong."

Celestia agreed, and the two continued their discussion about who he could be and where he came from. The search for his parents continued, yet absolutely nothing came out of it to this day. No one had ever seen Wild before, although the princesses did have to visit a few ponies who looked close to him and could be his relatives. However, every such lead was a dead end. No inconsistent stories, no lies, nothing that would prompt the princesses to believe any of those ponies had anything to do with Wild.

If there was something, it was hidden deep and hidden well.
> Chapter 10: Fears
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having lost count of how many laps Wild had galloped trying to forget the unfortunate incident, he only realized how much time had passed when his stomach growled in protest. He practically dragged himself to the cafeteria, ate everything he could and then extra, and finally went to his dorm. He softly closed the door behind him and went straight to the bathroom, feeling sticky from all the sweat on his body. He turned on the shower, lowered the temperature, and stepped into the bathtub. He sighed shakily and shivered as cool water cascaded down on him, washing all the dirt and the sweat away along with his thoughts. There was the pleasant noise of the rushing water, the feeling of it streaming down his body, and he didn't want to leave. Despite how his legs buzzed with tiredness, how his head felt heavy, and his lungs felt slightly raw, he stood in the shower for a solid half an hour before finally turning it off and picking up a towel to dry himself off. 

Wild looked in the mirror and saw a tired young unicorn before himself. He knew it was himself, but now nothing remained from his past life but the memories and the scars. Oh how he wished he could simply get rid of all of them, to erase the scars and remove the memories. Perhaps he would be a happy young stallion, growing up among others into functioning and happy adults. Just another colorful spot among many. However, it was not to be, and he knew it. What was done to him and what he had done could not be erased as easily as dirt could be washed off his body.

The former human stumbled to his bedroom and flopped onto his bed. Sleep took him the very moment his head hit the pillow.

The moon rose high above the land as Wild slept quietly. The soothing pale light washed over him, loosening the tension in his body, easing his mind. The night wind blew softly, offering its fresh air to him. But the stars... they were different. From outside the window, they watched him with a predatory gaze. They shone brightly as spots in the sky, but their light was cold and distant. A cold gust of wind blew into the room, making the young unicorn shiver. Through the opening, a barely visible trail of dark-blue smoke seeped through. It dripped from the wall, forming a puddle on the floor, and then slithered across it to the sleeping pony. It rose and latched onto his bed, slowly pulling itself up and on top of it. The young unicorn frowned and turned on his other side. The dark tendrils entered his mind, and a dream came.

A dark forest surrounded him, a smell of decay and rot penetrating the stale air around the twisted trees and withered grass. A gray mist lay motionless below, unmoving without the wind. The air was silent and cold, yet there was neither snow nor rain. The clouds were gray, forming one huge mass blotting out the sky, making the sun look vague, blurry, and dim. Skeletons of various creatures hid among the dried brown and black leaves on the forest floor, dully glistening under the sharp sunlight. A human, pale and naked, stood among the death, clutching a backpack in his thin arms. His breath was slow, yet loud. A tremble went through his body as his ears picked up sounds that weren't there. Far from him, the sound of a fire could now be heard as it consumed whatever was burning. Dark smoke rose behind him, filling the skies with blackness.

He knew he needed to move, he knew he needed to run, and he knew he couldn't afford to lose the backpack. And so he moved forward, leaves and bones alike crunching under his feet. The cracks were loud, making him shudder with every step, making him feel like someone was beginning to notice him. He picked up the pace, knowing he must not go back. 

A deep sound resonated throughout the dead forest - he was noticed. The dark smoke swirled and flowed in a non-existent wind, outstretching its black tendrils towards him, wanting nothing more than to capture him and drag him back. 
His very being belonged to it, his very soul couldn't escape from it. The resistance was futile.

Yet he continued on, breathing frantically as he stumbled on the roots, trying his best to move as quickly as possible, the grip on his backpack like vice. There lay the instrument of his salvation if he could only reach the right place. It was there in front of him behind the trees, ever-distant and ever-present, making him promises he desperately wished to be true. But with every step he took, those promises seemed to never become any closer, remaining just beyond his reach. He ignored the pain, ignored the cold, knowing that his only chance was there in front of him if he could only reach it. If he got there, it wouldn't matter anymore, and he would escape.

Tendrils of darkness suddenly grabbed him by the ankles, yanking him with tremendous force, making him smack his head against the ground, disorienting him. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, seeing his goal right in front of him. He pierced the ground with his fingers, holding on for dear life, trying to drag himself forward even when he felt the tendrils vigorously shake him like a wolf would do to its prey. He screamed loudly now, frantically pulling himself forward, yet it was all in vain. With one final tug, his fingers let go of the ground, and he was dragged back into darkness.

Wild's eyes opened. He was in his room - it was deep in the night, and only the moon provided light through his windows. The young unicorn was lying on his back as his eyes darted around his room. A shadow was standing near the doorway. He tried to move, but was startled when he couldn't. Only his eyes obeyed, but the rest of his body remained still.

"There you are," the shadow said in English, in a voice Wild painfully remembered. Panic-stricken, he desperately wished to move or even just activate his magic, but he couldn't. The menacing shadow slowly morphed into a vague human figure with piercing hazel eyes, the eyes Wild knew and hated and feared with all his soul. Unable to move, he was forced to watch as the figure casually walked up to his bed. 

"I remember you, little bitch," it hissed, getting on top of Wild's chest and sitting down on it, "It's time for you to fucking die."

His hands reached out and wrapped around Wild's throat, who was still unable to move. Panic completely overtook him as he couldn't breathe, and nothing he could think of worked. His body remained still, motionless save for his horrified, tear-filled eyes. 

"Can't move, huh?" the shape gloated at him, strengthening its grip around his neck, squeezing ever harder, "Struggling to breathe there?"

Wild's vision darkened, and he realized it may be his end, and this time it would be long and painful. There would be no third chance - it was time to pay for all he had done to others whether they deserved it or not. He would be dragged down to them, and there would be nothing but agony and infinite regret. All he had done would be laid bare in front of him, and he would have to answer to it all. Even if he could justify what he did and why, did it matter? He would only become as bad as them. His lungs burned, begging for air, yet he couldn't even open his mouth, let alone kick off the one who had caused him so much pain.

"Begone," a different, female, voice spoke, and the shape simply vanished from sight. In the doorway, an alicorn was standing, "Wake up."

With a raspy inhale, Wild jumped in his bed and rolled off, hitting the floor painfully as he fell. Panicked still, he got on his hooves, discharging a bolt of magic at the alicorn, hitting her and sending her flying back through the doorway. Then the former human fully opened the window and jumped out, a yell following him. The fall seemed to last forever, but he hit the ground not feeling anything but pure terror. He got up and galloped, breathing heard, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest. He didn't see where he was going, yet he galloped with all the energy he had, feeling his muscles and chest burn in protest. He stumbled once, losing momentum, but quickly recovered and built his speed back up.

Exhaustion kicked in when he was nearly at the gates of the orphanage, and he rolled on the ground, bruising his body further. He inhaled sharply and then coughed heavily and painfully as he chocked on his own saliva. Tears welled up in his eyes, making his surroundings blurry, and he coughed on and on until he couldn't anymore. Then he lay there on the ground, breathing shakily, crying. He wanted nothing more but to wake up and realize it was all a dream soon to be forgotten. He wanted to wake up and see that he was never a human, merely a pony who had a nightmare. Yet he knew it was in vain, for he was still himself, and it didn't matter what his wishes were.

"Wild?" a voice came to him, making him raise his head. He blinked his eyes, getting the tears out of the way, and finally saw Princess Luna walking to him.

A choked sob escaped his maw as he let his head back down on the ground. In this moment, he wanted to tell her how he felt, how hurt he was, and how much he just wanted to be normal, to be like those around him. Yet no words came out of his mouth no matter how many times he opened it, and only sobs followed. He didn't care what would happen to him afterwards, he just needed to let it all out, even if it meant his death. But he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried to speak, he couldn't utter a single syllable. 

He slowly rose up from the ground, tears streaming down his dirty face. The pain now came - his entire body was a big bruise, emanating a dull ache. He subconsciously noted that he managed to not break any of his bones when he jumped out, but it still hurt. He raised his head again and looked at the alicorn, believing he looked pathetic and would earn nothing but disregard or irritation from her.

"It was just a nightmare," she said softly, taking an uncertain step forward. 

At first, Wild immediately growled at her, but then his body shook as more tears rolled down his face and dripped on the ground, his growl dying into a sob. She didn't want to hurt him, he knew. She simply wanted to help him. There was no threat in her eyes, there was no gloating or taunting. She stood there for him.

He raised his hoof to step forward, but didn't. He trembled and shivered, fighting against himself. Luna didn't know what to say as she watched him slowly and painfully making the first step. Then another came, easier just a little bit. He stopped, still breathing heavily.

He couldn't do it. Maybe she cared about him, but he didn't deserve it, he hadn't earned her kindness and never would. What he had experienced, all this pain he felt, that was what he deserved. He simply needed to endure it until he was strong enough to overcome it by himself. What he felt was his to bear, he could never push this burden onto others. 

Even if Luna cared, he didn't trust her. She had just helped him, he knew, yet he couldn't trust her even if he wanted to. She didn't know him, he didn't know her - there wasn't a reason for her to help him. And if he let her, undoubtedly she would later use it against him. She would know his weaknesses, and she would know how to exploit them. She would know who and what he was, and she would be repulsed. Even if she cared, she wouldn't after she learned about him, he was sure. 

And this was precisely the treatment he deserved.

Wild turned away from the alicorn and made his way past her, limping slightly as his legs ached in pain. 

"Wild," Luna called him, making him stop and turn his head to her, "I will protect you from the nightmares," she promised, visualizing it with pictures as she did. 

He understood her message but offered no reply. He shuffled on his hooves and continued on his way back, his head hung low. 

He deserved this pain.
> Chapter 11: Consequences
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild lay in his bed, pain being his only companion. His body ached, his mind was rife with dark thoughts swirling like leaves in the storm. Perhaps he got a few hours of restless sleep, perhaps he was awake the entire time, he didn't know. Regardless, he felt just as tired when he stirred and opened his eyes at noon. He suppressed a groan of pain, feeling like his body was one all-encompassing bruise. He knew nothing was broken and nothing was sprained, yet it hurt more than he thought it would. 

He rolled around on his bed, refusing to get up. He still longed for the rest he knew he wouldn't get anytime soon, but most of all, he dreaded seeing Luna again. He had shown her his weakness, she had seen more than she should have, and it was all his fault. How could he deal with it now? Undoubtedly, there would be questions, there would be suspicion, and he would be in the very center of it. He didn't expect it to be simply let go. These thoughts bothered him for hours as he went through them time and time again, his fear growing each time this circle started anew. 

However, he needed to continue - there was nothing to be done now other than to accept what happened and move on. No matter how he felt, the world wasn't waiting for him to catch up. So, he dragged himself out of bed, stumbled his way to the bathroom, and plopped into the tub. He turned the water on and adjusted the temperature to be cold, yet still tolerable enough. With his mind empty, he sat there under the shower for a long while. He felt the cold water cascade over his body, he felt his thick mane clinging to his head and neck, and he felt relief. No matter how temporary it was, he felt better. Finally, he stood up, turned off the water, and grabbed a towel to dry himself off. 

He got out of the tub and looked at himself through the mirror. His posture was slumped, his eyes were tired, and he could see small wounds under his fur - no doubt he got them when he mindlessly, foolishly jumped out of a window. Thankfully, they had closed some time ago and would, in time, heal and leave not a trace. But for now, they would act as a reminder of his fears and of his idiocy. He knew he should've controlled himself, it was all nothing but a nightmare. He knew what it was - sleep paralysis. It was nothing more than his mind being weird, nothing more than his imagination going wild. He knew he wasn't alright, he knew there was much wrong with him, and he knew he should have expected it. 

The former human sighed heavily and turned away from the mirror. He showed weakness, and now he was paying for it. He lost control and had hurt himself and allowed this hurt to be seen. And now, he dreaded to think what Luna would do to him. He remembered her promise, yet he couldn't help but doubt it. His show of weakness would only lead to people exploiting him for their own ends. That was always what happened to different people throughout history. If you are seen doing something that portrays you as weak, you are either crushed or used, no alternative.

With fear on his weary mind, he exited the bathroom and stood in front of the door to the hall. He debated whether he should go out or stay and hide. He shook his head - of course he needed to go out. He must not show further weakness if he could help it, and hiding from others would confirm just how powerless he was. However, he wasn't powerless, he wasn't weak. A slip of judgement was just that, a slip. He could fix it.

He opened the door and, as casually as he could, exited his dorm. He looked around and considered all the foals in the hall - none of them paid him any mind. He sighed internally in relief - what happened at night remained unknown to them. When they looked at him, they quickly averted their gaze, knowing who he was. None approached him, none talked to him, just as he would want it. Some would call it isolating, but Wild didn't care - he was more than fine with things going this way. He had to admit it might have felt a little lonely, but nothing beyond that. He was better off this way anyway.

He made his way downstairs, then through the hallways and into the cafeteria. He spotted Luna immediately and did his best to avoid looking at her afterwards. She was sitting with her back to the entrance, enjoying her food. However, the young unicorn had to note Celestia was absent. It likely meant Luna would be his language teacher for this day, at the very least. And he dreaded it - he expected her to ask questions, to pry into who he was and why he was having those nightmares. After all, he knew dreams were the expression of his inner self, of his subconsciousness, an amalgamation of his experiences, hopes, and fears, all mixed together and then placed before him, all for him to see. And in this magical land, dreams could reveal even more, or so he thought. Thus, he reasoned it would be for the best never to reveal what he dreamed of, be it pleasant, neutral, or a nightmare. Not that it would help much - he remembered how Luna banished the form his sleep paralysis summoned. He couldn't ignore this - it meant she had some degree of control over others' dreams. He feared to think of what it implied.

Wild picked up the tray of food and made his way to the corner of the room, his usual sitting place. He felt Luna glancing and then holding her gaze on him, but he pretended not to notice. He sat down and slowly ate his food, not feeling the appetite. About halfway through his meal, he saw Luna stand up and head his way. He tensed up, his heart skipped a beat. Her every step echoed inside his head as he waited, anxious, yet forced himself to remain visibly calm - not a hint of an expression showed on his face. 

"Hello, Wild," she greeted him in a gentle voice as she sat down far enough from him to give the space he needed, "Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday night?"

Wild recognized the words even without Luna making images, and he shook his head, perhaps a bit too forcefully. This gentle voice couldn't fool him, he thought. He must be on his guard all the time, especially when a princess approached him. Royalty was something he would like to see purged from the world. Perhaps Celestia was kind to him, perhaps Luna was the same, but he knew there had to be more to it, he refused to accept that it was all there was to it. And now, he knew she was digging for information, and the goal was clear - to blackmail him, to hurt him if he ever acted against her.

"Very well," she accepted, surprising him, his eyebrows rising a bit. However, internally, he was far more confused - was this truly all? Was she willing to just let it go? He didn't have the time to think more of it when she continued, "My sister - Celestia - is away at Canterlot for the week, and she told me you've been learning our language from her."

He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on her. Once again, he knew enough of the words to understand her. However, he wasn't quite sure where some of this understanding came from. He had a weird feeling about it.

"If you're up for it, I'll teach you during this week," Luna offered, her voice remaining gentle. After a moment of thought, Wild nodded once more despite the suspicions he had, "Alright, then I'll meet you in the usual room once you're ready."

Wild nodded one more time, and Luna stood up, a brief look of what he thought was disappointment on her face. The former human knew what it meant - she certainly wanted to know more about him. He wasn't going to let her - she knew enough as is to make his life worse. He wasn't about to add to it if he could help it. He would emerge victorious in the battle of mind, he wouldn't let her manipulate him into giving her the rope for his hanging.

He finished his food, carried the tray and the empty plates away, and then made his way out of the cafeteria, feeling pleasantly full. It wasn't much to lift his mood, but it gave him energy to proceed with the day. He knew he needed it.

"Over here."

He swiftly turned around and stared at where he thought the voice came from. However, there was no one. He could still hear the noise from the cafeteria in the background, but this voice was clear. So clear, in fact, that he expected to see whom it belonged to right behind him. Yet there was no one. He heard a faint laughter travel through the hall, directionless. He shuddered - was he going insane now? His face morphed into an ugly and angry expression - he wouldn't allow this. He couldn't, he mustn't. He was not losing his mind. Despite all that had happened - and he felt an almost physical pain in his chest - his mind remained clear, it had to. If he was to survive, he needed to think logically, he needed to be reasonable, and he needed to be in control of himself. No matter what the world threw at him, he must prevail. 

He made a few deep breaths to calm himself down, his face smoothed into a neutral, emotionless expression he wore like a mask. There was no reason for him to panic. Perhaps someone was playing a prank on him - he knew invisibility existed. However, he didn't notice any faint outline or shimmer to show someone hiding. Maybe they were better at it? It was a reasonable explanation.

He shook his head - there was little use thinking of such things.




Despite his anxiety and fear, Luna refrained from asking Wild any questions about that night. Instead, it proceeded as usual with him learning the language. He continued to be silent, yet he now knew how to use gestures to communicate with others. As simplistic as his knowledge was, it would help him, especially now that he could formulate questions. Luna and he had a productive lesson that spanned straight to the sunset, at which point the two separated, and Wild went for a jog around the orphanage despite the soreness he still felt in his body.

Luna followed him with her eyes until he disappeared from her view. Wild was indeed an interesting person, she thought now that she talked to him personally and in-depth. Well, as deep as it could be, considering his unwillingness to talk about himself. She carefully avoided reminding him of the night before, sensing it would upset or anger him. It was best she kept it to herself until - or if - he talked with her about it. She didn't think it would be anytime soon, however - Wild was clearly on his guard, not letting others anywhere close to him. In her presence, there was tension in his body and around his eyes, at atmosphere of uncertainty, wariness, and a silent warning - the princess was to keep her nose out of his business or she would regret it. For the time-being, she was willing to let it go, to allow him to come to her or someone else on his own. 

Luna remembered how he reacted when someone touched him - the expression on his face communicated anger and fear both. She dreaded to think why such a little thing elicited a reaction this strong from him. She could see the struggle for control inside him - he reined in his reaction that time, and today he looked way too calm for what happened during the night. She knew he wore a mask that hid what he truly thought. She wished she could help him, could guide him to betterment, yet he revealed nothing about himself save for his supposed origins.

However, what he revealed was... problematic. Of course, memory wasn't entirely reliable, especially for someone who was supposedly a Feral for most of his life, but it didn't explain how he missed the Summer Palace. No one living in the Everfree would be able to avoid coming to it, let alone seeing its towers and spires. Wild claimed he never saw the palace, which raised certain questions. He was also far too intelligent for someone living a feral life since birth - he quickly picked up on reading, sign language, and spoken language. He learned, and he learned well. Ferals, from what Luna knew and saw herself, needed years to pick up on all the knowledge, especially on social clues. However, Wild had no such issues - he seemed a complete natural, someone who lived in a civilization all his life. It simply didn't make sense. There was another strange thing - his inability to speak. From a brief medical scan performed on him when he was found, nothing out of place was found. He was perhaps a bit on the thin side, had scars, but he was more or less perfectly healthy. There was not a physical reason for his muteness and neither was it a magical curse. Luna felt the answer to this question would shed light on who Wild truly was.

Luna looked out the window, following the young unicorn with her gaze. He jogged around the orphanage, paying little attention to others around him just like others paid no mind to him. His expression was neutral despite the sweat gleaming on his body. He had gained some muscle since arriving at the orphanage, building on his decent basis, which made sense - if he lived in Everfree all his life, he was bound to be lean, strong, and fast. He moved with a grace of a seasoned fighter, not a movement wasted. His show the day before during the martial arts training demonstrated how natural he was at fighting or, illogical as it currently was, how well-trained he was. But if he was trained, who helped him? There were no records whatsoever about him anywhere in Equestria. The princesses requested information from other countries, but of those who replied, nothing was revealed. Either Wild hid very well or he somehow simply appeared in Equestria out of nowhere. Which made much more sense than it should have.

Luna decided to follow this line of thinking, a deep crease between her brows. If, for a moment, she considered that Wild simply appeared in this world out of nowhere, it made sense. He knew nothing of local culture, didn't know the language, had no documented origin. However, he was also knowledgeable in some general areas like combat and survival. She knew he could easily operate a crossbow, wield a scimitar-like weapon - the likes of which she had never seen before despite her experience. If he was indeed from some other world, as impossible as it sounded, having proficiency in an unknown weapon made sense. 

Her mind drifted to the night of his nightmare. Sleep paralysis was uncommon, but she knew it well enough. Constructs made by the scared mind of the paralyzed were known to her, but there was a problem. This construct Wild's mind summoned had too many details for it to simply be made up on the spot. No, that creature was far clearer than it should have been, and it spoke in an unknown language. If she didn't know better, she would think it was a real creature, but it was nothing more than an imagined one. Wild had shown how scared it made him - there was terror in his eyes, a desire to escape and hide. Was this creature from his memory?

Luna's frown deepened. The pieces of the puzzle fit together if it was true Wild was from another world. But if that was the case, why had he not revealed it yet? And why was he a pony? Perhaps the former could be answered with him being cautious and secretive, but what about the latter? The alicorn could perhaps approach him about it, but she suspected it would do her no good just yet. She had to keep these thoughts in mind and bide her time. She needed to build trust between herself and the young stallion, to show him it would be alright to confide in her, to make him see she was on his side, willing to help. 

She sighed deeply - undoubtedly, it would take a long time.
> Chapter 12: A Sprout
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna sat in her office in the Royal Orphanage, frustrated. Wild had proven to be elusive and uncooperative. He showed up for his language lessons as well as math and literature, he trained with others in martial arts, he jogged around the orphanage, but he completely deflected all her attempts at getting to know him no matter how subtle she was. Questions were avoided, given non-answers to, or straight up ignored.

Luna sighed deeply - she knew it was no use being frustrated, especially since it was not his fault. Whatever happened to him, it made him this way. However, despite how private he was, she managed to glimpse some insight from various things she managed to observe and put together.

There existed a discrepancy between his fighting skills and his hoofwork. He struck with precision, defended without breaking a sweat, but he wasn't as fluid on his hooves as one would expect. For now, his skill with the blade compensated while he built up strength, stamina, and agility with his body. This discrepancy couldn't be explained if he was a pony all his life. The more she saw of him, the more she was convinced he was indeed from some other world and wasn't a pony before. 

Otherworldly creatures were not an uncommon phenomena - relatively speaking. Quite a few were certainly not native to Equestria or any other parts of the world. However, those were unthinking beasts, animals who operated on instincts. 

The existence of different worlds was known in academia, and not just theoretically. Glimpses of desolate wastelands, lush forests, concrete and glass skyscrapers, and more were known to happen from time to time. As a matter of fact, a few cities were formed based on those visions. However, to enter a different world was, so far, known to be impossible, at least to Princess Luna. One could look at them, but one could never move there. Many had tried, many had failed. Some animals fell through, but only animals - no truly sapient creature was able to cross the threshold either to or from those worlds.

However, this all didn't mean some beings didn't claim to be of otherworldly origin. These claims popped up somewhat frequently, but they were never substantiated with any significant amount of evidence, and verifiable evidence was very lacking. It was true these beings talked of strange different worlds, but upon closer examination they were turned out to be either very imaginative children, frauds who wanted to earn money off of their claims, beings with damaged mental faculties, and those who saw the different worlds and were unable to let go, driving themselves to obsession. There was never known a truly otherworldly sapient being.

This seemed to have changed. Wild was intelligent, more so than ponies of his physical age would be expected to be. He learned quickly, he was creative when challenged, and he was certainly knowledgeable in deception. If Luna didn't think of the possibility of him being otherworldly - and there was truly not much reason to think it - she would likely never know who he was.  Not that she had made any progress on that anyway since her initial thought - his personal life remained hidden. 

As hidden as it was, however, he didn't manage to hide everything. There was a known truth - eyes were a window to the soul. Luna could never glance deep enough to know for sure, but she felt it, she saw it. When he wasn't concentrating on whatever he was doing, his eyes had that cold, haunted, unpleasant look to them that didn't reflect on the rest of his face. It was that sort of distant, unfocused gaze that made people seem much older than they were. Even then, he routinely scanned his surroundings when he moved or was still. There was no mistake - he was always ready, always tense. No one could approach him without his knowledge, nothing escaped his notice.

Those were the eyes of a soldier who had seen more than his fair share. Luna reasoned that it could be just that - he, at one point or another, was a part of some military. It would certainly explain his weapon proficiency. However, she knew not to jump to conclusions - there was more to it, undoubtedly.

She glanced out of the window and saw Wild training with the other ponies. He had yet to be defeated in sparring - his concentration and his skill were the best, bar none. He couldn't be distracted, couldn't be swayed, couldn't be made to doubt himself. And yet, he wasn't arrogant - when prompted to fix his posture or use his blade in different ways to what he was used to, he never complained. He nodded along and did as told, and he excelled. 

She decided to watch him spar again, see how far he had come in a week. His curved blade swished through the air in slashes and stabs as if enchanted, his hooves were placed on the ground with precision, one pose flowing into a movement gracefully yet quickly. His steely eyes were focused on his opponent, watching their every move with uncanny attention. No single trick could be used twice against him, no one could make him stumble. This was also the day of more physical training - the students were allowed to tackle, hit, sweep others off their hooves, and Wild was certainly no exception. Perhaps his frame wasn't the strongest or the heaviest, but he used it to its full potential. Then there was his magic - his telekinesis aura was a pair of hands which he used as proficiently as a minotaur or a griffon. He grabbed, he punched, he slapped, he poked, never idle. Of course, his own body wasn't forgotten - he used his weight to topple smaller opponents, and his agility to make bigger ones lose their balance and become vulnerable to his strikes. He took the hits to his body without anything more than a grunt of exhaled air, never showing pain or exhaustion. 

Luna noticed how uncertain he was about it at first. She remembered how much he disliked close contact. He had never let anyone touch him, and he did shudder a few times during training, making his concentration waver. However, this was the only instance when he allowed others to touch him. When they tried to push him, he pushed back harder. When they tried to sweep his legs, he stood strong. When they advanced at him, he was unmovable. Every movement made on him, he subverted to use in his favor. He turned his aversion to touch into his advantage - it fueled him, it made him be quick and thorough in his own movements. Needless to say, no one touched him for long.

The training ended, and Wild went for a jog like he always did, never missing it no matter what weather it was. His breath was even, his posture straight, and his legs moved in mechanical perfection on earth, stone, or mud alike. After doing a few laps around the orphanage, he went inside to eat in the cafeteria and then disappeared for the rest of the day. Oftentimes, he would go to the pond and spend his time sitting in the water, letting ducks use him as a convenient perch above the water, and this was when Luna could sometimes hear him laugh his little laugh that wasn't louder than a whisper, and a pale sparkle of joy danced in his eyes for a brief moment. It was one of the very few moments his emotionless mask disappeared. 

This time, he went to the cafeteria instead, ate his fill, and retreated to his dorm to sleep until early morning. Luna didn't know whether he did anything while completely alone - she never pried. Yet, she did observe that no one visited him. His door remained plain and unremarkable just like the doors to empty dorms. On the rare occasions she could glimpse inside, it looked no different there either. Or, at least, it was until recently - he had finally started reading longer books. He did surprisingly well when it came to learning the language, and Luna thought it would be just a couple months before he had no disadvantage compared to ponies who had been learning since they were foals. 

Luna's thoughts shifted to Wild's loneliness. He never seemed bothered by it, but she thought it wasn't healthy for him to remain isolated. However, no foals dared approach him - his look made them stay away from him. It took but one glance for even the bravest to move out of his way. Luna herself was on the receiving end of it when she tried to set him up with a few foals his age she thought he would appreciate. But instead, she received a cold glare, one that sent shivers through her entire body. It was a look that clearly showed his displeasure at having others decide for him. No attempts were made since then, it was clear they weren't appreciated.

However, there was still something Luna could help him with. For many nights now, ever since she heard of Wild from her sister, she had been searching for his place in the Dreamscape. She had passed thousands of doors to ponies' dreams, yet she could never find his. She wasn't about to give up, however, and continued this exercise in patience, knowing the possible benefits he could get from it. To her knowledge, he hadn't had a nightmare since his sleep paralysis incident - the spell she had placed on this wing of the orphanage would notify her of it like it did the first time. However, she suspected he wasn't dreaming pleasant dreams either. 

It was paramount she reached him, the sooner the better. As she felt a tingle in her magic, she could sense the beginning of a nightmare, and she knew it was Wild's. She latched onto that feeling and followed it, knowing he wouldn't forgive her if she broke her promise. 

The feeling grew stronger as she flew through the Dreamscape past hundreds of doors leading to the dreams of other ponies. They weren't organized in any fashion aside from being in perfect long rows. However, doors that stood nearby weren't guaranteed to lead to ponies who were close either physically or mentally. Luna still didn't understand the Dreamscape fully - its inner workings remained a mystery to her. Only thanks to her talent was she able to have any power over it, however limited it was.

As she traveled across the Dreamscape, she finally found the door to Wild's dreams. It was tall and imposing, plain steel with spots of rust and scratches and dents. No embellishments, no decorations, only a simple handle, and not of the standard U-shaped pony designs. Luna could feel the dream behind the door strengthening, taking form. She didn't know what to expect, but she knew where her duty lay - without hesitation, she opened the door and immersed herself, willing herself invisible, inaudible, and intangible. 

From what she could see, she was in Wild's bedroom, but things were different. The wallpaper, browned and water-damaged, was peeling from the walls, mold on the cracked plaster underneath. The ceiling was uneven and sagging, the light fixture hanging from it by the wire. There were holes in the window, and some of the glass panes missing entirely. The bed in the room was not in any better shape - one of its legs had broken off, the previously white sheets were grey, grimy, and torn. On top of them, Wild lay, his eyes open.

Luna could feel his uncertainty and the beginnings of fear build up as he stood up from the bed and took in his surroundings. The floor board creaked as he stepped on it, the only sound among the unnatural, eerie silence. The young unicorn steadied himself, and Luna felt his thoughts and feelings reeled back in. His face remained impassive, and his steps were measured and careful as he walked through the doorway to the living room - the door was off its hinges and lay broken on the floor. Like his bedroom, the living room was in poor condition. Luna decided not to intervene yet - she needed to see the core of what would obviously soon turn into a proper nightmare. If she were to help him, she needed to understand how to do it. 

Wild continued on his way out of his dorm and into the hall. Luna could see the surroundings were blurry - a side-effect of it being a dream. Yet, everywhere she looked, there was the same decay and destruction, in a detail she found disconcerting. What was strange, however, was the absence of anyone who would otherwise occupy the nearby dorms. The silence was oppressive, unnatural: no birds singing, no crickets chirping, not even a rustle of leaves in the wind. 

Detached from his feelings, Wild analyzed his surroundings. Luna could feel his thoughts flash in her own head - he noticed the absence of others, he noticed the silence, he noticed the abandonment. He made his way down to the first floor and then through the mansion, details becoming blurrier as he went further. Luna effortlessly followed him, making not a sound in her wake. 

What happened?

Luna paused - was that Wild's voice? No, it couldn't be - his lips didn't move. Those were his thoughts, in his voice. It wasn't a voice she expected to hear - it sounded deeper, older than it should be, yet it was also scratchy and quiet as if it wasn't used for years. However, what she didn't manage to glean was the language - to her, his question was perfectly understandable. In dreams, languages didn't matter. 

She continued on, trailing behind Wild as he walked through the halls to the entrance. On his way, the scenery was as desolate as before, with various items of no importance to him strewn on the floor. He stepped over a few brown spots - Luna silently gasped. In her experience, only one thing could reflect such a pattern and color - it was old, dried up blood. Just what was Wild dreaming of?

To her infinite horror, the answer presented itself soon enough. As the entrance doors opened with a great creak, what they revealed was one thing Luna hoped never to see. The pond - a calm place for ponies to relax in and around - was dried up, the ground cracked all around it. But it wasn't the worst - the pond was filled to the brim with bones. Skulls, leg bones, rib cages, hoof remains, all of them piled on top of each other, blackened, covered in disgusting, foul-smelling soot. 

This was why there was no one inside. They were all there, dumped into the pond and burned. Luna didn't want to know whether Wild's subconsciousness pictured them as having been burnt alive or after their less than natural deaths. 

The young unicorn sagged, distressed and shocked. Tears welled up and then streaked down his face. An infinite longing, pain beyond measure, and loneliness unending suffocated him as he sobbed. 

Why? Why did this happen to them?

Luna couldn't stand it anymore and made herself visible in the dream. 

"Wild..."

He jumped up and turned to her, surprise and relief on his face. His eyes were red from the crying, the fur under them wet, and his lip was trembling. 

"It's not real. We're all fine. You're sleeping and having a bad dream," she soothed him but didn't step closer. She hoped he would embrace her himself if he needed it. All she could do was offer him a small smile and appear non-threatening and welcoming, "I promised to protect you from nightmares, and I'm here now. You've nothing to fear."

The relief on his face quickly turned into anger, and the force of it mentally impacted her like a battering ram, making her step back in surprise. Pain flared inside her head, and she turned with a moan of pain on her bed in reality.

What are you doing in my head?

The sharp question sent more pain to her - his mental defenses were working now, attempting to push her away and lock her out of his dream.

"I'm not in your head, I swear to you," Luna replied as calmly as she could, "I only see what you allow me to see."

As if someone flicked a switch, the surroundings turned into an impenetrable, perfectly black void. Luna and Wild stood in it alone, looking at each other. He bored into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze alone making her shudder internally. Those eyes were like black holes, and she was unable to look away.

In those gray eyes, she saw deep emptiness. They were haunted and tired, far beyond what someone as young as him was supposed to be. For the first time since Luna had met him, she could see further, deeper into his soul. It was a cracked, broken, damaged little thing, hanging by a thread, clinging to his physical body yet struggling to get out. Pain surrounded it, terror had nested deep inside it, and suffering bound it like razor wire, digging deep into what was once innocent and whole. And hatred, burning like hellfire, screaming in rage, poisoned it throughout.

"W-wild..." she choked on a sob as tears freely streamed down her face. How could someone so young endure so much pain and survive? "I... I can help you."

He seemed taken aback by the tone of her voice, by the compassion she was sending his way. He averted his eyes.

I don't believe you.

These words cut like a jagged knife into her heart, making her chest constrict in pain. Just what was done to him? 

"I... I see something happened to you," Luna forced herself to calm as much as she could, "I can help."

How can you see? You said you weren't in my head.

Sharp pain entered her mind again after the retort, pushing her harder. She could hardly breathe, her body felt like it was crushed at the bottom of an ocean. 

"I wasn't," she struggled to say, "It is all... in your eyes."

The pain ceased, allowing her to straighten and inhale deeply. Wild was studying her with his eyes, his impassive mask once more on his face. She felt a tingle in her head - she recognized it as a touch of mind reading. Her heart skipped a beat - was Wild really able to read minds? Before she could question it further, he spoke again as his lips remained still.

You didn't lie.

There was a hint of surprise and relief that washed over the dream. 

"I want to help you, Wild," Luna spoke softly, "I don't know what happened to you, and I won't ask you to reveal it. But I can see you need help. Please, let me help you. I will not hurt you."

The intensity of his gaze lowered, his posture softened. However, there was still steel in those gray eyes of his. 

It doesn't matter. You don't know me.

"I don't need to know you to offer you help," Luna reasoned, "Everyone deserves it."

Silence greeted her as Wild looked down, looking the most vulnerable she had seen him in front of others. Then she was finally pushed out of his dream - not with stabbing pain like before, but gently yet firmly. She didn't resist.

At that moment, Wild woke up. He wondered if it was real, he wondered if she really meant it when she said she wanted to help him despite how much he knew he didn't deserve it.

Deep down, where the last of his innocence yet remained, hope sprouted.
> Chapter 13: First Test
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild was wide awake, pacing in his dorm at the brink of dawn. His concerns over Princess Luna and what her words meant for him were pushed aside as he remembered.

Despite how hard it was for him to accept it sometimes, he was once but a simple child with simple dreams and fears. It seemed an eternity now, but barely a decade passed since this particular memory. He remembered sitting in the small living room of the apartment his family rented, deep in the evening. The apartment had just three rooms: a bedroom, a living room combined with the kitchen, and a combined bathroom. It wasn't much, but this was what they had to do with back then. He remembered when they were renting an entire house, living a decent life despite their background. However, trouble always managed to find his family: the crisis of 2008 swept them off their feet and forced them to drastically decrease their living quality just to survive. 

However, that wasn't the focus of this memory. While his parents slept, he watched the TV, and it showed a documentary he would never forget. On that night, his childhood innocence was shattered, never to return. His eyes were open and unmoving from the screen as it showed one of the worst things to have ever happened in the history of humanity - World War 2. The documentary was anything but sugar-coated - it showed it all, be it death, destruction, or the numerous crimes against humanity. Despite how horrible it was, how heart-wrenching it felt, he couldn't look away for a second. Sweat appeared on his forehead, tears welled up in his wide gray eyes. First, he saw men in black uniforms proudly marching under a red banner, a circle of white inside it, and the black inverted swastika was on it. Rallying speeches in German sounded, angry and determined as the droning voice of the narrator translated them. It was propaganda of the highest sort - one that filled anyone with pride and devotion. This wasn't what made him cry.

What followed next was a true nightmare, one that wasn't confined to the uncertainties of the mind. Ruins of cities bombed to oblivion, centuries of history erased; men fighting and dying to bullets, bayonets, disease, and madness of the war; women and children, dead, dying, or crying in grief over their irrevocable, irreversible losses. The dusty air was filled with desolation, with the unending sorrow. And it was not all - a big part of the documentary was focused on the worst crime against humanity that had ever happened - the Holocaust. The clips about the concentration camps were brutal, hiding nothing. Men, women, old and young, were herded to their deaths, starved and beaten. No pleas reached the ears of the uniformed German men, no cries for help brought a savior. A black and white photo was shown - it was a vast field in Ivanhorod, Ukraine. A woman was shielding her child from a German who was aiming his rifle at her. Nearby, bodies of the already dead lay. Without a doubt, no mercy was shown - the woman and the child died. When liberation came, retribution came too - a famous photo of a Jewish man standing over a German with a shovel in his hand was shown. It was brutal, and it never stopped at that - mass killings, even mass rape of Germans followed. From justice, it turned into madness. 

A dispassionate voice listed the statistics - millions died, millions were left without a home, and millions more suffered the aftermath of the terrible war. More than seventy million in total perished, a number the young boy couldn't believe, let alone understand.

Tear-filled, he run and woke up his parents. They comforted him and hugged him, never berating him for being up so late watching TV. They knew it wouldn't help his distress. Tears streamed down the face of the terrified boy as the documentary replayed the worst parts in his head again and again. 

"Why... why were they so c-cruel?" the young boy begged in a hushed tone, choking back a sob, "W-why?"

"I'm sorry, my dear," his mother spoke softly. She was a simple Russian woman with an elegant face and brown hair. Her eyes were gray yet warm, completely unlike the steel-gray her son's would become, "Sometimes, people are just cruel."

There was no reason for this madness, Wild had known since then. Humans didn't need a reason to be awful to each other. To oppress, to kill, to decimate, to destroy - it was in their blood, and the two World Wars were just the worst of it, the most open and most vicious. Every single day, a human was murdered or raped or tortured, for one reason or another, or no reason at all. Out of thousands of years of human history, there was not a single one with true peace. 

This nightmare he had reminded him of who he was - a human. Fallible, imperfect, emotional, illogical, unreasonable. He knew he was capable of cruelty - why, he had done it himself, using his own hands to do the unthinkable. To him, it didn't matter whether it was warranted or not - the fact was, he had done it. And, to his horror, he liked it, which only helped to solidify his opinion of himself and humanity at large. 

Pain crushed his heart. He didn't want to be cruel, he didn't want this nightmare to become reality. In such a short time, this Equestria he appeared in became his home. The ponies had that carefree attitude he could never have, they were joyful and happy, and it reflected on him. It didn't show outwardly, but even he had to admit he felt better among the ponies. Of course, it wasn't all - he was cared for as well; he was fed, given shelter, provided entertainment and activities, and no one asked him anything in return. Among humans, he had to work hard for things he wanted, even if he simply wanted food. Without working, he would be dead long before thirst or starvation killed him. Here, he didn't have to work a single day, a single hour, not even a minute. He had his doubts, but one thing he couldn't deny - he could be thrown out, yet he was cared for. No one had any reason to take him in - especially not after he attacked those who helped him. But they still did, they showed him kindness. 

No matter how much he wanted to suspect them, the two princesses had given him as much as his parents had once given. All without any expectations, without demanding or even asking anything in return. 

He was convinced he didn't deserve it.




A few hours later after he calmed down, Wild made his way to the cafeteria. He entered it along with some other ponies and spotted Princess Luna right away. She was chatting pleasantly with her sister, who returned from the business in Canterlot. She was sitting facing the entrance of the cafeteria, and her eyes glanced at him. In that moment, Wild knew for certain it wasn't simply a dream he had - not the last part, at least. He didn't let the anxiety show on his face - instead, he calmly made his way to fetch his food and then sit down at his favorite place. He ate slowly as if nothing bothered him, but his eyes glanced often at the two princesses.

Today was his self-study day. Princess Luna was convinced he was ready to read by himself even if he often had to consult the dictionary. He didn't mind - spending time in peace and quiet was preferable to pretty much everything else to him. So, after eating, he immediately walked out of the cafeteria and returned to his dorm, not waiting for the princesses to approach him. He walked quickly but without hurrying, his stride long and purposeful. Today, he didn't want to deal with his past or what the princesses might think about him. He had had enough heartache for a week. He pushed down his emotions, locked his memories, emptied his mind of anything that didn't work towards his current purpose - learning.

A history book lay in front of him. A lot of the words were still foreign, but the edition was simplified for the foals. He got the gist of it - Equestria was born out of friendship, and it was the magic of friendship that kept the hateful cold of the Frozen North away. He snorted - of course, magic of friendship. It sounded like naive dreams young girls had, not the grim reality he was so accustomed to. Yet he couldn't deny it was, at least in some ways, the truth. Ponies were quite friendly, conflict between them was rarely if ever violent, and they easily got along with others. The worst they could do was ignore someone like they did with Wild. Even then, it wasn't precisely their choice - he simply never let others get too close to him. He continued reading, learning of the three ponies that brought the three pony tribes together in harmony. He couldn't help but snort again - the history was likely far more complicated than that. Of course, he'd have to wait until he got his proverbial hands on proper history books to learn the truth. He suspected it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows there.

Deciding to let history be, he switched to the book about magic. Magic fascinated him - it was a power unlike anything else. He read about it in some fantasy books, he knew some people even believed it was somehow real, but there was nothing. When he was a human, Wild tried many times to make magic work somehow, failing always. But now, magic was real, he could feel it coursing through his body, buzzing in the air, rumbling in the ground, whispering in the water. It penetrated and bound everything he could see in this world. He read of teleportation, of conjuration, transformation, potions, wards, charms, and all sorts of things magic could do or help with. The theory behind all the various spells was quite complex, written using many words Wild had yet to learn. However, he knew one thing - magic depended on his inner strength and on his will. Spells were patterns he could put the magic in to cast something specific. Many times, spells also required - to a certain extent - a spoken incantation. Because of his own limits, he had to spend more power on such spells than he would have to otherwise. However, the strength of his will compensated for his muteness.

He looked at a simple cube he found in his dorm. It was made of wood and featured a few symbols. He concentrated, his horn flared with magic, and then he willed for the cube to change. It creaked under his will and the force of magic, becoming longer and slimmer until it was a perfect cylinder. The volume, of course, remained the same, but the dimensions and shape changed to fit his desires. It was one of the simplest things he could do, but not the only one.

Wild learned to use his telekinesis to juggle and to hold many things at once, as much as twenty, all of various weight, size, and shape. He could make his aura into hands to interact with the physical world: to push, to pull, to squeeze, to twist, and all the other motions he could do with his hands. He had come to learn that the physical manifestation of his magical aura outside of combat spells was a difficult feat to achieve - for the most part, when unicorns used telekinesis, their aura was intangible, visible only as a translucent cloud of magical energy of one color or the other. Very few unicorns could make their aura take shape, let alone become physically solid.

After a few hours of studying, Wild grew restless and decided to go for a walk. Of course, only as long as he could avoid the princesses. He looked out the window and couldn't spot the starlit mane of Luna or the multi-colored mane of Celestia anywhere on the orphanage grounds. Deciding to take his chances, he headed out of his dorm.

Only to come across a pony he didn't expect to see, and she was walking straight at him.

Her name was Precision - after her talent in marksmanship, the one she picked herself. She was a unicorn of athletic build who was a part of the martial arts club. The two had crossed blades on quite a few occasions in sparring, and Wild always came out on top. Precision treated it as a personal rivalry, being the second best in the club herself now that Wild joined it. However, to her frustration, he seemed to be completely ignorant of it, never responding to her taunts or her attempts to one-up him whenever they fought.

"Swift Strike's getting the club together right now," she told him, "Come on, he's going to make an announcement."

Wild nodded slowly. If it helped him get out of speaking with the princesses, it would be a nice bonus. Although he did wonder why would the club assemble this day - it was supposed to be their day off to nurse some bruises and to rest. 

Precision looked at Wild and noted his somewhat sunken eyes. She wondered whether he had poor sleep but shook it off - it didn't matter much. No matter how he looked, he always seemed in the best shape. And even if he wasn't, he never showed it. 

She knew little of Wild, not much more than anyone else. She admitted he was somewhat intimidating, especially with those steel eyes of his that seemed to bore into the soul of anyone who dared to look into them. His torn ear and the nearby head scar was of note as well - it was a vicious injury even though it wasn't debilitating. His body was muscled underneath his short fur, and his movements were sharp and precise to a trained eye. Precision, however, refused to be intimidated; a few times, she got into a staring contest with Wild during their sparring sessions. To her dismay, there was never a definitive loss or victory - it was as if he didn't care at all. He wasn't issuing a challenge with his gaze, it simply went somewhere... further. It was intense and it did make her want to avoid looking into his eyes, but it was never quite aimed at her. Without a doubt, he was physically looking at her, but the immense concentration of them went elsewhere. However, it didn't stop him from emerging victorious from every duel the two had.

Precision fought not to roll her eyes and groan in frustration when someone she didn't exactly want to see yet strolled to the two as they walked, gathering a few other ponies from the club that were in the vicinity.

"I bet it's some sort of special challenge," he said unprompted. If there was an embodiment of an arrogant pegasus stereotype, Swingblade was it. Arrogant and, to Precision's mind, too stupid to actually be accomplished in anything but brawn. He was undoubtedly a good duelist - third place, right after her - but he seemingly had no talent at all for anything outside of it. And his name... every time Precision heard it, she snorted, much to the annoyance of Swingblade himself, who thought his name was cool. At the very least he wasn't mistaken with what his name meant - his special mark was that of a swooshing blade, and he was indeed quite proficient with swords. 

"Could be," Precision had to admit. While she didn't exactly like him, he was tolerable when talking about the club, "Not the first time, that's for sure."

"He's going to make us fight each other," he said as if it was an axiom.

The mare offered a grunt to that, and the three continued on their way. Precision tuned out Swingblade as he went on about how he's eventually going to international tournaments, and it looked like Wild was never even tuned in. However, he did throw a glance his way, undecipherable to others. He was only glad he could knock the pegasus down a few pegs during sparring - it was only just to show the arrogant how weak they actually were. Wild was never the one to brag, after all. 

Precision still wondered just where Wild came from. Some said he was raised by timberwolves. Considering his proficiency in fighting, it could be. Timberwolves were known to be vicious, although they were also pack animals - Wild was certainly not one for teamwork. A few ponies thought he was raised by werewolves. It was true no one saw him on the nights of the full moon, and he did express some aggression expected from werewolves, but nothing solid supported this theory. Others said he grew up in the Everfree all by himself, and it was a more likely possibility. Some even say he's possessed by some dark spirit, which was ludicrous. If he was possessed, at least one of the princesses would notice and take care of it. 

"Seems like everyone's here," Swift Strike said once everyone assembled in front of the mansion, "To those who are unaware - today is Ponyville Annual Swordsmanship Tournament. Those who wanted to prepare for it, hopefully did so. To those who didn't or who weren't aware... well, your skills will soon be tested."

A few groans arose among the crowd.

"Yes, today our club is taking part in the tournament," the stallion declared, "All of us, and I expect you to give your very best. Yes, I'm perfectly aware it's your day off. A real fight could happen anytime, at any place, and you should fight well in any situation. Let's see how well you'll perform when you're not in your best shapes. Now, follow me, I'll make sure none of you try to sneak out. And even if you do, I'll know, and it will be worse then."

His warning heeded, the whole club followed him out of the orphanage and to Ponyville. Wild, along with Precision and Swingblade, were in the front, close to the trainer.

"Now, you three are the very best of ours," Swift Strike said, "I expect nothing less than excellence."

"Of course, sir," Swingblade puffed his chest proudly.

"We'll do our best," was the milder response of Precision.

Wild, ever silent, simply nodded, then his eyes glazed over as he thought, walking mechanically along the path. Precision noticed it - he often had that look as if he wasn't all there in the moment. 




One of the fields next to Ponyville was taken by a fighting ring with seating around it. It was divided in two: one for Ponyville residents, another for the guests. This day, there were only two major groups: the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club, and Ponyville Sunrise Club. There were a couple guests who once lived or wanted to live in Ponyville as well, all willing to prove their worth. Overall, there was at least a hundred ponies in attendance, both fighters and spectators. 

"Gather round, gather round," an older unicorn stallion spoke up, standing in the middle of the fighting ring. His mane had silver streaks in it, his voice was coarse with age, yet his toned body made him seem much younger than he was, "Welcome everyone to Ponyville Annual Swordsmanship Tournament. To those who don't know me, I'm Steadfast Protector. Today, we're joined by the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club and their master Swift Strike. Let's welcome our guests."

The ponies stomped their approval as eyes aimed at the club. Swift Strike had a small smile on his face, his three best duelists at his side. Precision stood proudly, Swingblade even more so, but Wild took a visually relaxed pose, his eyes scanning the crowd. He immediately noticed a pegasus with an unusual coloration - she had cyan fur and rainbow-colored mane. She was looking at the newcomers with challenge, and she wore a gambeson that covered her belly and her front, leaving the back quite open; a bandana colored the same as her mane made sure no hair got in her eyes. He noted her as the most likely to give him trouble. Next to her, stood a nervous-looking lavender unicorn who was obviously a bit uncomfortable, although she was dressed in a full gambeson and had a helmet on her head. Perhaps she was a newcomer to the tournament. Around the two, there were four more mares, but none of them looked like they were taking part in the dueling. A support group?

"And these lovely ladies will provide music during the duels," Steadfast Protector introduced a trio: a cellist, a bassist, and a drummer, "We'll begin in ten minutes - there will be three qualifying rounds. Achieve two victories, and you move forward. Now, Swift Strike, let's see about the pairs."

The six mares noticed Wild looking at him and began whispering between themselves.

"Looks like he means business," Applejack commented, "If Ah'm certain of anything, he'll be trouble."

"He doesn't look like he's much more than twelve, maybe thirteen," Twilight was skeptical.

"That's what I think too," Rainbow Dash nodded, "No way he's gonna beat me."

"Well, you do have more experience than him, darling," Rarity said, "But his gaze gives me shivers."

"It's unsettling," Fluttershy added in a tiny voice, her eyes firmly on the ground.

Everyone agreed with that, feeling unease wash over them. Whoever he was, the young unicorn would certainly be trouble in one way or another. Rainbow Dash, however, wasn't too worried - she had been training almost since she could walk and fly, surely no upstart would be able to beat her. 

Soon, they would see.
> Chapter 14: Skill and Luck
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of anticipation. Some were anxious, nervous; others were ready, determined; and yet few were preening in the attention, expecting an easy victory for themselves. Wild held no such notions - despite being the best in the martial arts club, he was still not an adult physically even if his experience was far more than anyone could guess. He was trained how to fight since he was old enough to do so, thanks to the encouragement of his father. He wasn't a professional, but he studied diligently and attentively, doing his best to learn from both others and himself. He knew one thing when it came to fighting - preparations paid off. His muscle memory wasn't like before, but his new body was quickly catching up, and his magical hands compensated a lot for his lack of more precise control over his body. Not to say that he didn't make great strides there - at least a few kilograms of muscle appeared on his body since he came to the orphanage. Not only that, but he also looked up stretching routines - they were easy to follow, considering the majority of such guides was pictures. 

"Alright, everyone," Steadfast Protector said, standing in front of a bag, "To eliminate the possibility of cheating, each of you will use the training crystal from this bag. Form a line and each grab up to three but no more than that."

Wild was one of the first in line and quickly grabbed one crystal. He challenged himself - as Swift Strike said, this tournament was to show how the club would fare without preparations. One sword would be enough for it. He stepped aside and poured his magic into it, turning it into his favorite sabre, and a scabbard appeared on his side, strapped to his body. Perhaps it wasn't the most versatile weapon, but he didn't see anyone wearing any sort of chainmail or plate armor. Gambesons were resistant to cuts up to a degree, of course, but he noticed the majority of contestants were not wearing anything protective. It was another challenge for him - he needed to avoid being hit at all. He knew he was only making it harder for himself, but that was the purpose of the challenge. If he didn't challenge himself, he didn't grow. If he wasn't thrown into unfair situations, he'd never learn how to come out victorious when odds were against him. A couple of his clubmates looked at him oddly as they donned their own gambesons - Swift Strike brought them with him - wondering why he wasn't concerned about protection. The magical training blades didn't hurt, but melee was allowed, and it would certainly leave a few bruises.

Precision considered putting on a gambeson. However, one look at Wild made her change her mind. If he was going in without armor, then so would she. She needed to beat him fair and square, to show him that she was just as good if not better than he was. And, of course, to bring down Swingblade's ego a bit. Even though he was right after her when it came to skill, he still managed to beat her in at least half the duels they fought. 

"Now, I will remind you of the rules and the scoring system," Steadfast Protector said once everyone claimed their crystals and adjusted them to fit their preference, "We do full contact. It means you can strike with either your weapon or your body. However, be mindful of the latter - we don't want anyone hurt too much. Nurse Redheart agreed to oversee the tournament in case there are any injuries that need her immediate attention."

Wild looked completely indifferent to that announcement while a few contestants looked slightly uneasy, including Twilight Sparkle. She was initially apprehensive about joining Ponyville Sunrise Club, but her brother insisted she needed to know how to fight properly. However, it didn't make things any easier now that she knew for sure she could get hurt in what was a friendly tournament. She glanced at Wild - he looked like someone who would hurt someone else, that's for sure. His look of complete indifference only served to solidify her belief. 

"For unicorns - every kind of magic aside from telekinesis is forbidden. I will be monitoring it personally, cheaters will be disqualified immediately.

"You are scored based on hits. Debilitating hits are scored higher than glances or scratches. The bout ends when one of the opponents receives what would be a death blow. Additionally, you are scored based on how long you take to defeat your opponent - the shorter the time, the better.

"And lastly, to ensure fairness and accuracy, scores will be counted by the spell matrix Tournament-L, provided by Swords and Spells company."

A metal device was set on a small podium and turned on with a push of a button. A few seconds later, it lit up in green, and a lot of images flashed through it. 

The audience and the contestants settled down when the first pair was called. Wild was attentive, watching the fight of an earth pony against a pegasus. The accompanying music was simple and rhythmical as the drummer beat the single bass drum and the string duet released a slow staccato without any apparent melody. Immediately, the pegasus rose in the sky, a long pike attached to her body on a swivel of some sort. The duel ended swiftly after the pegasus managed to thrust the pike at the chest of the earth pony while remaining completely out of reach. Wild noted the winner - who was indicated by a floating magical image of a shining sword above - and thought of how he would be able to defeat her. Yanking the pike was one choice - pegasi were notoriously lightweight due to their hollow bones and smaller stature than the other ponies. So, the first order of business in the duel against a pegasus is to ground them somehow.

The second pair was called - two pegasi. It lasted longer than the previous fight with both of them dealing only scratches and insignificant cuts to each other - all, of course, no actual physical damage was dealt - and it showed by tally marks floating where the audience could see them. However, one lucky strike grounded one of them, and the other quickly won. Pegasi seemed to be much more manageable when on the ground - they didn't have the strength of the earth pony or versatility the unicorn telekinesis could give them. Although Wild knew not to underestimate them - they could still be quite vicious.

After a few more duels, it was finally his turn.

"Wild of Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club versus Lucky Clover of Ponyville Sunrise Club," Steadfast Protector announced, and the pair stepped into the ring. 

Wild eyed his opponent - an earth pony of light gray, slightly bluish fur, light blue eyes, and very dark-gray mane; his name signified the special mark - a trio of four-leaf clovers. Wild knew to be careful - skill beats luck almost always, but sometimes luck is enough to come out a victor. Lucky Clover had a quilted cap and a gambeson for armor, and he wielded a spear as his main weapon and a sword as a backup. 

"Begin!"

Lucky Clover studied his opponent carefully. It seemed Wild was relaxed, his gaze aimed at something far behind Lucky's head, and his expression was detached as if he wasn't even there. His sabre was pointing downwards, bobbing ever so slightly in his magic. Feeling quite fortunate, the earth stallion charged forward, hoping to end the duel with a swift stab into the heart. To his surprise, Wild jumped aside quicker than lightning, and Lucky Clover overextended himself. He only began to turn when he felt the blade of the sabre collide with the side of his neck. If it were a real fight, his head would be rolling on the ground.

"Wild wins! Perfect score! Baiting the opponent with the show of carelessness, excellent tactic against the unaware," Steadfast Protector declared with a look of approval on his face aimed at the young unicorn. 

"He's damn quick," Applejack commented to her friends, "One moment, he was just standing there, and the other he wins! Ah've not seen anything like it before. Not counting you, Rainbow Dash."

"He's fast, but I'm faster," the pegasus replied, her narrowed eyes aimed at Wild, who took his place in the stands among his clubmates. 

Precision was sitting unperturbed - she knew perfectly well just how fast Wild could be, and she suspected he wasn't performing his best. It's entirely possible the duel would end quicker if he acted first. He was usually more aggressive, but maybe he didn't have much sleep the night before, which she already suspected. He looked more out of it than he usually did.

"Precision of Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club versus Swingblade of Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club!"

The young mare was looking forward to it and sent a smirk to the pegasus, only to see a large, challenging grin aimed at her. The two stood opposite each other, weapons at the ready. She had a shield and a bastard sword - a bit longer than regular swords that were paired with shields, certainly enough to use on its own if ever needed. Swingblade had a spear and a sword as backup - traditional pegasi equipment. Both of them wore regular gambesons and quilted caps. 

"Begin!"

Eagerly, Swingblade flew upwards, swiveling his spear to aim down. Then Precision revealed her hidden weapon - a set of five throwing knives. She threw them one after another; three of them missed completely, fading into nothingness after flying too far away from her, but two other hit true: one clipped a leg, the other stuck right in the middle of his right wing. He went down on the ground in a heap. Confident of her victory, Precision strode towards him.

Swiftly, Swingblade used his mouth to take his sword out of the scabbard but stumbled, and a swing of his head sent the sword flying... right into the unicorn. She barely managed to flinch before the sword slashed her right on the neck, and the victor was declared.

"Swingblade wins! Sometimes, accidents can prove to be your savior and your opponent's downfall."

A dumb grin spread over the pegasus' face as Precision's own darkened and reddened. She didn't even bring up her shield in time! What a mess... Grumbling a string of curses under her breath sailors would be afraid of, she stormed out of the fighting ring and sat down on the far end of the bench, not looking at anyone. However, this stupid grin of Swingblade's seemed to be burned into her mind. He would certainly not let her forget about this accident in at least a century.

Wild didn't feel bad or good for Precision - as a matter of fact, he wasn't even much aware of her name until this tournament. However, he took note of the accident that earned her a loss of her first duel. She was overconfident and careless, although he had to admit he didn't consider something as ridiculous as a sword just accidentally killing her when flying out of Swingblade's grasp. It was one in a million without a shadow of a doubt. Thankfully, he was fairly certain he would avoid something like this if it happened to him. It didn't hurt to be a bit more careful, however. He became acutely aware of how many things could've gone very wrong in his life - present and past - if he was a bit less lucky. 

He almost missed the next announcement while he was in his thoughts.

"Twilight Sparkle of Ponyville Sunrise Club versus Quick Cut of the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club!"

"Good luck," Rainbow Dash told her unicorn friend, "You know all the techniques, you can do it."

Twilight gulped nervously but stood up and went into the ring. She noticed - and felt - Wild's gaze on her. She glanced at him and saw his seemingly dispassionate gray eyes. She shivered and turned away. 

"Begin!"

Quick Cut, a young filly barely old enough to attend the tournament, lived up to her name - she sprung into action, slashing with her longsword. Pages of books flashed in Twilight Sparkle's head, the many historic and modern manuals on swordsmanship went through her mind. Her body stiffened, she raised her own longsword, blocking the strike. Not stopping there, she pushed it aside and thrust her blade forward using both her magic and body to propel herself further, too close for Quick Cut to use her sword in time against her. The fight was over as quickly as it began.

"Twilight Sparkle wins! Excellent, textbook-accurate technique on display here, a perfect counter to an aggressive slashing attack," Steadfast Protector declared, and the unicorn mare released a sigh, feeling her body shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

"You did it!" Fluttershy met her with her quiet voice, "I knew you could do it, Twilight."

"Hell yeah, sister!" Rainbow Dash bumped her shoulder, "You are fast! Maybe I should take a look at those manuals too someday... Not that I really want to!"

"Excellent show, darling." "Yeah, you showed them!" "Ah'm proud of ya."

Twilight Sparkle blushed furiously, mumbling thanks for the praise as she sat down, still shaking a bit. She inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled, calming herself down. In the corner of her vision, she could see Wild eyeing her with some interest. She immediately hoped her next round wouldn't be against him - she didn't know if she could match his speed and precision, and his technique looked good too.

Unbeknownst to her, he gave her an appraising look that remained hidden behind his mask. She, undoubtedly, knew what she was doing - her technique was perfectly executed, and he suspected a certain manual his trainer once showed the club. He himself wasn't much fond of manuals - he relied more on creativity. Certainly, knowing manuals was great, but it could only carry one so far before rigidity and thoughtless adherence to them brought one down. Against the less trained, knowing techniques to perfection worked very well, but it would be foolish to expect seasoned fighters to be unaware of those same manuals. One had to remember well that manuals also featured counters to the techniques. Wild much preferred being unpredictable, so he developed his own style, which couldn't really be summarized. That was the important part of it - he incorporated some of the techniques he saw in the manuals and while watching videos, then he made sure they were at least a bit different. It threw his opponents out of the loop on quite a few occasions.

He wondered just what kind of response his own actions would elicit from Twilight Sparkle. Would she be confused or would she be able to respond to it, thinking quick on her hooves? Undoubtedly thinking was a part of fighting that was the hardest to do in the middle of it - it took time for the brain to process what was going on, and that was precisely why martial arts hugely depended on muscle memory. For Wild, it was also true to a certain extent. However, he didn't allow himself to rely only on it - he trained himself to think quicker, think clearer, and think concisely. It was an advantage he couldn't let fall out of his practice. 

This day was shaping up to become quite interesting indeed, and all the better for everything it did to make him focus on something different other than what transpired at night and what the princesses might want to talk to him about.

Among the fighting, looking at it and participating in it, he felt... not at ease, perhaps, and not quite at home either. However, it was his element, the thing he was good at, the thing he honed to perfection over his life. His dedication spanned almost a decade, and all he wanted was for it to pay off.
> Chapter 15: Determination and Apprehension
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild continued his observations of possible opponents. The majority of them he didn't expect to prove troublesome, but a few did stick out. First of all, somewhat surprisingly for him, was Rainbow Dash. Her first opponent went down in barely ten seconds. She was quick on her hooves, using her maneuverability to her full advantage. She zipped around the fighting ring with ease, which allowed her to finish the first qualifying round quickly. For all her undoubtedly boastful attitude, she was skillful. Despite her unnecessary taunting before the round and even during it, she performed well. He was looking forward to bringing her down a peg or two, but he had to admit it would prove to be more difficult than he initially expected. 

The second pony to be worried about was an earth pony stallion by the name of Golden Ring. He was big and pudgy, but to say he was weak would be very wrong. He wore a long-sleeved gambeson with thin metal armor on his limbs, a cap that covered his head without lessening his field of vision, and a quartet of hoof spikes. Of course, the said spikes were one of the tournament weapons, thus they wouldn't hurt anyone. Wild noticed that his selection of weapons wasn't one he'd expect: the previously mentioned hoof spikes, an oversized sai - a dagger-like weapon with U-shaped guard used to trap blades - and, of all things, a weighed net with a length of rope attached to it. 

When Golden Ring was announced to go into the fighting ring, Wild watched closely. The fight began, and Golden Ring quickly closed in. He deflected the blows from his opponent's blade and tackled them to the ground, wrenching the weapon from them, and then quickly ending the fight with a stab of his sai. 

Wild was wary now - he didn't especially like being grabbed or touched, and this pony seemed far too happy with exactly that. The young unicorn was able to control the urge to run away or fight back violently during his sparring with others, and he hoped he wouldn't lose control there either. 

Another pony who would certainly prove to be troublesome was a pegasus stallion. He was nearly as tall as Princess Celestia, was twice as wide, packed with muscle. His wings, seeming small for his size, were also quite muscular and didn't inhibit his movement at all. His style was aggressive while also providing showmanship, each his strike accompanied by a loud battlecry. He had a somewhat funny name of Bulk Biceps, but no one would laugh about it in his face, this much was certain. He was big, he was fast, and he struck hard. His first qualifying round left his opponent in a need of the nurse, which thankfully returned them to the fight, albeit somewhat dazed. All in all, Bulk Biceps was a powerhouse, dressed in no armor at all, wielding a positively huge greatsword. Next to him, Wild looked positively anorexic. As the duels continued, he thought deeply about the possible strategy against the huge stallion - while he didn't show much in the ways of technique, his brute force compensated for it so far.

Soon, the first qualifying round ended, and a break was announced so that everyone could rest up for a bit. Wild remained sitting in place while others mingled and talked, closing his eyes. He remembered his first tournament. 

A lanky boy with a shock of black hair, beginnings of a beard, and bright gray eyes was preparing for his first proper duel. He was just fourteen, the youngest member of a local swordsmanship club, having been training for just a few months. First, he secured joint protection - pads on his elbows and knees. Then was the neck protection and a plastic breastplate, as well as a cup to protect his crotch. Finally, he put on a gambeson, one his mother made for him. After he put on his gloves, his trainer helped secure a fencing helmet on his head.

"Good luck," his trainer, a slim man in his 50s placed a hand on his shoulder, and the boy looked at him with a smile, "You've been doing well, show them what you got."

"I will," was his short answer, a look of determination on his face. He never slacked during training, ignoring bruises, tiredness, and fatigue. Day after day, he went to the club to train, adhering to the teachings of his trainer religiously. He was ready to either lose or win.

He went into the fighting ring, exchanged a handshake with his opponent, and took a stance. One foot in front of the other, the back foot turned at an angle, the front foot aimed at the opponent. His body was turned sideways, his right hand high with the sabre in an aggressive position, his left hand behind his back. His gray eyes narrowed as he watched his opponent, his heart beating harder in anticipation as he felt a wave of feelings wash over him. He wanted to strike, he wanted to hit, he wanted to be in the fighting ring until the end of time. Behind his helmet, mostly unseen, there was a positively predatory grin.

"Begin!"

The boy struck first, going on the offensive immediately. His blade swished and swung in front of him faster than one could blink, the sound of plastic against plastic reverberating in the hall as others watched, small splinters flying everywhere from the strong hits. Soon, with a successful feint, the boy emerged victorious. A smile unlike any other was plastered on his face, and his trainer shook his hand and congratulated him. 

"You did well," he said, "All that training pays off, doesn't it?"

The boy simply nodded, but all he wanted was to return to the fighting ring. His heart was beating fast, his fingers were twitching, and he wanted nothing more than to stand against others until he could stand no more. Alas, he had to return to the seat and wait for his turn.

Wild opened his eyes, steely gray. It was so long ago now, the sensation of his first real duel, but he still remembered it, how good it felt to be fighting and to win. Since then, he always longed for it to repeat again, and his wish came true this day. It felt different now, of course - he was in a different body, and his opponents were no longer human either. Yet the thrill of the battle was still the same, the excitement was still there. 

If only he didn't have to carry the rest. That one memory was one of the few he treasured, those he was unwilling to forget. He pushed those thoughts down immediately, focusing on his surroundings and the present situation. It was not the right time to think of the past.

The break was over, and the second qualifying round was announced. He resumed watching his possible opponents. However, the first duel was proven to be disappointing - it didn't happen. Bulk Biceps's second opponent yielded outright, deciding not to fight if it saved them from harm. Wild now hoped he wouldn't be the first to fight the large pegasus after the qualifying rounds even if he could, in theory, defeat him. He needed more preparation, he needed to see more of him before he could form any kind of approach. He supposed it did prove Swift Strike's point - ponies wouldn't be ready to fight all the time, they needed to learn how to fight with little preparations. Once Wild had to stifle a yawn, he had to recognize he wasn't physically at his best either - he needed more rest after the previous night, and he would likely hit the hay as soon as the club returned.

"Wild of Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club versus Excellence of Ponyville Sunrise Club!" 

Broken out of his musings, the young unicorn grabbed his sabre and went into the fighting ring. His opponent was a unicorn filly at least a year younger than him. It didn't take much to see she was anxious and nervous as her eyes never looked into his and her body seemed to tremble ever so slightly. She wore a gambeson with a quilted cap and wielded a sword and a shield. Wild eyed her with apparent disinterest, taking a relaxed-looking stance in front of her. 

"Begin!"

Wild was looking at her, waiting for her to make the first step. He already had a plan for how to deal with her swiftly and efficiently, but he was in no rush. His body swayed from side to side lazily, his head slightly cocked, and his sabre pointing at the ground and forward. Excellence's stance was rigid, her shield covering her front efficiently, and her blade was further out than the shield. 

She quickly took a few steps forward and attempted a thrust, which the young stallion batted aside without shifting his gaze. He quickly closed the distance, grabbed on the edge of her shield, and yanked hard to the side. She stumbled as she was exposed, trying to bring her blade in time to block Wild's next strike. However, he was faster, and his thrust was true - she was stabbed right in the heart, ending the duel. 

"Wild wins! Quick yet thoughtful, he uses his magical strength to reduce Excellence's defenses and strike her before she could recover," Steadfast Protector commented, beaming a smile Wild's way. 

Excellence hung her head in shame, her ears folded against her head as she trudged out of the fighting ring, dragging her weapon. A pair of older ponies was waiting for her, clear looks of disapproval on their faces. As soon as she left the ring, she was berated by them rather loudly, calling her a disappointment and a waste of talent. Tears welled up in her eyes as she silently accepted the verbal assault even as the ponies around her looked on uncomfortably. Wild could understand what they were saying and thus was sending a glare their way from nearby. 

"What are you looking at?" the stallion of the pair snarled at him, "What, you think she doesn't deserve this? She's a failure! We've spent so much money on her stick-playing and yet she fails the first tournament she's in!"

Wild's glare intensifies, his hooves itching to give the stallion a few bruises. The young unicorn didn't really like children, but he never found any abuse acceptable, verbal or physical. Excellence was crying quietly, fueling his anger, and so he stood up and made his way to the pair, fire in his eyes.

"What appears to be the problem?"

Wild almost jumped in place, surprise on his face. Right behind Excellence and what looked like her parents, Princess Luna materialized out of thin air. Was she always there, looking after the club?

"Y-your majesty..." the previously-angry stallion was cowering, bowing to her, "N-nothing at all, excuse me..."

"This is not what I heard," she replied in a harsh tone, "Walk with me."

Obediently, the three ponies followed her away from the tournament, the tension in the air fading away. Wild snorted, giving a stink-eye to the pair of what he already considered worthless parents, and returned to his place. His face smoothed out, adopting a neutral expression once more. He took his seat and now nothing displayed he ever expressed emotions. He continued watching the tournament, ignoring everything else but ponies he could be fighting against soon.

"Looked like that Wild fella was ready to tear them a new behind," Applejack commented, "To be honest, so was Ah."

Wild's ears twitched as he heard those words. His eyes glanced at the six mares sitting not too far away from him. Silently, he was glad they shared the sentiment - it felt good to know abuse of this sort wasn't accepted here. 

"Count me in, too," Rainbow Dash furrowed her brows, "I'd kick their butts to the moon and back, that's for sure!"

Of course, she couldn't help but paint herself in a good light. Wild's bored expression washed over her as well. He didn't know her, but he still didn't like what she said. Perhaps it was unfair of him, but he found braggarts and arrogant people to be unable to face any actual challenges. Besides, to him, her voice was annoying, grating on his nerves bit by bit. He itched to give her a piece of his mind... but it could wait until the fight. There and then, she would be humiliated, and he would show her just how far her arrogance carried her. 

Soon, the ruckus died down and the tournament continued as if nothing had happened. Wild tuned out the whispers and the chatter around him, focusing on the duels once more. 

Soon, both Precision and Swingblade fought again. The young mare defeated her opponent swiftly with a fast stab without exposing herself to a strike, and the pegasus used his reach advantage to defeat his own opponent. It was, all in all, not very interesting to look at. Wild knew their fighting styles and thus was already aware of possible tricks to defeat them. Of course, it helped that they regularly fought in the club itself.

The second qualifying round ended, and everyone who achieved two victories were told they didn't need to participate in the third round. Wild, while eager to fight, recognized that it would be better to have some rest for when the tournament kicked in earnest. Thus he closed his eyes, falling into a half-asleep state soon, aware just enough for the surroundings to register and for him to be ready to get up at a moment's notice if needed.

What he didn't notice was a pair of sky-blue eyes surveying him and all the other fighters.
> Chapter 16: Thrill
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Who's that sexy chunk of meat with a scar on his head over there? Wild's his name, wasn't it?"

Precision turned her head and saw a mare looking at Wild with a lecherous grin on her face. The mare in question was an earth pony in her twenties, closer to twenty-five. She wouldn't look out of place pretty much anywhere. 

"Aren't you a bit too old for him?" the young unicorn raised her brow.

"If he's not legal yet, he'll be within a year," the mare waved her hoof dismissively, "I say get 'em young to have a good fuck. Lots of energy, eager to please. And please they do..."

"You're not that old to lack energy or eagerness," Precision commented, "Same for the stallions your own age."

"So, am I too old or am I not?" the mare chuckled, smirking at the unicorn, "In any case, how Wild's like?"

"I don't know much," Precision shrugged, "He doesn't talk to anyone, he doesn't partake in anything other than martial arts. Dunno what he's up to when he's by himself."

"Oh, so a stone-cold exterior?" the mare looked pleased, "That's fine, I'll help him melt it with a flame of desire~"

"That wouldn't be a good idea," the young unicorn protested on his behalf, "He... doesn't like it when others touch him. He doesn't like when others approach him. And, as I said, he doesn't talk. At all. I don't know if he's deaf, but he's most likely mute."

"A mystery to be solved, sure," the mare nodded as if it didn't concern her in the slightest, "Have you set your sights on him yet?"

"I'm not into stallions," Precision waved her off, then noticed someone approaching from her side, "And speaking of those eager to please... Swingblade, when are you becoming fourteen? It's soon, right?"

"What?" he blinked stupidly at her first, then grinned widely, "In a week."

"You wanted someone? I bet he'll be fine for you," the unicorn addressed the mare, then turned back to the pegasus, "Wanna fuck this mare once you're fourteen?"

Swingblade's jaw nearly fell off as he stared at the earth pony mare. She was, undoubtedly, quite beautiful. Nothing in the realm of princess-level beautiful, but she was fit, her features were nice and pleasant, and she was also giving him a look of at least some interest. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks when her eyes traveled down his body, deliberately slowly.

"You'll do nicely," the mare grinned, walking closer to him, "Sporty, nice-lookin'... Ever bed a mare?"

"N-no, I've... not," Swingblade stuttered, a huge blush on his face, "Name's Swingblade, b-by the way."

"A nice name," she complimented, "Well, Swingblade, you've one week to prepare for the best fuck of your life. I'll be waitin' here, name's Daisy, you'll find me," she finished, turned around, flicked her tail at his muzzle, and walked away with a sexy sway of her hips, turning her head to him and giving him a wink with her sky-blue eyes as goodbye.

"Careful, don't let your dick fall out the crotch pocket," Precision bumped him teasingly, "That'd be kinda embarrassing. Anyway, be grateful I played match-maker for you, you owe me one."

Without waiting for a response, she walked away. Disaster was, at least for now, averted - she had no idea what Wild would do to the mare. It's not like her offer would be unwelcome by most, but he wasn't most. He didn't appreciate much calmer ponies approaching him, so she could only imagine his reaction to the lustful mare. It was very likely he wouldn't appreciate her eagerness to bed him. Not that Wild wasn't handsome in a certain way - he was quite fit, his features weren't in any way ugly or unpleasant, but his vacant stare and his scar, when combined, were somewhat off-putting. She heard some fillies were interested in him; not in him, precisely, but more his body. 

She glanced at him, and he wasn't even looking at her. As a matter of fact, he sat with his eyes closed, swaying a little bit in place like a tree in the wind, his face devoid of emotions. His breath was steady and slow, deep and thorough. Precision felt her skin prickle just a little bit when she came closer. His eyes opened, and she could swear they were glowing slightly. He turned his head and looked at her. His eyes bore into hers, and she felt completely exposed, unable to look away. It was a strange sensation - recent thoughts floated to the surface of her mind, most of them of no real consequence. However, the most prominent was, of course, the thoughts about the lustful mare and the talk she had just had. Precision wasn't one for casual relationships of that sort, but even she was interested. Daisy was positively sexy, an aura of desire surrounded her like a cloak, giving a sense of warmth to those around her. 

Precision had turned fourteen a couple weeks ago, so she could technically... No. She didn't know this mare, and now that she's gone, the feeling of attraction faded away. She brushed it aside as nothing.

She shuddered when Wild's eyes looked away, his head cocked as if he found something interesting. The young mare had suspected he had somehow looked into her mind, saw her recent memories and thoughts. A gaze was all it took, just like that. However, it seemed ridiculous. She didn't know much magic, but she was sure it required training to get anywhere when it came to magically exploring your own mind, let alone the minds of others. It was probably nothing but his usual aloofness. 

Wild frowned to himself - what did he just experience? He looked into her eyes, wondering why she was looking at his strangely, and there it was - information. Now he knew that there was a mare - Daisy was her name - that looked at him, wondered about him. Her expression made him shudder internally - to most people, it would elicit a different reaction, but he experienced revulsion instead. This mare wanted his body for her own pleasure, and it was disgusting. He hadn't had thoughts of sex for a long time, never had them since... well, he didn't want to think about it. Now, this only caused him a sense of terrible unease, making him want to gag.

But that wasn't important, no. What was important was how he got this information. For one reason or another, it seemed like he... invaded Precision's mind somehow. True, it was just her surface thoughts and nothing deeper, but it made him feel dirty, filthy. And she never even noticed, it looked like, or if she did, she discarded the sensation as unimportant. And if it was true that he did slip into her mind... what if others could do the same to him? It wasn't the first time he saw something in the eyes of others, but it was the first time he gleamed more than he believed he should. He shuddered at the thought - just how deep could one go into an other's mind? 

He knew, at that moment, he needed to learn how to protect his own. If anyone found out who he was, his relatively peaceful life would be over, and he would suffer until he died a most horrible death. And then... then, he would probably be reborn again, and no one could guarantee his third life would take place in an environment as pleasant as Equestria had been so far.

Panic arose inside him but he didn't let it show. He squashed it, pushed it down with all his will, he had beaten it back into the depths of his consciousness. Panic never helped, he knew. Panic made him disorganized, unprepared, random, uncertain. He needed to be in control, he needed to have a clear head if he hoped to survive. 

Breath in, breath out. Deeply, thoroughly. One breath, two breaths, three breaths. His heart stopped beating as fast, his body lost its tension. A duel was announced, and he needed to pay attention to it.

"Swingblade of the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club verses Rainbow Dash of Ponyville Sunrise Club!"

He saw the eager pegasi step into the fighting ring, both of them ready to fight, both of them desiring victory. Energy flowed through them, it could be seen by an untrained eye. They looked at each other, taunted each other with meaningless insults. They were ready to tear into one another.

"Begin!"

The two immediately flew up and started battling in the air. Spear against spear, they stabbed and swung, coming from all the different angles, trying to get one another. Swingblade attacked and dodged, fast and precise, and Rainbow Dash responded in kind. This aerial dance continued for a minute, two, five, neither relenting, neither giving up. However, the mare was faster, more trained, more energetic. One attack, one stab was all it took for the male pegasus to lose the first round of the duel.

"First round for Rainbow Dash!" Steadfast Protector announced, and the two pegasi landed, one grumbling, and the other beaming at the audience. A minute of rest was given to them.

"Begin!"

Swingblade dashed forward, a snarl on his face. Surprised, Rainbow Dash could do nothing but jump to the side with the aid of her wings - one of them was clipped by the strike, rendering her flightless for the round. She was firmly on the defensive now, dodging and blocking and parrying the relentless attack from the other pegasus. Yet, when he got too close, she jumped and hit his chest with her hooves, making air escape his lungs with a gasp as he was thrown backwards and off-balance. He rolled on the ground, disoriented, and that was when she struck, ending the round.

"Second round for Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash wins and goes on to quarter-finals!"

The Ponyville side of the spectators cheered while the Royal Orphanage side politely stomped their hooves in applause. Swingblade no longer looked eager - his ears were flat against his head as he looked down on his hooves, walking back to the stands in shame. 

"You did what you could, Swingblade," Swift Strike told him, "I know you will do better next time, you won't rest until you win."

"But I lost today..." he grumbled.

"You did, and you will accept it," the trainer nodded, "It's your first tournament outside the Orphanage. You did well by getting this far. With enough training, you will get even farther, believe me."

Swingblade nodded and sat down, looking glum. Wild glanced at him - he was once just like him, feeling elated in combat and then completely defeated if he didn't win. Eager to fight, never wishing to lose. He learned, and now he knew better. A loss meant he had yet more to learn. A loss meant the possibility for growth. A loss could not be avoided. 

Wild didn't lose much after learning this lesson. With this attitude, every loss he took became a thing to be analyzed and to be overcome. He watched recordings of his fights, thought back to them, and then trained to fix whatever it was that made him lose. In time, he stopped losing entirely, and he had yet to lose against a pony. However, despite coming out victorious against them, he was under no delusion - he still had to learn. He didn't need to learn the lesson the hard way - he much preferred prevention instead. A lesson learned before it was taught.

A few other pairs were called and fought, including a fight between Bulk Biceps and an unremarkable pegasus. The duel ended quickly when Bulk bit down on the shaft on the spear and brought his opponent down, ending the duel with a stab. A nurse was needed to ease the pain of the landing for the losing pegasus. The said pegasus forfeited the second round, and Bulk Biceps continued on, flexing his muscles and roaring in victory. Wild was annoyed once more at the forfeiture - he needed to see more of Bulk Biceps just to be sure of what strategy to use against him. Perhaps he would have to improvise more. It would be difficult, but there was a saying from somewhere - the bigger the wardrobe, the louder it falls. 

Precision's turn was announced and passed quickly. True to her name, she ended the first round quickly and decisively, avoiding a slash and delivering her own. It began and ended in mere moments. The second ended just as quickly as she struck her opponent over their guard right on their head. She would continue to quarter-finals and, as far as Wild expected, would at least go to half-finals. Undoubtedly, she would receive at least the third place overall, maybe the second, and even the first was within her grasp. 

Wild awaited his turn, but another was announced, and it wasn't him who was fighting.

"Twilight Sparkle of Ponyville Sunrise Club versus Lucky Clover of Ponyville Sunrise Club!"

Despite having been defeated by Wild previously, the stallion managed to snag two victories after that. If he had to bet, Wild would stand behind the unicorn mare - there was no doubt who would emerge victorious. Proof came just a few seconds later.

Lucky Clover delivered the first strike, a simple diagonal swing from upper left to lower right. Twilight stepped back, then batted the spear down and out of her way, stepping back forward, and delivering a quick thrust. A textbook-perfect move executed without a mistake. 

"First round for Twilight Sparkle!" Steadfast Protector announced, and a minute period of rest followed. Wild certainly expected Twilight to be a problem when she went forward - there was no doubt when it came to her skills. Even if they came purely from manuals, they were perfect, practiced until she could do them in her sleep. Perhaps she lacked originality, perhaps she wasn't creative, but their lack was more than covered by her trained reflexes and muscle memory. Or, in this case, perhaps it was also magic memory. He still didn't know just how magic worked. 

The second round was a surprise. Lucky Clover struck again, receiving a textbook-perfect response once more, but then he twisted out of the way, guiding his spear with him, and tried to strike again. This attack couldn't, shouldn't have succeeded - it was awkward and wasn't as powerful as it should be. However, despite Twilight's timely response, it wasn't timely enough. She did deflect the strike from her chest, but the spear went on to poke at her eye instead. 

"Second round for Lucky Clover!"

It seemed strange attacks that wouldn't succeed otherwise received no proper response from Twilight Sparkle. Wild raised a brow - did she really not know how to deal with something like this? Surely she had seen her fair share of awkward and weak and just plain ineffective strikes during her training? Or was it just a lucky strike and he was seeing a pattern where there wasn't any?

"Begin!"

The third round turned unlucky for Lucky Clover. Twilight Sparkle attacked first, feinted, and struck him right on the muzzle past his guard. This was over almost as soon as it began.

"Third round for Twilight Sparkle! Twilight Sparkle wins the duel!"

Wild stomped the ground politely in applause. If anything, he was looking forward to dueling her. Hopefully, she would prove to be a challenge despite the hiccup she experienced during her duel's second round. Perhaps it was just a fluke and nothing more.

"Wild of the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club versus Sweetie Drops of Ponyville Sunrise Club!"

Wild got up and walked into the fighting ring. He pulled out his sabre from the conjured scabbard and waited. His opponent was an earth pony mare of cream-colored fur and two-tone mane of deep blue and a shade of pink. She looked unassuming but there was a certain tension to her movements. The young unicorn didn't neglect watching her previous duels, and she showed herself to be a professional. Despite not wearing armor and having only a sword at her disposal, she emerged victorious from both qualification rounds without getting hit at all. Her movements were precise, there was no hesitation in her. He suspected she had once been a part of military or still was. Or perhaps she was private security of some kind. Either way, she obviously had training beyond what the Sunrise Club offered, this much was obvious to him. 

"Begin!"

Neither of them moved from their place. The drum beat was slow and steady as they gazed at each other. Wild's sabre was raised above his head in an aggressive stance he preferred. Her own blade was held in her maw by the D-shaped handle and was pointed slightly downwards.

He thought about all the tournaments he had been to, all the losses and victories he experienced. He remembered how he climbed the steep ladder of skill and proficiency, working tirelessly to improve his technique, his reaction time, and his body. That was a joy in his life, one of the very few he had. And now... he felt it again. He felt the eagerness rise within him, he felt adrenaline flooding into his bloodstream. He saw his opponent and he knew it was his time.

Gracefully and quickly yet unpredictably and precisely, he struck, his sabre swishing through the air. It collided with the raised blade of Sweetie Drops, and he felt immense satisfaction at the magically simulated sparks that came from the impact. It didn't even matter that his strike didn't hit her - the feeling of the fight was there, and that was all that mattered. 

A swing, a stab, a strike, a thrust. Like a song, the fight flowed through him as he surrendered himself to the sensation. It was right, it was what he needed. It was what he wanted. His opponent was skillful, and neither could finish the duel before the first minute passed. Exhilarated, he moved, dodged, blocked, parried, and attacked back again when he could. His face betrayed none of the emotions he felt as he was focused on the thrill of the fight. It felt exactly like it was supposed to be, the floodgates were open.

He remembered how he parried, feinted, and then struck true and won the duel when he was just around fourteen. He remembered hos satisfying the sound of blades hitting each other was. He remembered the stench of sweat, the feeling of his gambeson clinging to his skin. The sting in his eyes as sweat rolled down his forehead, the dull ache in his limbs after a thorough training. It was everything he wanted and needed.

Sweetie Drops attempted a feint, one he saw coming a mile away. He dodged easily, moving forward, and knocked her blade aside. Continuing with the rotation, the mare turned and struck with her hind legs, attempting to kick him. He jumped back, her hooves barely touching his chest. She brought her blade back in front of her, and the back-and-forth between them resumed. Skill against skill, body against body, blade against blade. 

Wild hadn't remembered when he was properly challenged since he was around seventeen. At that point, he could be called a master of dueling. Grueling training sessions had made his body into a machine, memorization and practice of different moves sharpened his mind. Since coming to Equestria, he didn't feel challenged when it came to swordsmanship - all the foals and young ponies in the orphanage were no more skilled than he was mid-teens. Even Precision and Swingblade, the very best of the bunch, couldn't scratch his itch for a challenge. 

But there it was. Sweetie Drops was more skilled than either of them, and she proved herself to be a challenge. And Wild relished in it.

After what seemed like eternity but was barely four minutes, Wild made his finishing move. Sweetie Drops, as skilled as she was, obviously wasn't used to the onslaught he brought to the field as he repeatedly hacked and slashed and stabbed, seemingly needing no rest. His aggression translated into his style perfectly, and he had yet to encounter someone who could truly stand up to it. Younger fighters didn't have the skill, older fighters didn't have the stamina. Sweetie Drops looked relatively young, but her inexperience with the likes of him proved to be her downfall.

All it took was a quick feint. She couldn't intercept his real strike perfectly, and he only needed to bat her sword aside before thrusting his blade forward. With her blade no longer threatening him and with his having hit her chest, the duel was over. 

"First round for Wild!" was the announcement, yet he didn't care.

He had experienced a challenge. He fought, he won, and he knew the second round wouldn't be too much different. He would fight, and his strike would be the first to hit the opponent. He basked in the glow of his first round's victory, a small smile appearing on his face, barely showing the true emotions inside him as his heart thumped in his chest like a war drum, the ringing of steel against steel humming pleasantly inside his head, and a heat of adrenaline coursing through his veins, filling him with strength and power.

He longed for more. And when they were told to begin the second round, he raised his blade and rushed forward. 

This day was perfect, and he failed to notice the sky-blue eyes continuing to observe him and his movements. They followed him like a predator, stalking him beyond his reach or notice, taking note for the sake of what was yet to come.
> Chapter 17: Desiring the Fight
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild was the perfect picture of serenity on the outside as he bowed to his defeated opponent Sweetie Drops after a swift round. Steadily, he returned to his place among the spectators despite how his heart hammered in his chest, making him struggle to keep his breath even. Inside him, a storm of emotions swirled: elation, joy, even a degree of happiness. Adrenaline flowed through his veins unhindered, a taste of fight on his lips and the feeling of victory in his mind. He resisted the urge to fidget despite how good it felt to experience this surge, this jolt of electricity crackling through his body like thunder, energizing him to the brim. He desired nothing more than to get into the fight again, to move and to strike with wild abandon. Before this day, he had no idea how much he missed it ever since... well, it was not the time to darken his mood by those thoughts. He grabbed them and pushed them back down, focusing on his surroundings instead, letting the sight of the fighting arena to take his entire attention, especially now that a new pair of opponents was announced.

He was watching as others fought after him, the most notable of them being Golden Ring - he closed in on his opponent, deflecting and blocking strikes, until he could tackle them and deliver a swift finishing blow. The bulky form of the stallion wasn't disadvantaging him at all - instead, he used his superior weight to easily bring lighter opponents down. The stallion was certainly highly trained and wouldn't give up easily. Which was exactly what Wild needed right now - another challenging fight, another person to test him, another person he needed to overcome on the path to victory in this tournament. 

Unbeknownst to him, Princess Luna had returned, once more invisible, and taken her place to continue watching over the tournament. She witnessed the second round of Wild's duel with Sweetie Drops, and she was pleasantly surprised by the show the young stallion displayed. Not a movement wasted, no strike without a purpose - it was as close to perfection as it could be even for someone twice if not thrice his age. The spark in his eyes, the precision of his movements, the strength in his strikes were, without a doubt, nothing like what she had seen in most others before. He was driven, a natural fighter, one with a limitless potential, just waiting to be truly fulfilled.

Luna wondered where he got his skills from - she was well aware he was skillful before he joined the Martial Arts Club, as his first duel with Swift Strike demonstrated. Perhaps it was one more piece of evidence in support of him being from some other world. 

The alicorn had given it plenty of thought, and it seemed she wasn't going the wrong way at all - everything she had seen so far supported it or, at least, didn't contradict it in any significant way. The vast intelligence in his eyes, the inconsistencies in his supposed life story, and his aptitude at things that weren't culturally Equestrian. She didn't exactly know why he would hide this fact - if anything, he'd need help to get used to the new surroundings, it would be quite natural for him to reach out. However, it seemed he was well aware of what happened to him and thought to hide himself instead. Which was understandable, of course. What was more telling - and far more worrying - was the fact that he didn't appear to be searching for a way back to wherever he came from.

He was not looking up books on either time travel or dimension travel, and Luna knew he understood enough of the language to slowly make his way through the various tomes with the help of a dictionary. Neither was he ever caught trying to sneak out to go to where he first appeared - the Everfree Forest. He confided his origins to no one and seemed perfectly content with his life, asocial as he was. 

Investigation into the Everfree found nothing that could qualify as shelter. Following his trace, both hoof steps and a magical trace, led them to nowhere. It was as if he appeared out of thin air. There was absolutely nothing to demonstrate that he existed before the day he was found and brought out of the forest. Yet there was no point of origin that could be found and analyzed either. The fact that tracking, magical or otherwise, was difficult in the Everfree didn't help matters at all.

Luna looked at Wild. A faint smile was on his face, barely noticeable; his breathing was deeper; and a flame in his eyes was present as well. He watched the tournament participants like a hawk, ready to jump into the duels himself. It was apparent only the strength of his will prevented him from doing so.

The alicorn thought that she could perhaps approach him after the tournament, to offer whatever help he needed. Alas, she didn't know how he would react. Would he panic, would he run away? Would he break down and cry? Would he evade and then disappear the first chance he got? The situation was as uncertain as it could be, and she didn't know how she needed to act. Especially since she didn’t know the circumstances that made him travel between dimensions in the first place - if he did that willingly. Once again, this couldn’t be answered without questioning him directly.

Wild turned and looked straight at her, furrowing his brows ever so slightly. She checked herself - she was still invisible. Then she looked back at the young stallion - his eyes looked in her direction but weren't quite focused on her. And yet... his presence was seemingly there, right in front of her, just within the touching distance. She could almost feel his breath, and she could certainly sense him reaching out, searching around. His presence brushed hers, and his body tensed, his gaze sharpening on her exact position. He didn’t look away when she slowly dropped her invisibility spell, looking at him calmly, giving him a small smile. He seemingly searched something in her eyes, and then his presence retreated.

Now that was something Luna didn’t know what to think of.

***

“Ladies and gentlebeings!” Steadfast Protector spoke, “We are entering quarter-finals! We have: Twilight Sparkle, Precision, Bulk Biceps, Golden Ring, Fast Clip, Wild, Rainbow Dash, and Vic! Only four of them will go on to half-finals! Who would they be? In five minutes, the first duel will commence - Precision versus Bulk Biceps!”

In no time at all, the young mare and the massive stallion were facing each other within the ring. The stallion towered over her, yet she didn’t allow herself to look anything but stoic and ready for a fight. 

“Begin!”

Despite his massive size, Bulk Biceps was quick. Precision dodged just in time to avoid his strike as he swooped in using his wings to propel himself. A series of thrusts and cuts were exchanged, and the young mare managed to deflect or avoid everything that came her way. She, however, managed to land a very light, glancing blow on his side. Since the round wasn’t over, the wound wouldn’t be fatal if it were real. She didn’t allow it to dampen her spirits - as big as the stallion was, as strong as his attacks were, he wasn’t unbeatable. His technique wasn’t the best, although his hoof work was exquisite. She just needed to wait for the right  moment... and there it was. He overreached and, before he could bring his weapon to defend himself, Precision dashed forward with a thrust right in the middle of his chest. 

“First round for Precision! True to her name, she waited just for the right time and turned Bulk’s strength against him!”

A minute of rest was like nothing, although both the young mare and the massive stallion recovered. Precision allowed herself a glance at the spectators: Swingblade was cheering her on along with the rest of the club, but Wild was simply staring. She looked him straight in the eyes, mentally daring him to look away now that he was caught. However, his intensity didn’t abate - and it wasn’t like he was watching her with any lustful thoughts in mind. Precision suspected he was asexual, but it was a fleeting thought before the second round commenced. 

Bulk Biceps, once more, immediately dashed forward, swinging his greatsword with the help of his powerful neck. He was more careful this time, but his frustration was obvious - he certainly didn’t expect to lose the first round to the small mare. He was moving swiftly now, hoping to end the round as quickly as he could, and in his favor this time. However, in his haste, he committed the same mistake - he swung his greatsword with all his might, committing more power than he needed. Another mistake was the angle of the strike - it was almost horizontal. If it were properly diagonal, Precision would've been struck - but she managed to dodge, ducking under the blade, something that usually wasn't done. Springing back up and forward, she struck him straight in the chest once more. 

“Second round for Precision, and she wins the duel!”

With an annoyed snort, Bulk Biceps went away, not even bothering with a respectful bow. 

“Twilight Sparkle of Ponyville Sunrise Club versus Fast Clip, an independent participant!”

“Alright, Twilight, do your best,” Rainbow Dash told her friend “He’s in Wonderbolts, so he’s fast. Not as fast as me, but he’s still really fast.”

Twilight nodded, too nervous to voice a reply to this. Her helmet donned, her sword and shield ready, she stepped into the ring. She knew it wasn’t time for nervousness, but she couldn’t help herself. However, the words of Steadfast Protector appeared in her mind: ‘You are a bright young mare, nothing you apply yourself to is out of your reach.’

She steadied herself as the shout of “Begin!” sounded. Fast Clip took to the air immediately, using a common tactic of pegasi when they attacked from above, just out of reach. Twilight was forced on the defensive at first, unable to securely grasp the wooden shaft of the pegasus’ spear to bring him down. The manuals were clear on the pegasi: fighting them in the air while you were on the ground was foolish as they had an absolute advantage while up high. One needed to bring them down first before striking at them. 

The tactic of Fast Clip was obvious - exhaust her with a flurry of attacks from all sorts of directions before swooping in and exploiting a hole in her defenses. However, she wasn’t about to let it happen - when he flew just close enough, she sent her sword straight at his wing. He attempted to dodge, but he was slightly too close, and so his wing was clipped, forcing him immediately to the ground. Grabbing the sword with her magic, Twilight brought it down, only for the pegasus to dodge it, then strike out with his spear.

His attacks were now slower, less varied in angle, but he was quick on his hooves, dodging and darting around without much issue. However, he didn’t have a shield, so he was forced to attack and defend with the spear only, giving Twilight an advantage. She pressed it, using her shield to block and deflect strikes, closing in where he wouldn’t be able to use his spear effectively. When it was clear the end of the spear was past the point of being threatening, she swiftly stepped further in and delivered a swift strike to the neck. 

“First round for Twilight Sparkle! Textbook-perfect pegasus take-down and an excellent use of the shield!”

The break passed far too quickly for the unicorn, and she was back in the fight sooner than she wanted. Before the second round even began, she had to wipe the sweat from her forehead. She knew she trained for this, but this knowledge didn’t help her much. She reined in her anxiety as best she could before taking a familiar fighting stance. Her right ear itched and she flicked it, then turned to see what was bothering it - to her surprise, she immediately noticed Wild watching her. 

“Begin!”

Fast Clip was slower, more cautious in the second round. He prodded her defenses, trying not to get too close to her, flying more erratically to be less predictable.  Twilight struggled, even receiving a couple glancing blows to her torso. However, none of them were judged debilitating, so the fight continued. This back-and-forth dance continued for a while, testing the endurance of both fighters. Twilight Sparkle could feel Wild watching her, she could even catch his gaze sometimes in between strikes. She had no idea what it was all about, but she tried to ignore it. She couldn’t afford to lose her focus.

Attack, block, redirect, advance, fall back. She could feel the rhythm of the fight, the pattern of her opponent. His cautiousness didn’t allow him to close in and truly take advantage of the openings in her defense, as tight as they were. However, if the fight continued for too much longer, Twilight would be too exhausted to defend herself properly. After all, pegasi usually had far more endurance than anyone, especially in the air. 

And there it was, the opportunity. She managed to catch the spear between her sword and shield. Taking the chance, she wrenched it, putting as much of her body into it as she could. Fast Clip, being lighter than her, went down on the ground, landing in an awkward position. And then the duel was quickly finished.

“Twilight Sparkle wins the second round, the overall victory goes to her! Excellent use of her own weight against a lighter pegasus!”

With a sigh of relief and a wipe of telekinesis to remove sweat from her forehead, she exchanged respectful bows with her opponent and went back to the stands, unbuttoning her gambeson in the meanwhile. That was certainly intense. By that point, Wild’s eyes were no longer lingering on her.

Unbeknownst to her, Wild was milling over what he had seen, analyzing the fight. If he was right, Twilight would go on until the finals - she certainly had the skill for it, even if she was a bit slow on the side of creativity. However, she had still managed to recognize the danger of prolonging the fight for too long, and she went in for that strike even though the spear could become unstuck and have a clear way right into her chest. Of course, maybe ponies wouldn’t do something like this if the weapons were real and the situation was far from friendly, but this risk-taking was still impressive. 

“Rainbow Dash of Ponyville Sunrise Club versus Golden Ring of Applewood Grapplers Association!”

With a smirk at the stallion, Rainbow Dash used her wings to hover just a little above the ground, then quickly moved towards her opponent. He deflected her spear and went in for a grab, only for her to nimbly evade and strike out with her spear again, which glanced off his armor. Each time the stallion attempted to move in, the pegasus dodged and weaved around it, almost teasingly, striking as she went. This dance continued for another minute, and the stallion grew frustrated. Unfortunately for him, Rainbow Dash finally managed to go for a thrust to his chest, and she won the round.

“First round for Rainbow Dash! Excellent use of speed and agility, as well as the reach of the spear to keep her opponent at bay!”

The second round went much the same with the pegasus staying just out of the grappling range, harassing her opponent with the spear all the time. A grin was on her face at the same time as the stallion’s brows furrowed in concentration. At one point, he went for her spear, wedging it in place. However, Rainbow Dash noticed it before it happened and reacted quickly - with a powerful flap of her wings, she used her spear as a lever to topple the stallion, who fell on the ground with a thud. She quickly unsheathed her sword and went in for s trike. The stallion, slightly dazed from the fall, couldn’t do anything effectively to defend himself, and so he was struck.

“Rainbow Dash takes the second round and wins! While pegasi are light, Golden Ring learned that they aren’t to be underestimated - their wings can be powerful indeed!”

Before Wild knew it, he was called.

“Wild of the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club versus Vic of Ponyville Sunrise club!”

Vic was a nervous-looking unicorn stallion, who watched Wild with a wary expression as the two entered the fighting ring. Wild’s expression was unreadable, but he was watching his opponent with attention. Vic was wearing a gambeson and had a longsword, although it wasn’t much longer than Wild’s sabre. The stallion by himself was about the same physical age as Wild, although he was just slightly smaller. 

“Begin!”

Hesitation was clear in Vic, and Wild immediately went on an offensive. A simple tactic of striking left then right, going as fast as he could, giving the opponent no time for anything but defense. Sparks flew from their blades, and Vic was forced to take a step after step back, barely keeping up. Wild’s movements and strikes were tight, not allowing an opening, evading binds. Suddenly, Wild changed the pattern, and Vic barely managed to dodge, then struck back with a thrust. Wild barely moved, the blade almost grazing the fur on his neck, and he performed his own thrust. With no time to dodge or return his sword to block, Vic was hit in the chest.

“Wild wins the first round with a flurry of blows, a masterful dodge and a quick thrust!”

Wild could hear the echo of his heartbeat in his head - one more victory for him, one more fight he partook in. The corners of his lips lifted in a smile - this was what he wanted, this is what he finally had again. Were he more open about his feelings, he would've let out a shout, perhaps thump his chest. He was in his element, and he was relishing in it.

And then there was the second round.

“Begin!”

Vic moved forward first, a determined expression on his face as he delivered the first swing. Wild blocked in, then slid his sabre along his opponent’s sword, going for a stab. Vic angled his blade slightly, evading the stab, and Wild retracted the sabre, then swung to the side. As Vic raised his longsword to block, Wild quickly changed the direction, stepped to the side and slightly ducked, and delivered a cut right on the neck.

“The second round and victory for Wild! Masterful use of a classic feint!”

Wild nodded to his opponent and went back to the stands, tiny shivers on his skin. He desired more, but he knew he had to wait. He didn’t want to, he wanted to fight, he wanted to strike, he wanted to hurt-

And at this thought, he clamped down on it and pushed it down. A grimace of pain almost bloomed on his face, but he forced it down too. He wasn’t there to hurt others - it was a friendly tournament, nothing more. Reveling in violence wasn’t right, he didn’t want it. With a stony, empty expression, he carefully sat down and trained his eyes on the next pair of contestants.

Unbeknownst to him, Luna didn’t fail to notion his internal struggles, as subtle as they were on the outside.
> Chapter 18: Tactics and Tricks
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Only four contestants are left as we move to the half-finals!" Steadfast Protector announced, "Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash, Precision and Wild! Two from Ponyville Sunrise Club, two from the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts club! We will soon see who ends up on top!"

Wild was ready. Wild was willing. Wild would not back down now when victory was so close. He felt more energized than ever, prepared to take on whomever he had to in order to win. His first tournament in over a year, and he was already so high up in the ranking, which was certainly a point of pride for him. Despite what he suffered in the months before, despite having to adapt to an unfamiliar body after, he prevailed. He overcame the initial difficulties and learned how to be efficient once again. He rewired his brain, retrained muscles that felt familiar yet worked differently, and he learned many new things. He wasn't blind to the fact that he still fell back to techniques and moves he learned when he was still a human, and the shape of his magical telekinetic aura resembled hands, but he knew he would shed those limits in time. 

Twilight Sparkle was nervous. Her brother's training helped her immensely, but she didn't expect to do so well so soon. Even worse, now more and more ponies expected her to win, and she didn't know what to do with the pressure. She knew she was a good learner, but everyone else had their own strengths too. Rainbow Dash was fast and agile, moving every which way using her trained wings. Precision certainly deserved her name, and Wild... Twilight had never seen someone as skilled as him before. Her own brother was impressive, but it seemed like Wild was even faster, stronger, although his technique was odd in places, and his choice of a weapon wasn't one she expected to see. Every contestant had their own strength, and Twilight wasn't sure she would win. 

"The pairs are decided!" Steadfast Protector continued, "The first is Twilight Sparkle versus Precision! Two undoubtedly very skilled ladies, both deserving a chance to move to the finals. The second is Rainbow Dash versus Wild! A young but impressively skillful stallion against an older and no less impressive young mare! Champions, approach your opponent - perhaps there were words you could share before we begin."

And so they did. Twilight Sparkle met with Precision even though her eyes traveled to Wild more than once. 

"Scared of him?" Precision teased her.

"Well... yeah, I suppose so," Twilight agreed, "He's just... something about him is odd."

That was when Rainbow Dash spoke up.

"So, Wild, ready to face me and lose?" she smirked, "I'm the fastest flier in Equestria, you know. I've been training for years too, far longer than you could, for sure."

Wild did not look impressed. He made a few gestures with his hooves.

"What?" Rainbow Dash looked puzzled.

"Wild is mute," Precision chimed in, "What he just did is sign in Equestrian Sign Language. He says you are arrogant."

"It's not arrogance when it's true," the pegasus grinned.

"I'm sure looking forward to seeing you fight him, then," Precision smiled in turn, then turned back to her opponent and spoke quietly, "Wild is odd, yeah, but we got used to it. My advice - don't underestimate him. He's really damn good, and I mean it," she paused for a moment, internally debating whether to say the next thing, "Well... I have to admit that he's better than me. Could never beat him once."

"Thanks for advice," Twilight nodded in gratitude, and soon it was time to fight.

"Twilight Sparkle of the Ponyville Sunrise Club versus Precision of the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club!"

Wild sat down among his club members and went rigid, all his attention aimed at the two mares pitted against each other. Oh, what he wouldn't give to be in their place, to fight this fight, and the next, and the one after that, to fight all of them until exhaustion took him. It would allow him not to think, to forget everything but the thrill of the fight. He took a deep calming breath, then slowly exhaled. Then did it once more. Soon, he would fight - he just had to wait. He would have his chance.

The mares exchanged salutes with their weapons and the duel began in earnest. Both approached each other warily, yet their steps were sure. With a burst of sudden movement, Precision threw a knife at her opponent. Twilight hurriedly dodged, and the knife merely glanced her protected side, doing nothing at all. However, a second knife was already on the way, and she had no time to dodge - she used her longsword to bat the knife aside, earning a surprised expression from her opponent. Three knives were thrown in quick succession, and Twilight dodged or blocked all of them.

"Well damn," Precision said, "That's impressive."

"Thanks," Twilight nodded, accepting the compliment.

"Another word of advice - Wild can do the same thing."

Precision then immediately went in, using her sword to strike from behind the shield. Twilight blocked it, then used the momentum to swing towards the unprotected side of her opponent. However, she was met with a shield as Precision moved it swiftly to protect her, and she was already striking out again. 

Twilight tried to yank the shield away with her magic like she had seen Wild do before, but Precision proved swift and slippery, moving quick to avoid being grabbed by magic. The momentary lapse in concentration earned Twilight a stab right in her unprotected face.

"Precision wins the first round! Twilight Sparkle focused too much on getting the shield out of the way and paid the price!"

A pause lasted an eternity and yet was seemingly not there at all. The spectators were leaning forward in anticipation, the tension was thick in the air. It would soon be clear who, out of the two young mares, would go on to the finals. 

"Begin!"

Twilight was wary now, knowing that should she lose now, she would be out - aside from the fight for the third place, of course. She didn't expect to go as far as she had managed to already, but that didn't mean she would give up. She could imagine how proud her brother would be if she managed to win her first tournament. Not that she thought he would be disappointed if she came out in third place or even fourth, but she wanted to win this. 

When Precision struck against her, she blocked and ducked to where the shield would block her opponent's view. It allowed her just a small moment to change her grip, holding her sword by the blade now. She hooked over the shield, ducked a strike, and yanked. Surprisingly for her, the shield practically flew away, leaving Precision only with the bastard sword in her magical grasp. However, Twilight overextended, and she could see her opponent's blade swinging towards her despite the minute delay in reaction. She brought her own sword closer to her, barely managing to make the blow a mere glancing strike, one that wouldn't cut through her gambeson. She pushed forward, changing her grip again - one point of contact on the handle, and the other on the blade. Precision's body was unprotected and, with proper guidance, the tip of Twilight's sword was pressing against her chest. The round was over.

"Twilight Sparkle wins the second round! Excellent use of half-swording!"

Twilight let out a breath of relief. Now they were on equal ground - should either of them lose the next round, it would be over for them, for it was the deciding round. 

"Your magic is really strong, Twilight," Precision told her, "Felt like a full grown dragon was trying to tear my very soul off."

"Sorry," the lavender unicorn apologized sheepishly.

"Don't worry, now I know I really shouldn't get in a position where you can use telekinesis on me," Precision grinned, "I bet you could wrestle that big guy if you tried. Bulk Biceps, I think."

Wild made his own observation of the round - he took note of her strength. He didn't know exactly how strong he was, but he was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to do what Twilight did. After all, she was born with magic - he hadn't had even a single year of experience with it yet. He swore to himself that he would one day overcome her or, at least, be equal to her strength. 

The third round soon came. 

"Begin!"

Twilight had a risky plan, but she hoped it would play right into her victory. She immediately rushed forward, fast enough to seem threatening but not too quick as to lose control once she would need to change direction sharply or stop. She expected the strike from Precision, and she used her sword to wrestle her opponent's blade right between it and the shield. Precision grunted as the momentum of Twilight forced her to brace and steady herself. With her sword firmly wedged and useless, she reached for one of her throwing knives. Twilight was quicker as she snatched the other knife and immediately struck the unprotected chest before Precision could.

"And Twilight Sparkle wins the third round and the overall duel, moving on to the finals!" Steadfast Protector announced, "Successful use of her opponent's weapon against Precision yielded her the victory she needed!"

"Crap, I didn't expect that," Precision commented, "But that was good."

Wild mused to himself - apparently Twilight Sparkle was perfectly capable of creative thinking in dangerous situations. He would now have to be very wary of her - should he gain victory in his own duel. His eyes met the violet eyes of Rainbow Dash, and he knew it wouldn't be easy. His opponent smirked at him as if her victory was already guaranteed. He bristled on the inside, reminded of all the cocky and arrogant opponents he had fought in his previous life. He intended to teach her a lesson in humility so that, perhaps, she would be brought down a peg. He had never been very boastful of his own skills, deeming it sufficient for his actions to speak for him instead. He found a certain degree of humor in the fact that all he could show now was action. 

"Wild of the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club versus Rainbow Dash of the Ponyville Sunrise Club!" 

He stood up and made his way to the arena, his head held high, his posture steady, and his steps filled with confidence. Rainbow Dash, on the other side, was strutting forward akin to a peacock, basking in all the attention she could get. 

"Ready to go down?" she taunted once the two stood against each other in the arena. He ignored it, opting to do just a bit of stretching instead, loosening his muscles just a little bit more. 

"Begin!"

The two burst into motion at the same time: Wild dashed forward, hoping to take her down before she could fly up, and Rainbow Dash shot up into the air. The stallion swung his sabre and barely missed her leg, and immediately after he had to defend against viciously fast spear strikes. With the pegasus out of easy reach, he was forced on the defensive. A hand of magic appeared out of thin air and grabbed the shaft of the spear - it wasn't enough, and Rainbow Dash wrestled the control back to her and struck. She was too close to Wild, however, and she ended up smacking him in the side with the dull part of the spearhead that connected to the shaft. He stumbled at first but then went into a roll, forcing himself down to avoid a stab, all the while controlling his sabre to put it between himself and his opponent. He came out of the roll swiftly, immediately deflected a strike, then focused - two hands reached out, one of them grabbing the spear, and the other -

The crowd gasped - a resounding slap echoed across the arena as Wild's magic connected with Rainbow Dash's muzzle. Dizzy for but a moment, she couldn't do anything as the stallion grabbed the shaft of the spear more firmly and then, with a grunt, pulled. The pegasus' wings went out of rhythm, and she was brought down to the ground. Wild took advantage of it and struck, but she dodged just in time, then spread her wings to take off again while the point of her spear threatened him. He took a chance and rushed forward, using his sabre to direct the spear away from him, and then he was past the point. Even as Rainbow Dash reached for the side sword, he jumped and delivered a powerful kick straight to her chest, sending her tumbling backwards and positioning the spear controls away from her mouth. She was just a hair too slow to defend herself when Wild's saber slashed across her neck.

"What a spectacular, intense fight! The first round goes to Wild!"

"Not bad..." Rainbow Dash said, breathing heavily, "But I'll be better next time."

Wild didn't respond, instead circling around the arena and simply breathing, belonging in the moment. He could feel the pleasant burn of his muscles, the heat radiating off his body, and the sweat dampening the fur. He was in his element, and he was ready for more. It didn't matter what his opponent said to him, it didn't matter what anyone was speaking right now - all of it was background noise, unimportant at that moment. Even the feeling of being watched - one that didn't came from the general audience - could be ignored then.

He didn't miss the start of the second round.

Wild wound up and then threw his sabre, making it spin in the air towards Rainbow Dash. Even as she took off, the sabre hit one of her wings - right with its sharp edge. She was grounded now, but Wild was without his weapon. He knew it was foolish, but he couldn't resist the temptation to show off, to defeat her at a disadvantage. He didn't need the sabre to defeat her. She could boast all she wanted, declaring herself the God of the Universe for all he cared, but he would come out on top. 

He could see her smirking even as he made a beckoning gesture with his magical hand, preparing himself. True to what he expected, she rushed at him, then she lunged, aiming her spear right at his chest. He reached out with his magic, wrapped it around the spear, and willed it to stop. The momentum carried from the spear to his magic and, through the magic's connection to his body to him, making him slide backwards on the ground. However, Rainbow Dash was stopped, and that was what mattered. She attempted to pull back but he didn't let her, and he used his magic to throw some dirt in her eye, following with a heavy punch. Blindly, Rainbow Dash attempted to push him with her hooves even as he reached for her own side sword, but he angled his body to make her slip. Imbalanced, she was easy to pull and make her fall on the ground, and then he used her own sword to stab her in the side of her head, ending the round. He threw the sword down, snorted at her in dismissal, and went to retrieve his sabre even as the heart pounded in his chest, drowning out the rest.

He won. She boasted and she lost. 

And he knew he would win again.
> Chapter 19: Victory and Realization
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cheers from the Royal Orphanage side of the arena were overwhelming as Twilight Sparkle frowned - she didn't expect Rainbow Dash to lose, much less lose two rounds in a row, seemingly incapable of even making Wild sweat and struggle for victory. Her pegasus friend was scowling as she went to Nurse Redheart so that the latter could take a look at the already forming bruise at the side of her face as well as her general condition. Twilight was no longer sure she would stand on the equal level to Wild, especially now that it was clear he could fight harder and dirtier if he wanted. It appeared he was holding back in the previous rounds, which raised a worrying questions - how many more tricks did he have up his metaphorical sleeve? Just how much more fiercely could he fight should he need to? And, of course, all that raised a question - when did he have time to become so good when he was so young? However, no matter what the answers were, Twilight knew her brother's lessons would come in very handy soon...

Princess Luna was considering what she learned from the last duel. Looking deeper into it, she could see that the hit placement of Wild's magical hands was slightly odd - the slap connected a bit behind the cheek, making its impact overall weaker even if still effective. Of course, it could be just a slip of concentration, but she had a hunch that it wasn't it. When he threw dirt into Rainbow Dash's eyes, he was limited in effectiveness because he threw it in front of her face where her muzzle would take the brunt of it, not anywhere to the side so that one eye could've gotten more dirt. Missing these details in a duel wasn't something she thought Wild would do. Perhaps he was used to fighting someone different, someone with a physiology not like a pony. It would support her assumption that he was from a different world, but she feared she was becoming too biased, searching for confirmation instead of seeing the facts for what they were. Either way, the best she could do is take note of it and, perhaps, try to speak to him about it directly after the tournament or some other day. 

"And we have reached the final two duels!" Steadfast Protector announced to the cheers from both sides. Ponies were stomping their hooves on the ground like thunder, and it took a few seconds for it to subside, "Before we proceed with the duel for the first place in this tournament, we have the third place to decide. Rainbow Dash versus Precision!"

"You beat her up pretty good, I think I have a chance now," Precision said to Wild who, to her surprise, responded with a small smile, a huff of breath resembling a chuckle, and a nod.

Precision was, of course, disappointed that it wasn't her who would be fighting for the first place, but she knew without a doubt that Wild was better than her and deserved to win. She would just have to be better next time. She walked into the arena with her head held high, ready for the duel to commence. Rainbow Dash stood opposite her, her expression no longer carefree. While the bruise was dealt with, the impact of her loss still clearly weighed on her. Precision knew this was the perfect angle to exploit.

"Begin!"

Rainbow Dash burst into motion, rocketing straight towards Precision at full tilt. The unicorn stepped to the side and swung her sword, but the pegasus did a sharp turn, blocked the sword with her spear, and struck. Precision barely dodged, the tip of the spear going through where her head previously was. She took the chance and grabbed the spear, which Rainbow Dash immediately let go, opting to go with her sword instead. Even as she unsheathed the sword, she lurched, unbalancing her opponent, then struck. Precision was a hair too slow to block, and the swing went straight to her neck.

"Rainbow Dash wins the first round with ferocity and speed!" 

"I am not going to the fourth place," she said to Precision, a predatory grin on her face.

"The best you can get is the third place anyway," the young mare taunted, "I heard your boasting. Reality really slapped you in the face, huh?"

"Hmpf," Rainbow Dash snorted and then went away. Precision considered that maybe she should do what Wild did, although she didn't know how he could make his magic appear without casting some sort of spell or holding something. However, only telekinesis was allowed in the tournament, and he wasn't disqualified for what he did, meaning that he did, in fact, use telekinesis and nothing else. She decided to speak to him before the second round, maybe she could learn this quickly enough.

"Hey Wild, how'd you do that thing with your magic to make it punch and stuff?" she asked, then drank some water helpfully provided by the tournament organizers. 

Wild frowned, and she could practically see gears turning in his head, and then a pair of magical hands appeared out of thin air.

It? he signed with his hooves.

"Yeah, that. How do you do it?"

He considered it for a moment, one of the hands going to scratch his chin in what seemed like a motion he did often enough for it to be automatic. After a few moments, he shrugged, his hands both going palm-up. 

I do it. Don't know why- how. his face was carefully neutral as he gestured, When I want, it- they are.

"Fair 'nuff. I just wanted to see if I could learn to do that real quick to do some stuff to Rainbow Dash over there."

Wild shrugged again, then drank some water of his own. Soon afterwards, the second round was announced, making Precision return to the arena.

"Begin!"

Rainbow Dash immediately flew up and then towards her opponent. Precision considered something for a moment, waited for the right time, then swung to block the spear strike while at the same time throwing a knife right at the unprotected top part of the neck. Rainbow Dash couldn't react in time and was struck. 

"Precision was quick, allowing no time for her opponent to react, and won the second round!"

"The fourth place is waiting for you," Precision taunted.

Rainbow Dash simply snorted and went away, her ego even more bruised than before. Precision chuckled and then went to get some more water before the third and final round of her duel. It wasn't long before she was back in the arena.

"Begin!"

Taking a page from Wild's book, she launched herself forward even as Rainbow Dash did the same. They met, both striking, both blocking, and the dance commenced. Precision no longer had enough time to spare her concentration to throw a knife which would surely end the round in her duel, focusing the entirety of herself on blocking and striking, attempting to get closer. Grabbing her sword by the handle and then the blade, she managed to slide past the spear tip only to be met with a powerful front kick, which made her stumble backwards as she lost focus just for a moment. The flat side of the spear smacked against her head afterwards, disorienting her, but she managed to block what would've been the finishing strike. Shaking off the last of the dizziness, she went straight back to exchanging blows with Rainbow Dash. 

It continued for a while with neither willing to back down, but neither gaining the advantage they needed to finish the duel decisively. However, Precision used half-swording once more, getting past Rainbow Dash's guard, and then swung and struck her right on the muzzle with the pommel of her sword. The pegasus ducked, rushed forward, getting under Precision, then used her powerful legs to straighten and thus flip the unicorn. The spear angled awkwardly away from her opponent, Rainbow Dash grabbed her sword even as a knife sailed through the air millimeters away from her face. Rainbow Dash then felt a powerful kick right on her chest, which made her stumble, drop her sword, and then it was over when Precision struck again, ending the fight. 

"Precision wins the third round and the duel overall with her unyielding spirit! She takes the third place in this tournament!"

"Buy me dinner first before laying me on my back like that!" Precision chuckled as she stood up. 

"What? I didn't do it for that! And you're too young!" 

"Relax, I'm fucking with you in a different sense," the unicorn laughed, then went with Rainbow Dash to Nurse Redheart. Her body ached a bit, and Rainbow Dash was grimacing at something. 

"Alright, let's see..." Redheart said as she looked over them, then waved some tool over them, "Nothing much wrong with you, Precision, but you, Rainbow Dash, have a cracked rib. Once adrenaline fully wears off, you're going to feel it, so sit down," she then turned away and called for a unicorn assistant, "Alright, she's going to take your gambeson off, and I will spread the healing paste. You will sit right here, no walking for at least ten minutes, and no more fighting today."

"Whoops, sorry," Precision said with a grin.

"Ugh," Rainbow Dash pouted but did as told. In all honesty, the sting of defeat hurt way more than her rib, but there was nothing she could do about either - however, she swore she would one day beat Wild. It definitely stung that he was younger than her yet managed to gain the upper hand, and then Precision made a fool out of her. One day, she would defeat both of them in a row and have little trouble doing so, she swore.

"And finally, we have come to the duel for the first place!" the announcement came, and the two clubs hollered and cheered and stomped, and then they chanted.

"Wild! Wild! Wild! Wild! Go, Wild, go!"

"Twilight! Sparkle! Twilight! Sparkle! Outshine him!" 

On the opposite ends of the arena, Wild and Twilight Sparkle stood. Wild was calm, composed, and ready - his saber was parallel to the ground at his eye level, aimed at his opponent, and a determined expression was on his face. Twilight Sparkle had her shield to the right of her and the sword to the left, her eyes narrowed in concentration. 

"Begin!"

Silence fell as the audience waited for the two contestants to show what they're capable of. However, nothing happened at first, and then it was not a burst of sudden movement but measured steps as Wild and Twilight Sparkle circled the arena, assessing each other. Wild adjusted his stance, holding his sabre horizontally but tipped to the ground with the cutting edge up. 

Wild was ready. The heartbeat was all he could hear, urging him on, urging to strike and to strive for victory. He would not lose, he could not lose. For a reason he couldn't explain, it felt like it was the end of something, a pivotal point. It simply felt like it, and he could do nothing about it.

The circle closed, the two opponents coming closer together. 

Twilight Sparkle was ready. She didn't know if she would win, but she would give it her best, just as her brother taught her. She may not have spent years training to be a Royal Guard, but she knew enough and practiced enough, and being in the finals of this tournament was clear proof of it. She wondered how Wild would fare against her brother, but it was just a fleeting thought.

Wild struck first, A feint at the legs, then striking high, rotating his blade to get a swift stab to the face, but Twilight saw it coming and intercepted it with her shield just in time, striking out from behind in a sweeping cut. Wild stepped back and blocked, then a magical hand materialized in the air, going for the shield. She yanked, breaking Wild's hold, but it was enough for him to strike again and, in the very small moment of pulling back, he went past her defense - ducking just enough under a swing from her sword - and struck her in the neck. Even the gambeson she wore wouldn't have stopped this strike from being deadly were it made with a real weapon.

"A precise strike in a moment of opportunity is all it takes for Wild to come out on top in the first round!"

One round out of three won. He was so close to victory. Just one more round in his favor and he would win the entire tournament. The first in many months, in what felt like forever, and now he was back in his element. There was him, his weapon, and an opponent. Nothing else mattered.

"Begin!"

This time, there was no circling, no waiting in anticipation - Wild charged and struck, weaving around Twilight without stopping his rain of attacks, expertly dodging and blocking as he tried to find an opening while wearing his opponent down. Twilight attempted to bash him with the shield, but he stopped it with his magic. Then, unexpectedly, his own blade was stopped by her - a hand the color of her magical aura wrapped around the blade. Wild faltered, his eyes wide as he stared at the clearly defined five fingers. His heart skipped a beat.

Was she... like him? 

It was then when Twilight stabbed him right in the chest, and he was too slow to react, still stunned.

"I can do this too," Twilight said smugly as Steadfast Protector announced her win in the second round. Wild didn't hear the announcement, simply stumbling back dumbly.

She could form a hand too. Was she like him? Was she not a pony before? Was she once... a human? 

Everything was distant then even as he automatically grabbed a glass of water and downed it. The sounds were muffled, colors blurred. His body felt wrong, every movement unnatural, stiff, awkward. 

Did she know? Did she know who he was? Was she like him? Did she know? Was she a human before? 

Those thoughts swirled endlessly in his head, spinning and spinning and spinning...

"Wild?" 

The voice broke him out of the downward spiral and he shook his head to get rid of those thoughts. He turned to the person who spoke to him, and it was Precision.

"You alright?" she asked, looking at him weirdly.

For a moment, he considered what to say - or, well, sign - but in the end just gave a snort, a shake of his head that could be taken either way, and he went back to the arena as soon as the third and final round was announced.

What Twilight Sparkle could do, what she was and who she wasn't, none of it mattered in this tournament. He found find out later. For now, he told himself that she wasn't human and couldn't possibly be human, and focused on finishing the fight.

"Begin!"

Wild spared no more thought to what he saw and what it might mean. He concentrated, adjusting the grip on his sabre, now ready. Even if she was a human, he was stronger, and he would show her that.

They clashed, and Wild mercilessly struck time and time again, feinting and halfswording while dodging the incoming attacks and parries. He would not lose. He would not lose. She had hands? He was better at using them. With a swift slap on both sides of her helmet, he disoriented her enough to wrench her shield away from her, throwing it as far as he could. She recovered enough to defend herself with her sword, and her own magical hand struck out, aiming at his muzzle. He brought his own up to block it, a forearm of magic forming, and his own side hook struck her in response, swiftly and with power behind the punch. She recoiled, and he pushed, using his magical hands nearly as much as his sabre. 

Twilight Sparkle was good, no denying that, but she buckled under his onslaught. She barely had a moment to regret wearing a helmet - each strike at it resonated like a gong inside her skull, and Wild was simply too fast and unpredictable, and she wasn't too familiar with hand to hand combat to properly defend herself. Her defense was cracking under pressure, and she could do nothing about it.

The end was swift - her sword was knocked aside, and his sabre struck her neck under the helmet and above the gambeson protection. It was over.

"What a stunning display of ferociousness!" Steadfast Protector announced, and the Royal Orphanage side roared and stomped as they cheered for their champion, "Wild defeats Twilight Sparkle in the third round, wins the fight, and takes the first place in today's Ponyville Annual Swordsmanship Tournament!"

The end of the tournament went by Wild fast. He received a golden medal with the number of the place he took, and he took away a golden cup with the tournament's emblem on it, which was by itself the flag of Ponyville - an apple tree surrounded by a horseshoe, a wing, and a horn - with two crossed swords in front of it. Engraved was the date of the tournament and Wild's own name. 

And then there was a feast. Wild was granted a seat next to Twilight Sparkle and Precision, who took the second and third place respectively. On his other side were the trainers: Swift Strike of Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club and Steadfast Protector of Ponyville Sunrise Club. Wild had to admit he was very hungry after everything was over and done, and so he ate with gusto.

"You've done extremely well, Wild," Swift Strike told him, "You've never neglected your training and came out on top with almost clear record."

Almost.

Wild was disappointed in himself at being so shocked at Twilight Sparkle using magical hands like he did. However, when he looked back at it, she definitely wasn't nearly as good as him, and his focus in previous life was never hand to hand combat unless street fights counted. He didn't know karate or krav maga or anything else, he simply knew how to hit hard, to hit well, and to protect his own body. Twilight Sparkle knew some simple tricks, that was all. Though, he did have to wonder where she learned them. Maybe he would have to look into it. But, for now, he simply enjoyed the food and basked in his victory. Next time, he promised to himself, he would be entirely undefeated.

Princess Luna didn't miss what happened. Even now, she was sitting aside, invisible, watching Wild. She noticed before how he used his magical hands to eat, and he used cutlery - whenever it was provided - in a way that only someone born with hands was familiar with. She didn't see it before, but now that she paid attention...

There was not a single doubt in her mind that he wasn't born a pony.
> Chapter 20: Two Days
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some days have passed since the tournament ended, and everything settled into the usual peaceful routine of life. Wild felt better than ever, the dark thoughts that previously plagued his mind were banished and locked deep within, and he finally allowed himself to fully enjoy his new life.

Well, perhaps fully would not be the right word. He was still mostly by himself, although now he was joined in his daily jogging by Precision and Swingblade. He didn't exactly think of them as friends, considering how little he knew of them and vice versa, but he didn't mind them sticking around. He didn't have to interact with them much, and both of them knew he wasn't very approachable in the first place. Most of the time, Precision and Swingblade talked between themselves, often bickering, trying to get a rise out of the other, and all of that was nothing but background noise to Wild. However, he did listen to when the subject of that sky-blue-eyed mare he saw came up.

"Still haven't gotten laid, I see?" Precision teased Swingblade, "And here I thought someone was actually interested in you."

"S-shut up!" he blushed, then bumped her in the side, trying to make her topple as they jogged. 

"Oh, you're on!"

Wild was glad that the mare was nowhere to be seen. There was something odd about her, and he considered what he heard of her behavior creepy at best, predatory at worst. At the very least she hadn't yet decided to reappear, and he hoped it would continue that way.

Aside from that, there was one other thing bothering him - his strange abilities that were surfacing randomly. He could catch a stray thought that was not his own, and if he looked into someone's eyes, he could see more and more about them. He formed a habit of avoiding doing that whenever possible, not wanting to be a creep. He was quite certain no one would accept his explanation if they were to catch him. A mind was supposed to be inviolable, and Wild was of strong opinion that it was right. When he learned that Princess Luna could enter other people's dreams, he was both horrified and angry, especially when she did it to him. She did tell him she meant no harm, but how could he trust her words? What stopped her from invading him despite his wishes? 

Wild decided to be proactive about it. During the night, when rarely anyone but Princess Luna were up and about, he would sneak into the library and search for ways to protect his own mind and how to prevent himself from entering minds of others. He also looked for information on what his own talent was exactly, although he hadn't much success. However, he did learn that some ponies, when they were chronologically close to adulthood, developed talents others might not have. Usually it was an extra sense of some kind or sharpening of the already existing senses. Rarer were magical talents, like having the ability to cast a few spells intuitively without having learned them from another. However, nothing he had read about told him what sort of thing he was developing. The closest thing he could find was telepathy - the ability to transmit information from one person to another without any sort of physical interaction. He didn't think that was it, however - telepathy, usually, required consent and awareness of all parties involved, at least judging by the information he could find on it. Whether he could trust this information to be accurate, however, was another question entirely. 

Princess Luna's ability to enter dreams was well-documented, but it seemed like the writers treated dreams as separate from the mind of the dreamer. Wild disagreed with that - where else could his dreams be but in his head? However, according to multiple sources, all dreams came from a place called the Dreamscape, and ponies unknowingly entered that place when they slept, and that was how they had dreams. Wild was more than certain that no such thing existed when it came to humanity, and he was still human in spirit if not in body, so it had to be something else. 

Fortunately for Wild, there were ways to protect both his mind and his dreams from intrusion. Unfortunately for him, the former couldn't be learned well without someone guiding him personally and trying to invade his mind, but the latter required what was essentially lucid dreaming, and he realized he had done it when he shoved Luna out of his dream that one time. In essence, the method was about being aware that he was dreaming, and then he would be able to lock the metaphorical door to his dreams.  

Diligently, Wild practiced lucid dreaming each night, although he had yet to succeed in becoming aware without waking up shortly after. He was used to slow progress, and it didn't discourage him from continuing the practice. The books warned him that the process was individual for everyone: some learned pretty much immediately, but others might require weeks or even months of practice before they would be able to do it consistently and without waking themselves up.

When it came to preventing himself from accessing thoughts of others, focusing on something else helped, as well as not looking into their eyes like he discovered previously. In time, he developed some sort of 'mental noise' that helped him with perceiving thoughts of others less, making them less intelligible. It was difficult not to focus on something he caught in the periphery, but he believed this sort of mental exercise would be good for him in the long run. The best thing would be, of course, if he had no such talent at all. He felt dirty about having it even if he couldn't do anything about it, and he absolutely refused to reveal this ability to anyone. He had to make do with what he had, which wouldn't be the first time.

With the help of the mental noise he developed, he noticed he was calmer, and his nightmares were far rarer than before, which lucid dreaming helped him with as well. Most of the time now, his sleep was entirely dreamless, and it brought a measure of comfort and a feeling of safety that allowed him to relax mentally. He was less tired during the day, and the pool of energy inside him increased so that he didn't have to necessarily push himself to do things.

It didn't mean he was relaxed, however. He knew he needed to improve himself - especially if he hoped to win the next tournament without a single loss. It was his goal now, nearly everything else brushed aside, and he trained harder than ever. He did more difficult exercises, he ate more food, and didn't forget to rest to properly recover after every training session. He knew that an injury would prevent him from training for some time, a mistake he hadn't repeated since he was around fifteen. 

It was some days later when it was revealed that he wasn't challenged enough by his fellow martial club members, none of whom could yet reach his skill despite the competitive fervor Wild introduced to the club after his victory. Precision remained the most difficult opponent, but even she was a few steps behind. Their trainer Swift Strike wasn't oblivious to it, and he had given Wild some advice. 

"You are very good, the best of us, but that doesn't mean you have no avenues of improvement," he said one day, and Wild listened attentively, "You are fast, but you can be faster. I know you jog often - you need to sprint. You are strong - be stronger. Your flexibility is good, you control your body well, but strength matters too, especially when you need to fight someone when you don't have a weapon. I believe you should hit the gym, it would certainly help you develop your strength further. When it comes to your skills, you are, without a doubt, the most skilled person of your age that I've seen. However, even the best have their own weaknesses, and weaknesses can be exploited. Try using techniques less familiar to you, there are certainly more efficient moves that you could have in your repertoire. Let me show you..."

Wild was annoyed with himself by still using human-centric fighting moves, subconsciously ignoring the new versatility his magic offered. He was foolish not to utilize it even though he compensated for it with speed and precision. However, he knew Swift Strike was right, and he spent as much time as possible practicing new moves, even if it meant his dueling performance worsened. 

He took other advice to heart as well, adopting a schedule of High Intensity Interval Training, which was as grueling as it sounded. At the end of each session, he was absolutely drenched in sweat, but in his mind, it was all worth it. He was getting faster, his endurance was better, even his reaction times were quicker, and he overall felt better. However, he wasn't quite comfortable being in the gym. The sight of various training equipment left him feeling... slightly on edge. He suspected he knew why, but he refused to look deeper into it, into the memories he dared not bring up. He knew what it was, and it was easier to simply avoid. Besides, he enjoyed sprinting and jumping far more than he ever enjoyed lifting weights. 

Despite the steady progress in everything he did, it wasn't to last indefinitely. One day, when he was practicing meditation - it was supposed to help with lucid dreaming - he couldn't help but spiral downwards mentally.

Wild didn't know if he was happy. He didn't know if he wanted to die anymore, but there was no explicit desire to live either. He didn't know what to think about it. If he was frank, he was aware that he was technically dead, he simply didn't want to admit it, certainly not openly. However, he couldn't stop himself from thinking...

His heart was still beating, he was still breathing, he was warm to the touch, but he was still distinctively aware he was in a new body, one he hadn't had for the majority of his life. He had stopped thinking of it as not his own, now he recognized and accepted as a body that wasn't merely something he happened to inhabit, something that didn't fit, but a body that belonged to him. If he really thought about it, he didn't feel in any way bad about his body. It was healthy, and the scars that somehow transferred from his old body were hardly visible - safe for the cut on his ear. 

And yet... he was supposed to have died. Yet he was alive. He didn't think it was the afterlife - no religion he knew of described it like this - but he was more certain about it being a second life, a life he was granted for no reason that he could fathom. Why him? And... if he was there, was anyone else he knew? Could he find them? Were his parents there somewhere? His heart still ached at the thought of them. His father, a brilliant and happy man reduced to a wreck by hardships of life. His mother, a woman of many talents, gone before her time as well. 

It was to his mother when he spoke last. Was it a few months ago? A year? Maybe even a year and a half? He knew he had lost track of days before he... was gone. And now that he was in his second life, he had never bothered to keep track of it. He was vaguely aware of days passing, but not much more than that. 

What else would he forget? His father's face was already blurry in his memory, and he wished he could replace the memory of the last time he saw his mother... he could've given a lot to erase the sight of her bloodied body, shock and pain frozen forever on her face, discarded on the side of the road. The morning of that day, he wished her a good day when she left for work.

Wild wished he could visit the graves of his parents, but they were now only in his memory. If there was any actual afterlife from which they could watch him... no. No, he didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to consider what they could now say to him. 

He opened his eyes, shaking slightly, feeling tear tracks on his face, a sting in his eyes. He sniffed, willing the tears away. 

It wasn't fair. The world wasn't fair, he knew it. But why couldn't it be fairer? Why did he have to lose his parents when people worse than him got to keep them? Why did his parents have to die for such nonsense? His father to a drunk driver, his mother to a mugger. And he... he died because he chose to, didn't he? At least he had a choice. But what kind of choice was it anyway? No one wanted him - he was a mute, angry, sword-obsessed freak who barely even finished school. The only value he ever had-

And he stopped there. It didn't matter anymore. He was done with it, forever. He was dead. Why waste time thinking about it anymore?

He found a measure of peace in the new world, he told himself. He knew his parents would like him to live closer to nature, which he did. His father was proud of him for his swordsmanship accomplishments. His mother praised him for his inquisitive mind. Even if they would hate to see him now, to learn of everything that had happened after they were gone, at least he wasn't completely besmirching their memory.

In the relative solitude inside the grove, he could cry, and it felt so good. He knew his father was uncomfortable about crying, but his mother consoled him each time. Neither was there anymore, but Wild remembered the awkwardness of his father and the sweet words of his mother. And he remembered how she encouraged him to speak.

He opened his mouth, a strangled noise coming out of it. He wanted to speak again. He already forgot how his voice sounded like, and he had yet to learn how he sounded now. He wanted to say words, any words. He didn't understand why he often couldn't no matter how much he wished to. Even sign language took mental effort, the kind other people just didn't need to put into speaking. Why was he like that?

What was his life, anyway? Stuck in an orphanage... for how long? He guessed he was young enough to be accepted, but what would happen once he aged out? Would he be thrown out on the streets? Would he be forced to survive on his own once again? The princesses seemed kind enough, but would they remain kind once he crossed some sort of arbitrary criteria when they became able to finally get rid of him? 

He felt tears well up in his eyes and then roll down his cheeks once again, an unstoppable stream. His life was fine now, but what about the future? Why couldn't he figure out anything? He barely knew the language, and the only other thing he did was swordfighting. What use any of that was? He didn't even really interact with anyone. He didn't think he could - no one here was like him, no one here could possibly accept him if they knew who he was. 

He knew bleak hopelessness, he knew burning hatred, he knew deep sadness. And yet, he was alive. Somehow. He just didn't know what to do with it. He thought his life would end and he burned everything left behind. And now? Now he was only known as a strange guy who won a tournament once. No family, no friends. No one. What sort of future could he have when he had nothing?

A rustle of grass and leaves made his ears twitch in their direction, and he blinked tears away and turned his head. Some way behind the trees, he could see Princess Luna, undoubtedly making her way to him. He froze, not knowing what to do. Could he just leave and ignore her? He didn't forget what she said, and he had been avoiding her, and she definitely knew that. How could she not? He was perfectly aware she paid attention to everyone around the orphanage, and that definitely included him. He hoped to stay away, to somewhat blend in, to present himself as uninteresting, but it was doomed to failure. 

"Wild?" she said as she came closer, "May I talk to you?"

Wild hated that she could see his puffy and bloodshot eyes, the tear tracks under them, and his overall messy appearance. He avoided looking into her eyes, but he knew there was pity in them. He wanted to refuse to talk to her, but something stopped him from immediately shaking his head and running away. He swallowed, blinked away the remaining tears, and nodded. 

Princess Luna slowly walked up to him but remained at a respectful distance, then sat down on the ground. He noted that she wasn't wearing her royal regalia. It wasn't unusual when she was around the orphanage, he knew. He believed it made her more approachable, and from everything he had learned by listening and observing, she was quite popular with children, especially younger ones. They adored her, and she helped them in whichever way she could. He didn't know the specifics, but the trust children - or foals - put in her meant something, and it made even him be more relaxed in her presence. However, that didn't mean he was willing to confide in her, no matter the help he had already gotten from her.

"I know you've been avoiding me, and I understand," she said, her voice gentle. He listened attentively. A part of him noticed that he did like her voice, there was a quality to it that made him want to listen and understand, "I know some of what you don't want others to know, and you're afraid I will push it further," she sighed, "Well, Wild, I would like for you to accept help, but I would never force it on you. You need to want it for it to be effective at all."

Wild knew he could perhaps live a better life if he got therapy, but the stories he had heard before weren't encouraging. Plenty of people were locked up in what was essentially prison because of what their therapist thought about them. And when they were eventually out, they were not better but worse. If not getting better meant he would remain free, he would take it. 

"Do you know about medical licenses?" she asked, and he nodded, "Recently, I was qualified as a pediatrician, with a focus on psychology and psychiatry," she then proceeded to explain each term in simpler words, and Wild got the gist of it. His body stiffened, his heart started beating faster when he understood. 

He considered running. He would run away, not looking back, and hope she wouldn't be able to catch him. He could do it - or he could try. Surrendering without a fight was not an option. Never an option, anymore.

"Wild, please listen to me," she said seriously, and it made him pause for just long enough for her to continue, "That doesn't mean I will force anything on you. I will not inject you with medicine. I will not lock you up. I will not beat you, deny you food, deny you hobbies and activities, or otherwise harm you in any way. When it concerns you, I will always need your explicit consent unless you are, in the moment, an immediate danger to yourself or others. Right now, you are not an immediate danger to yourself or others. And... if none of what I have just said is convincing to you, if you truly feel uncomfortable around me right now, I understand. I will not prevent you from leaving."

Wild breathed deeply, calming himself. He knew she had all the power to subdue him and do whatever she wanted to him. As good as he was with a sword, he didn't have one now. She was bigger than him, more muscular than him, and undoubtedly far more magically powerful than him. He held no illusion that she was unaware of it. And yet... she didn't do anything to him. She simply sat there, looking at him calmly, her body relaxed and in no position to quickly spring into a fight. Maybe if he ran now, he would be far enough away from her to, to... to do something by the time she gave chase. But that was a poor plan, and he knew it was doomed to fail.

However, there was a thing that surprised him - he found himself believing her words. She had all the opportunity to lock him up, now and before, and she had never taken it. She had only ever helped him, even if that time when she entered his dream - his dreams - wasn't exactly welcome. 

Wild knew he wasn't alright. He got good at hiding it most of the time, but he knew flinching when others made too sudden a move wasn't normal, avoiding touch wasn't normal, being an almost complete loner wasn't normal. He even knew why he was like that. What he didn't know was how to fix it all... or even if it was even possible to fix it all - or any of it. Not even death could erase any of it - not on his body, not in his head.

But... maybe he could try. He now had some sort of mind reading ability, and he  was certain he would know if his own mind was read. He could probably fight against it too. So, maybe he could reveal some things but not everything. It could work, he thought.

However, he wasn't ready. Not yet. He needed some more time, even if a part of him knew he was simply avoiding having to look at it, to look at himself and see the entirety of himself. 

He, with hesitation, gestured his answer to Princess Luna - he would think about accepting her help and give her his answer in... He paused there. He licked his suddenly dry lips. There was no way back now, no matter what Luna said about not pushing him. He had to see it through, for himself if for nothing else. Then, with what felt like finality, he signed the rest of his answer.

In two days, he would tell her. In two days, he would decide. In two days, he would either reveal a part of him hidden deep or bury it forever.

The invisible, intangible timer was set.

Two days.
> Chapter 21: Day One - A New Face
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Wild was already regretting promising Princess Luna he would give her an answer in two days. He could've, maybe should've, just refused outright. The time was counting down, the clock was ticking, and he couldn't stop it now. He knew he didn't need to wait for the countdown to finish to give her an answer, but he dreaded approaching her before the deadline. These two days would give him time to come to a proper decision... or so he thought.

He was twitchy by midday. Hours were counting down, and he could barely do anything without losing focus. Worst of all, the Martial Arts Club wouldn't assemble today or tomorrow because they were rest days, so he had very little to do in the first place. He went for a jog, but that didn't help. He even sprinted, but his thoughts were invaded by his indecisiveness. 

Minutes ticked by and, little by little, the next day - and then the day after that, which would be the day where he would have to tell Princess Luna his decision - came closer and closer. Time marched on, unstoppable, and the moment he would have to finally give his answer was an inevitability. 

Wild cursed himself for being so stupid. What was he even thinking, not rejecting her approach at once? However, deep inside, he knew something needed to be done, and that was why he didn't push her away immediately. But even then, he didn't know if it was the right choice to make. He was handling himself fine, wasn't he? Nightmares he could deal with, crying alone sometimes wasn't difficult, and he wasn't as touch-avoidant as before. It was entirely possible that he, in time, would be alright without ever telling anyone anything.

The more he thought of it, the more he realized that he was doing nothing but trying to convince himself to avoid doing anything about himself. He wasn't alright and he wouldn't be alright unless and until he got help. Humans are not meant to be by themselves, they are not meant to be loners. Wild was no psychologist or psychiatrist, he barely knew what little was taught to him in school. 

Wild was frustrated and tired at the same time - he awoke early this day, his dreams plagued by shapes and noises that made him feel strained, and he couldn't go back to sleep no matter how much he tried. 

He wandered around the orphanage, watching as a group of younger foals was led outside on a trip to one place or the other. He had yet to participate in one, and he didn't know where he would go. He knew plenty of foals attended a local school while some were completing their studies without leaving the orphanage. He knew there were places to visit and sights to see but, even then, he was indecisive. The Royal Orphanage was more or less safe and familiar, Ponyville maybe was acceptable, but he didn't yet want to venture anywhere farther than that. 

Wild knew that a lot of people in his place would've done all they could to explore this new world, but he wasn't them. He was all by himself now, and he knew this world was more wild than where he came from, and it wouldn't take much to make him disappear. Afterwards, it wouldn't be long until he was entirely forgotten. The Royal Orphanage was safe, and there had been no kidnappings in its history - as trustworthy as history books were, at the very least. Wild had grown distrustful of official sources on history since before he was a teenager. He could only hope that the claims were true.

Perhaps Equestria had places worth visiting, but he was convinced they weren't for him. He told himself it had little to do with his fear of being made to disappear, never to be seen again. However, he knew he was just trying to convince himself of it when the truth was simpler. This time, at least, he wasn't homeless, struggling out on the streets to survive. He was behind sturdy walls with strong magical protections. He was as safe as he could be.

And yet, he couldn't help but wonder... how easy would it be for him to disappear? He didn't have a passport, medical records, a birth certificate, a school diploma, nothing but a bunch of papers filled with things he had written as he learned the language. He had never signed those papers, he hadn't even written in English on them. If he were to disappear, those papers would be the only things left that ever hinted at his existence.

From there, he wondered who would remember him. The princesses may remember him as an interesting case or something along those lines, maybe others would remember him because of his swordsmanship skills... and that would be it, wouldn't it? He had no friends, no family, nothing and no one. Even his dorm barely showed his presence. Tidying it up would erase all hints of his ever having lived there.

Wild didn't like it when he was left alone with his own thoughts. There was too much to think of, too many corners of his mind to wander to. When he had a goal, he could focus, he could sweep everything else aside and keep it there. However, now only the future meeting with Princess Luna was on his mind, and he could do little about it. 

He knew he needed to man up and simply approach her before the deadline and tell her his decision. It would stop him from feeling anxious, at least, knowing that everything else would be out of his hands. 

However, he found a way to avoid it - he was in the cafeteria after lunch, offering to help do the dishes and clean things up. He had seen others helping around the orphanage, and he thought it would help him pass some time. It was better than being bored, at least.

"Wild, right?" a cook asked, and he nodded, "Yeah, we'll appreciate some help, come on in."

Wild was led into the kitchen, where various dishes were stacked high near the sinks, yet to be washed. 

"Alright, so take a look here - this sink has three basins," the cook gestured, "Start with the third one - put the stopper in the drain. Good, now fill it about halfway with hot water and, once it's filled, add these disinfectant tablets, about six of them. Swirl the water a bit until it's blue and all tablets are dissolved."

Wild did as asked, going through the steps as instructed. Soon enough, the water in the third basin was blue, and the cook was satisfied with it.

"Very good. Now, the first basin is where you wash the dishes with soap first, getting rid of all the smaller chunks of food. Bigger chunks go in this bin here," he gestured at the bin to the left of the sink, "Once you're done cleaning, cart the bin off right there, next to the exit, it'll be taken from there. Now, once you got the dishes clean in the first basin, wash the soap off in the second. Once there are no soap suds that you can see, put the dish in the third basin, swish it around for about five seconds, then put it on the drying rack. Once the rack fills up, grab a towel and dry what's on it and put it all away, then continue until there are no more dishes to clean. Is everything clear?"

Wild nodded and got to work. Instructions were simple, the steps easy to do. Soon he got into the rhythm of things, and he found it easy to drown out the rest, focusing entirely on making sure the dishes were perfectly clean and dry before he put them away. One by one, the pile of dirty dishes grew smaller, and Wild found himself humming a tune as he worked. His head was mercifully empty of thoughts, and for some time, he was as relaxed as he could be.

Unfortunately for him, the supply of dirty dishes wasn't infinite, and so he didn't notice when he came to an end. His work was inspected, found good, and he soon found himself outside the kitchen with nothing more to do.

Wild wondered if- no, he knew there were various activities for people to partake in, but he had never done that, now had he? He was perfectly content with eating, sleeping, learning the language, and being in the Martial Arts club. Until now, he had things to do, and it kept him sane, but now his grasp on the language was good enough he didn't need to spend most of his day learning it, and his swordsmanship continued to be the best all around, even in hoofwork where he used to struggle before. 

Wild, however, was a loner. He didn't think he would like any group activities. Sports such as football - or hoofball in this world - didn't appeal to him much because of their team-oriented focus. When he was by himself, he was doing well, and he didn't want to bother with any sort of teamwork. In hoofball and other fast-paced sports, he would be almost entirely useless when it came to communicating, considering his muteness. 

In the end, he headed to the library. It was a quiet place, and he could simply read. It was a nice and enjoyable activity, away from the hustle and bustle, and he didn't need to consult the dictionary nearly as often as before, making his reading sessions longer and less frustrating. Poetry and fiction still largely evaded him, but then he was never really a fan of either. Besides, he didn't see the point of reading fiction now - he was in a fantasy world himself, wasn't he? 

Soon, he found himself reading about teleportation, a difficult ability a unicorn could acquire. It was tremendously useful, especially once mastered, allowing instantaneous travel measuring in kilometers. It could be stopped by magical protections - wards - but was otherwise unlimited. Within his line of sight, he'd be able to teleport to anywhere, but he would need to properly visualize his destination if he couldn't see it or if it was somehow obscured. There was no danger to end up stuck in the ground or trees or anything or anyone else - a fact that baffled magical researchers to this day - so it was as safe as it could be. 

The Royal Orphanage, as it happened, was covered entirely in anti-teleportation wards save for a hall inside, within which ponies could practice their teleportation about once every week. Unfortunately for Wild, today was not the day for it, but tomorrow would be. 

For the next while, he mindlessly browsed the library, looking for something that was interesting but not too new for him. He avoided politics and economics, not wishing to delve into that anytime soon. Topics around warfare were also discarded. However, he found an entertaining book in the children section, which he checked last. It was "Mystery History of a Pre-Equestrian Castle", an adventure book, in which the reader learned certain things about the Pre-Equestrian period while following clues to track down an assassin before they could strike down the queen. Wild didn't exactly have anything better to do, so he decided to indulge himself.

Near the end of the book, there was a list of suspects, and the clues throughout the book would apply to one or the other. Wild got to work, reading about what he thought was deemed safe-for-kids: heraldry, structure of society, tourneys, feasts, castle structure, and other things that didn't show any explicit violence - aside from everything relating to the in-story assassin. Despite how simplified it was, Wild was entertained enough, and figuring out clues was fun. It had been quite some time since he had read anything like it, and he realized he wouldn't mind doing it again. 

How many more things had he missed out on for one reason or another? How many of them were actually good and fun and entertaining? It didn't help that he considered his life already mostly - if not entirely - wasted, but he managed to put those thoughts away and continue reading, determined to be there in the moment and not brooding about his past.

In the end, it didn't take Wild much time or effort to figure out who was the assassin. To his delight, however, that wasn't the end of the book - it included a board game as well. A simple one where one only needed to throw a die to make progress, but it was still fun. Wild read the rules, got the needed pieces - one for himself, one for the assassin - as well as a six-sided die, all of which were included with the book. He set it all up and prepared to play when he was interrupted.

"Hi," a male voice said, and Wild turned his head. A pegasus stallion roughly his own age was standing nearby, looking slightly nervous behind a pair of square glasses, "Uh, you mind if I join? Haven't played it in a while, it's my favorite."

Wild didn't expect company, but then he didn't think he was against it. He shrugged and gestured at an seating pillow nearby in invitation. The young stallion sat down, chose his own piece, and the two started playing. Wild, in the meanwhile, took in the features of the second player. He was slightly smaller than Wild in height and not very muscular, perhaps slightly below average. His fur was almost completely white with just a hint of blue, and his mane was medium-length bright blue. His talent mark was a simple painting brush.

Wild still didn't quite know what to think about talent marks. He had none, and did that mean he would get none, considering that he wasn't born a pony? And if he would get one eventually, what did it mean, how did it even work? From what he knew about them, they simply appeared when 'a pony found their special talent', but he had no idea what it truly meant. Could they not have multiple talents? Did their talent never change? His thoughts were, once again, interrupted.

"So, uh, I was at that tournament where you won, and... you were really impressive," the young stallion said, his cheeks reddening, "Um, how long have you been doing it?"

Wild thought about it.  It would be about six years, give or take, but could he safely answer the question honestly? He was supposed to be about thirteen, maybe fourteen, and at best fifteen. He didn't know what his legal papers said if anything, and he would gladly take the higher number just because it would be closer to his actual age.

In the end, Wild settled on giving the answer four. He didn't mind if he was thought of as some sort of a prodigy. 

"Oh, Equestrian Sign Language, right?" the stallion said, "I've been learning it a bit, it's fascinating, especially how minotaurs use their fingers to easily convey all sorts of things!"

Wild nodded, having previously considered learning Minotaur Sign Language, which he learned of when he could understand enough to learn about its existence. However, it wasn't very well-known in Equestria, and he did hope to speak again one day. He tried to say a word - just one word, nothing more - but he found his throat close up. He just couldn't and he didn't know why. At the same time, he didn't want to speak, and it was easier to go unnoticed if he just didn't say anything. When he was at school, closing up and not saying anything was safe. He was mocked, he was made fun of, but his words couldn't be used against him. He could avoid all the awkward stutters and false starts if he just never spoke. At least his family never made fun of him for it, so it was easier with them. However, they had been gone for a long time now, and Wild found it easier and simpler to not speak. Not that he had much opportunity to be heard over the past many months in the first place. 

"So, uh, four years, right?" the stallion disrupted Wild's thoughts again, for which the latter was silently thankful, "Yeah, four years is a long time to, uh, get good at something," he opened his mouth to continue, but then apparently changed his mind, "I've been painting for eight years, I think. Got my mark and all," he patted his flank somewhat awkwardly, "I think I'm good, but dunno if I'm as good at painting as you are with a sword," he rolled a die, "Oh, nice, a six!"

The assassin was moved forward, and then it was Wild's turn again. 

"So, um," the stallion blushed and averted his eyes, "Can you maybe show me some moves? I never got into, you know, swords, but I think it's neat. Looks fun, too. A-and I can, um, make a painting of, well, you. Well, I'm already making a painting of the tournament you won, and I really want to get your details right, so, uh, yeah."

Wild considered it for a moment, then nodded. No one had ever made paintings of him. He, at one point, had some photographs, but they were all gone by now, and even if they weren't, he wouldn't be able to get them back anyway. He thought it would be quite nice to get someone to paint him. It would fulfill his childhood dream of being painted as a knight. He wondered how he would look like in armor now. Besides, having a painting of the tournament with him in it could add some personality to his dorm, and it would show his own achievement. 

"Alright, great!" the stallion beamed, "So, uh, it'll be fine if we do that after we finish this?"

Wild nodded again.

"Okay, and, um," he blushed crimson, "I forgot to tell you my name, didn't I? I'm Artful. I know, maybe not the best name, but it's mine, you know?"

Wild didn't know what to think about Artful, but it was clear that the pegasus had enough words for both of them, and entertaining his questions and what could only be described as babble was as good of a time waster as any. 

At least it would distract him from his own thoughts for the time-being.
> Chapter 22: Day One - Luna's Perspective
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Princess Luna was in her office at the Royal Orphanage, dealing with various things here and there, things that were often unintentionally overlooked by her sister. Princess Celestia was now over in Canterlot, preparing for her adopted niece Mi Amore Cadenza's wedding, and so it also fell to Luna to take up the slack in the meanwhile.  She didn't mind - it made it all the easier to decline Cadance's invitation to her wedding. Luna wasn't particularly close with her in the first place, feeling awkward whenever the three alicorns were together. It was clear Cadance was more comfortable with Celestia as well, who had been her mentor for quite a few years.

A third alicorn... it was not something Princess Luna had expected to see when she returned. With some bitterness, she thought how good it was for Equestria, to have two likeable alicorns out in the open, two perfect princesses all nice and bright. As if Luna had never existed. As if Luna didn't matter.

She sighed deeply, pushing those thoughts away. She knew where this path led, the path of bitterness, anger, and jealousy. She could admit she was jealous of Cadance - she was cheerful, carefree, unburdened by trauma or experience of decades past. She had grown up in the unprecedented times of peace and stability thanks to Celestia's reign. She didn't know what it was to be hungry and have nowhere to go, she didn't have to fight against unyielding forces of evil and unpredictable agents of chaos. Cadance  was everything and had everything Luna had once wished for herself in one way or another. The ponies looked up to her almost as much as to Celestia and, most importantly, they adored her. She was the Princess of Love, after all. 

And where was Luna? Mostly forgotten by the wayside as the younger sister, deemed untrustworthy as the fallen one. Ponies were all too ready to forget that Celestia didn't defeat Discord alone, that Sombra didn't fall just to the lone sister. Luna was there too. However, it seemed ponies were much more receptive to Cadance. Princess of the Night Luna might be, but it wasn't like love, now was it? Luna was darkness, Luna was the bringer of nightmares. 

Luna pushed that swirling toxic miasma away from herself. Perhaps she wasn't liked, but she could deal with it now - centuries on the moon had given her plenty of time to think and change her perspective, even if her mind was muddled at the time. She had realized what was wrong - she was not made for the role she had attempted to take. In truth, and oh how she had despised admitting it to herself, she was far more comfortable with being in the shadows, which was a blessing she hadn't recognized as one before her imprisonment. 

She tried too hard to be likeable, to be exactly like her sister, whom she was not. It was something she had to think long and hard about, and even longer to fully accept. They were sisters, but they were not identical and never could be. Luna's calling was elsewhere, she had realized - while Celestia was adept at large-scale governing, Luna was far better at personal help. While Celestia could enjoy grueling hours of discussing this or that legislation, Luna hadn't the temperament to sit through it without losing attention. Instead, she was better when she was out there, helping, getting to know ponies on a personal level that Celestia rarely did. It was unsurprising that many ponies regarded Celestia with equal parts respect and fear, never knowing that she was slow to anger and was generally easy-going despite her imposing stature and her magical power. 

In the Royal Orphanage, Luna was at home. Children did not carry much prejudice one way or the other, allowing her to help many of them and guide them to be the best versions of themselves that they could be. Perhaps, had something like this orphanage existed in her past, Luna would not have become Nightmare Moon. If she got the help she desperately and unknowingly needed, she would've been different, and a lot of heartache would've been avoided. However, that was the past - impossible to change. There were futures, many futures of many children, that Luna could change with her actions, and that was what she did.

Princess Luna stood up from behind the desk and stretched, abandoning the piece of paperwork she had been reading over for quite a few times without really registering a single bit of it. She recognized it was time for a break, time for her to refresh her brain for whatever would come next. Half an hour outside her stuffy office would certainly do her some good.

Luna decided not to venture much further than the upper floor terrace from which the grounds of the orphanage were visible. The terrace wasn't exactly private, but she didn't intend to avoid anyone should someone wish to ask for her help or simply to talk. She found a large cushion to lie on, made herself a cup of herbal tea, and simply rested. 

It was a quiet period at the orphanage when the children were mostly inside, resting as well. For many, it was the intellectual exercises of learning; for others, a game or two outside, which the weather allowed. They would all come back in force, of course, but it was a lull in activity for the time-being.

Luna remembered when she was young and couldn't stand children. They were noisy, demanding, had bad manners, and many other things she could complain about all day long. With time, Luna had learned patience and understanding, and now no longer regarded any child as annoying no matter what they did. Every behavior had an explanation, and every pony could find a place for themselves, they only needed to have the tools to do so. 

"Princess Luna, Princess Luna!" a voice called, and soon a small body collided with hers.

"Hello to you too, Marshmallow," Luna chuckled, looking at a pink-furred and white-maned filly, who got her name for having extra long and fluffy coat, "How are you? Have you been sleeping well?"

"I'm very good!" the filly smiled, showing a gap in her teeth that had already begun filling with a permanent tooth, "I sleep very good too! An' I know a new word - preposterous!"

"Oh, and what does preposterous mean?"

"It means really silly!"

"It certainly does," Luna let out a small laugh.

"Oh, an'..." the filly became shy all of a sudden, "An' I think something silly is happening to me."

"Why do you think so?"

"You r'member Shea?" Marshmallow asked, and Luna nodded, "I think it's silly, bu' I feel warm 'round her. Like 'f I'm out on a sunny day. Bu' that's pre-posterous, sun doesn't glow inside!"

"I don't think that's silly," Luna smiled at her, "Do you feel anything else?"

"I hear' that, um, butterflies fly in stomaches in ponies s'mtimes," the filly said, "I think it's silly b'cuz butterflies don't live in stomaches, bu' it really feels like they do in my when Shea looks at me. An' it's, um, more strong when she smiles too."

"I think I know what's going on, Marshmallow," Luna smiled wider, "I think you really like her."

"Oh," she scrunched her muzzle thoughtfully, "Like Jade and Earthwood like each other? But they're kissin'! I don't wan' kissin'!" 

"You don't need to be kissing Shea if you don't want to," Luna told her softly, "But Jade and Earthwood smile at each other and are together, right? You can ask them what they feel too."

Marshmallow perked up, "I will! Thank you, Luna!" and then she rushed off.

Luna smiled and sipped her tea. She remembered Marshmallow when she first came to the Royal Orphanage. Her biological parents had wanted a son but got a daughter; instead of treating her like she deserved, they neglected her and showed no love. She had been nervous, prone to tears and long silences both, but now she was one of the most joyous ponies Luna had ever known. She was glad Marshmallow had found her peace and friends even if it took longer than it should have.

Some time later, on the orphanage grounds below, she spotted the familiar figure of Wild who was being accompanied by a pegasus stallion about his age. The pegasus set up a painting stand, putting a half-finished painting on it along with all the art supplies he needed, and then went to the clearing the two picked. There, Wild showed him some moves with that interesting sword of his, and Luna could see that the pegasus was quite talkative. The two even sparred, rather slowly and clumsily on the pegasus' part, but Wild didn't seem to mind, simply correcting him with uncertain gestures that struggled to get the point across with his still rather limited vocabulary and, judging by the pegasus often interrupting him, also by the inexperience of his conversation partner. 

Luna was glad Wild found someone to spend time with, in friendship or otherwise. She noted for herself to, at one point, check if his sex education was up to par. It was still surprising how many ponies didn't know the simplest things despite how much the topic had progressed since Luna's rather conservative time. The progress, at least, allowed her to better understand herself and avoid any further frustration. It helped her quite a lot to know that she was demisexual and, to the best of her knowledge, aromantic. That was why she directed Marshmallow's attention to the two lovers she knew of - they could give her the answers Luna herself could not. She was quite glad foals today grew up with the accumulated knowledge of generations before them on sexual orientations, gender identities, and various kinds of attractions. Even in her limited experience, it helped avoid a great many headaches.

She continued watching the two and, after some time, the pegasus went to the painting. From this far away, Luna couldn't quite discern what it was despite its nagging familiarity. When Wild took a pose, it clicked for her - the pegasus was painting a scene from the tournament with Wild as the centerpiece. The pegasus told Wild to change his position and, after a number of adjustments, was satisfied and got on with painting, working easily with a brush in his mouth.

Luna thought about Wild. It seemed like a lifetime ago when he was first discovered in the Everfree, scared, unknown, and alone. She remembered his panicked look that seemed shocked even for a while later. He hadn't said a word about his true origins - Luna had since discarded what he made up as an explanation. It was clear he was stumbling blind into this world, literally and figuratively. With the benefit of hindsight, Luna could now spot signs that pointed to him being from a different world, even if they could be disregarded as unimportant without everything else that she knew now. He wasn't moving like an equine would normally do, and it had taken him some time to perfect the quadrupedal gait. Of course, there was the matter of his skills on swordsmanship - no matter how prodigious, a person of his physical age wouldn't have been able to achieve the heights he did, certainly not if the story he told others about himself had any shred of validity. His skills closely mirrored minotaur techniques, and minotaurs were bipedal and had hands. Wild's magic formed into a pair of hands, which would be simply natural for him but quite foreign to unicorns.

It now all made sense, although it had yet to shed proper light on who Wild actually was and where exactly he came from. The haunted look oftentimes present in his eyes pointed at a life of a soldier, and the way he flinched at physical contact or general closeness showed a history of abuse. Luna, quite frankly, didn't know how to properly approach it. 

Thankfully, it seemed like he wasn't against getting the help he needed, although it was clear he was extremely hesitant, giving himself a couple of days to delay giving a final decision. It did show that he was, at the very least, willing to consider Luna's help without disregarding it outright. 

She now recognized it would've been folly to attempt to offer it to him before. He simply wasn't ready yet, and trying to push the issue would've seen him retreat further into himself and, perhaps one day, to run away from the orphanage entirely. Luna had given him space to get used to his surroundings which, in retrospect, turned out to be the right decision all along. Left to his own devices, Wild didn't seek to harm anyone and, instead, slowly but surely branched out. Luna could tell the Martial Arts Club had been very good for him, and the most recent tournament victory bolstered him further. She didn't think he would claim anyone as a friend of his just yet, but even now he had made progress. Not long ago, he avoided every possible interaction with others unless it was a language lesson, which he clearly didn't enjoy much but recognized he needed them.

Luna continued watching as he interacted with Artful - she recognized the pegasus now. Artful was keeping a respectful distance, never venturing into Wild's personal space without invitation. Ponies were usually quite touchy, bumping here and there, nuzzling, hugging, and generally being quite close with each other, but this sort of behavior would've been a mistake with Wild, and Artful seemed to have recognized that.

Which wasn't a surprise if one knew of Artful's history. Luna still felt angry at the memory of learning about it. He was born into a wrong body to a family who didn't know what it meant and refused to learn, letting their own ignorance turn to malice and blind hatred, which ended up greatly harming him. Fortunately, he found his way to those who understood and were willing to help. His abusers were facing the consequences, and he reaped the benefits of magical knowledge, which allowed him to be whom he had always been on the inside and whom he'd always wanted to be. 

For a long time, Artful was also a loner, hiding away from others, uncertain of himself, but in the last year he had begun to emerge. Luna was glad he was making friends, but she wasn't sure it was a wise idea for him to approach Wild. Fortunately for Artful, Wild didn't seem to mind, which said a lot about how much he had already changed without intervention. Perhaps Wild would emerge out of his shell fully with some more gentle encouragement. 

Princess Luna continued to lie on the pillow and enjoy her tea with a small smile on her face and a good feeling in her chest. It was an enjoyable day, and she could sense things were looking up for Wild just as they were for Artful. The former simply needed to grab that opportunity that the latter had already done. 

After a while of simply relaxing, she noticed pegasi moving some clouds in for an evening and night rain so that the next day could be bright and clear, perfect for a royal wedding. With a sigh, Luna got up from her comfortable spot, put the pillows away so that they wouldn't get wet, and went back to work.
> Chapter 23: Day Two - Tension
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the evening, Wild finally returned to his dorm, took a shower, and flopped on his bed. The day had been, surprisingly, not as bad. Artful proved to be a nice distraction from his own anxieties, for which he was grateful. The pegasus was perhaps talking a bit too much, but he didn't attempt to touch Wild in ways other ponies often did, and that was good. From his observations, it was clear ponies loved physical contact. Him? Not so much. Not anymore, at least. Maybe in the future, he would be fine, but he didn't expect his mind to change anytime soon when it came to this.

Thankfully, he didn't linger on those thoughts and, soon enough, he was asleep. He dreamed of paintings, noise like speech yet not, and many familiar halls and corridors. When he woke up, he only remembered the corridors, as if he walked them himself. 

He stumbled through his morning routine, feeling more tired than he should've been. Those odd dreams about walking around the corridors of the orphanage - and he recognized them, they were the corridors of the orphanage - spoke to him of something, but he didn't know what it was. It happened more and more frequently, and he wondered what it all meant. He had a feeling he would find out eventually, but it was nevertheless frustrating not to know.

His mind was a bit fuzzy, somewhat unfocused, even after a nice and long shower he took to help himself wake up. Purely on muscle memory, he made his way to the cafeteria, hoping for a refreshing glass of cold mineral water to wake him up fully. A pony almost brushed by him as they passed, and he felt slightly more fuzzy for a moment, a deep yawn escaping his mouth. Maybe he would lie down and rest some more after breakfast. 

It took some time, but it wasn't long before his groggy mind recognized the morning buzz of noise coming from the cafeteria, but something made him pause as he passed by a window. He turned his head and looked at Canterlot in the distance, perched on the side of a mountain. A glowing column of dark pink color rose from somewhere within the city, growing in height until it transformed. Slowly, it formed a massive sphere, encasing the entirety of the city. This awoke Wild at once, making him alert and tense. He then continued on his way, quickening his pace, hoping to learn what was going on.

In the cafeteria, there was a corner with newspapers and radio, which he usually ignored. This day, however, he wanted to know, feeling it was important. He walked up to the corner where he grabbed a newspaper, skimmed through it, and saw that it didn't mention anything about a sphere or magical shield or anything of the sort. However, the first page - which he discarded as unimportant at first - clued him in.

ROYAL WEDDING!

Below the headline, there were two photographs: one depicted a pink-coated female alicorn with golden regalia, the other a male unicorn with white fur dressed in a full set of armor.

On the Last Day of Summer, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza is to marry Shining Armor, Captain of the Canterlot Royal Guard.

Another princess? Wild wondered why he hadn't seen her before, at least not around the orphanage. Had he simply missed her somehow? Where did she even come from? He didn't remember reading about her, but then he hadn't listened to modern news before, and books on history that he had read were a few decades out of date. Maybe he wouldn't have been so ignorant if he paid attention to the news now that he could mostly understand them. 

He continued reading, glad that the newspaper provided some details about the alicorn: she was an adopted niece of Princess Celestia and became an alicorn at a young age, and that was when she became a princess as well. A few photographs were included, but all of them showed her after she had already become an alicorn. How she became one wasn't listed, however. He wondered what it would take to become an alicorn - he wouldn't particularly mind if he had wings. Flying is something he never really considered before, although he wouldn't trade his horn for a pair of wings. Without his magical hands, he doubted he'd be any good at anything at all.

It was the moment when the radio attracted Wild's attention.

"Just in - a magical shield was raised over the entirety of the city of Canterlot. We are already flooded with questions and concerns from all over the country," the radio host said, "We hope to provide answers, and our reported is on the ground over in Canterlot at this very moment," a click sounded, "Honest Word, you are live right now."

"Thank you, Flash News," another voice, more distorted, spoke from the radio, "My name is Honest Word, speaking from Canterlot, Oval Square, within sight of the Royal Palace. I'm lucky enough to have just come across Captain Shining Armor of the Canterlot Royal Guard. Captain, what can you say to our listeners? Is Canterlot preparing for a siege?"

"I understand why it can be seen as alarming, but there is nothing to worry about," a male voice came through, stoic and calm, "The shield was raised due to security concerns I'm not at liberty to discuss at the moment. However, I can assure everyone that we are safe. The shield is strong, the Royal Guard is ready. No one who may have plans to disturb the peace will be able to come through, and I stand behind this statement one hundred percent. I specialize in magical defense, and I have cast that shield myself."

"Aren't you worried about your wedding?"

"As a future husband, I am worried - it is a very important moment of my life. However, my bride has taken the brunt of wedding preparations, and I can assure you - she will not let this wedding be anything but perfect, security concerns or not."

Wild listened for some more, but that was essentially it. 'Security concerns' didn't exactly provide much information, but it did leave him worried - a shield of such size, undoubtedly, required much power to be cast, and it enveloped the entire city, meaning that the possible danger was more than just a disruption. Just what he needed - another thing to worry about. Was Equestria currently at war with anyone? It could be true, but he hadn't heard anything about it. Now he cursed his lack of foresight - from then on, he would pay close attention to the news, just so that he wouldn't be caught off-guard about whatever was going on in Equestria or in the larger world.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. The radio provided some context, but it simply repeated that a royal wedding was taking place - no wars or any other international conflicts were mentioned. Not that it meant there were none, of course, but Wild was reasonably sure he would have heard at least something if a war was going on. Such a thing wasn't easy to hide, after all. Though, he had to remind himself of North Korea, which, to the best of his knowledge, had total control over information its citizens were allowed to receive from the outside. He didn't doubt it would manage to hide anything if they so wanted. He hadn't noticed anything that would hint at Equestria being like North Korea, but then would he know for sure?

Wild shook his head. There was a serious lack of military parades, patriotic singing, or any other kind of nationalistic crap that one would expect from an authoritarian, especially totalitarian, nation. To his frustration, however, he didn't know much about politics in the first place. While his parents were alive, getting food on the table and roof over their heads was a priority, and afterwards... he didn't like remembering it. 

He grabbed a tray, somewhat forcefully put it down on the counter, and started filling it with breakfast food. He busied his mind with it and, after having took what he wanted to eat, he made his way over to a table closest to the radio and took a seat. If the story about that shield developed further, he would like to know if only to still his unease.

Not much later, he was joined by Precision and Swingblade, which wasn't unusual these days. The two chatted between each other more than they did with him, and that was alright as far as Wild was concerned. Sharing his meals with them, for a reason he couldn't quite understand, made him feel a bit better. 

"My legs are still sore," Swingblade complained, "Why do I even need to train them? I've wings!"

"Well, if you fight this guy here," Precision nodded to Wild, "You'd have problems."

"Yeah, but Wild's, like, the best of the best. Rainbow Dash did just fine with her wings before he beat her, didn't she?"

"You're not as fast as her, though."

"I'd need my wings, not my legs, to beat her."

"Wild beat her with his legs, you gotta notice that. And you're not gonna get into international tournaments if you don't train properly."

Swingblade groaned but acquiesced without further arguing. The tournament has proven to him that he wasn't nearly as good as he thought he was, and his ego received a thorough kick back to reality. Despite that, however, he still complained quite often, reluctant to let go of erroneous thoughts. He continued to lose to both Precision and Wild but, within the club, he still remained the third best sword fighter. He intensified his training, sometimes to his own detriment, as he didn't quite know the best way to train as well as to recover afterwards. He pushed himself further than he was used to, and he was paying the price physically and mentally. It was clear he would eventually crumble if he didn't put more thought into his own training.

"Say, Wild, how come you're never sore after training?" he asked.

Wild shrugged. In truth, he did get sore, but he recovered quite quickly. He had also long since found the right balance between training and recovery so that he would neither undertrain nor overtrain. He exerted himself just the right amount to still have energy the next day and function normally. Sometimes, he tended towards overtraining, but he usually noticed it and dialed his efforts down before he hurt himself.

To properly explain it all to Swingblade, well, he didn't know how to do it. Signing with his body was still awkward, and he understood the language far better than he could gesture it. To explain the fine line between training enough and training too much, he didn't have the vocabulary for. 

"He's just not being dumb," Precision answered for him, teasing, "Maybe if you picked up more books on martial arts and not porn, you'd know."

"And if you got more porn, maybe you wouldn't have a big stick right up your ass."

"Any stick up my ass is wholly intentional, I assure you. Dickhead."

"Cunt."

"Virgin."

"Not after I did... after I did uh..." a thoughtful frown appeared on his head.

"No comeback, huh? Just like that?" Precision grinned.

They continued to bicker, Wild listening with only half his ear. He remembered when he used to spew hate as easily as he was silent now. Many people have been insulted by him in a variety of ways, both creative and crude. And while Precision and Swingblade were still friends - somehow - despite their frequent disagreements, Wild had been cruel in his insults, trying to dig under people's skin, to really hurt. He remembered how he enjoyed making people angry, thinking how above all of them he was. He had caused a number of fights, in which he fought as best as he could.

He was immature, rage-filled, and childish, he recognized it now. He lashed out at people because it made him feel like he was in control, like at least one thing was still in his power to do. 

He had learned better since then.

"Uh, hey, may I sit?" he heard the familiar voice of Artful. He turned to him, thought for a bit, then nodded, "Alright, thanks."

"Oh hi, I remember seeing you yesterday with Wild," Swingblade said, smirking, "You're his boyfriend or something?"

Artful blushed deep crimson, and Wild fidgeted in his seat, the feeling of unease growing the further the conversation progressed.

"If he is, at least he has a partner. You still don't," Precision pointed out, "Virgin."

"Um, no, I'm not his- we just got together in a library, I asked him a couple of things about, you know, swordfighting and stuff."

"Discussing sword lengths?"

Wild quickly finished what remained on his tray, then stood up and left. This sort of conversation isn't what he wanted to think about, let alone hear. Precision and Swingblade exchanged glances - the former annoyed, the latter puzzled. 

"You know, I think you should realize that not everyone wants to talk about this stuff," Precision told him, "And Wild's, you know, Wild. Not a touchy-feely kind of person."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess..." Swingblade looked guiltily, "Sorry."

The rest of their meal was spent in awkward silence. Artful hoped to speak with Wild some more, but it appeared the latter wasn't very receptive at the moment, and Artful knew when to give someone space. Perhaps Wild was a private kind of person who didn't like his intimate life broadcast or discussed, and Artful could certainly respect that. He wasn't all that open about it himself, still sometimes feeling self-conscious about his body even though what he had now was what he wanted. Maybe Wild felt about his own body the same way Artful felt about the body he was born with, though there was no real respectful way to ask that he knew of. He brought it up with Princess Celestia by himself when he felt he could do it, and he thought Wild, if he had the same problems, would do it like that as well. He just hoped Wild knew such an option was available to him in the first place.

***

Wild felt embarrassed. He thought that, if he could turn back time, he would have just sat through this. He didn't need to leave, did he? No one else was uncomfortable because of what was being said, only him. And now they knew it made him uncomfortable.

He was back in his dorm, lying on the carpeted floor, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes. Just what was wrong with him? He knew his reaction wasn't normal. It was all just talk, all in good fun. He knew he wasn't perhaps the most observant when it came to people talking about things, but even he knew it was all good-natured teasing. He knew he had gone through enough to grow much thicker skin, so why couldn't he withstand something as simple as this?

He knew the answer, of course. He knew what was wrong. He knew why he was afraid of touch, especially from behind. He knew why he felt nauseous when sex was mentioned. It was because of what happened to him. He shook his head, trying not to bring back those memories. 

He was a fool. He couldn't be fixed, not after that. He was so far from being a normal person, how could he ever recover? Tears welled up in his eyes, and he sniffed, trying to force them back. He curled up there on the floor and shut his eyes tight.

The only way for him to be alright would be to forget it all. Wouldn't it be nice, to not know what he knew, to not remember what he went through? Scars would stop being stories he knew and only curiosities he would wonder about from time to time. Regular conversations wouldn't force him to leave. And perhaps he would even speak again.

Perhaps magic could do it, erase him from existence without killing him. It would be right, he thought. No one deserved to be stuck with him, to waste time and effort on him in a futile attempt to fix what was irreparably broken, shattered into a million pieces. What could he ever hope to achieve when he was like this? He would never be normal, what future was there for him?

His eyes stung, his throat felt dry, and he could hardly breathe through his nose without sniffing. He pretended to be strong, yet he knew he was weak. When would this farce end?

For what felt like hours, he simply lay on the floor, quietly crying in the solitude of his dorm. When his swirling toxic thoughts turned into mindless noise inside his head, he finally stood up. He went to the bathroom and, without looking at himself, washed his face. He felt slightly better afterwards, and so he decided to go back out. Hiding wouldn't do him much good anyway.

Without a set destination in mind, he wandered around the orphanage, looking at things without truly seeing them. His legs simply carried him, and he didn't care one bit where he would end up. Simply walking was enough to distract him for the time-being, which was enough for him. 

After spending a bit of time outside, which was still damp after last night's rain, he saw Swingblade coming up to him. If he were entirely honest, he didn't want to be around him much, not now. 

"Hey, uh, Wild?" Swingblade said, his voice uncertain, "Just wanted to say... I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable with, you know. Dunno why it makes you feel that way, but it's not my business, is it? So yeah, won't do that again when you're around, I promise."

Wild wanted to simply forget the incident and have no one bring it up, but he was still pleasantly surprised by the apology, as awkward as it was. And, in truth, it would be a relief not having to listen to that sort of thing. He nodded.

"Alright, yeah... I'll see you later, I guess," Swingblade offered an awkward goodbye and then walked away, leaving Wild to himself.

***

Some time passed, and it was time for dinner. Wild was ready to face others again, so he went to the cafeteria, grabbed a tray, got some food, and took a seat not far from the radio. A pony sat down to his right without a word or a glance at him and started eating.

"...in just a few short minutes, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Captain Shining Armor will be married," the radio reported.

Wild listened with half the ear as he ate. For a reason he couldn't discern, he had a vaguely bad feeling about it. He couldn't explain if he tried, but something just wasn't right, and he wasn't sure if it was just his mind being weird again or-

A burst of static came from the radio, lasting for a long couple of seconds, and then Wild heard something that stilled blood in his veins.

"We are... we are under attack! The princess is fake, and the-"

Another burst of static, the another, clearer voice came in.

"Honest Word? Can you hear me? What is going on in there?"

Silence was the answer. 

Wild's heart beat thunderously in his chest. He was standing up, unsure of what to do but needing to do something when, suddenly, green light flashed to his right.

He didn't feel himself hitting the floor as his world turned to nothing.
> Chapter 24: Day Two - Falsehoods
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild woke up. There was something else, but it slipped right out of his mind before he could notice it. He could hear birds chirping outside, and the sunlight shone on him, making his eyelids visibly pink even when closed. He blinked, his eyes meeting a ceiling that had not been familiar to him for a long time. Then he remembered - in his childhood bedroom, the space right above his bed on the ceiling was taken by a large piece of black fabric, and many stars that glowed in the dark were glued to it. He rose on his elbows, and he was so startled by it that he fell back down. 

His body... it was human again. He brought his hands in front of his face. There they were, his fingers. He flexed them, curled them, felt the muscles move and the skin stretch accordingly. His hands... they were clear, too. His skin was of healthy color, and there were no scars. 

Slowly, with movements he had almost forgotten he rose from his bed. And it was his bed, the feeling was unmistakable. The softness of his comforter and his pillow, the springiness of the mattress, the sensation of his bare skin against the blanket, all of it was intensely and starkly familiar.

His room was small and had just one window. Aside from his bed, there was the wardrobe - with all the stickers he had put on it when he was younger - and a table with a chair. On top of the table, stood his computer, which was outdated by almost a decade. An old, yellowed CRT monitor was there as well. He remembered when his parents brought him this computer on his twelfth birthday. He didn't know it then, but he later learned that the entire setup was picked from the trash, thoroughly cleaned, and partially repaired. However, he never cared about it - he was simply happy to have a computer, even though the monitor was an old and heavy CRT type, and the system itself was extremely out of date, featuring Pentium 4 and AGP graphics. Over the years, the bezels of the screen were covered by many stickers and notes, and the computer case received the same treatment. The yellowed plastic was the same shade he remembered, too.

He needed to wake up.

The thought slithered out of his grasp before he could fully understand it. He stood up from his bed, which creaked just so, and the feel of hardwood floor under his bare feet was unmistakable. It was just like he remembered it. Was he even ever gone? His life as a pony now seemed like a dream, but he knew it was real. 

Slowly, he made his way to the door. On it, a mirror hung. He now saw himself, dressed only in underwear, and his eyes widened. All his scars were gone, his skin nice and smooth, its color healthy. His hair was all back too, thick and dense and healthy. The eternal bags under his eyes were gone, and their color shone like never before. His body was not unhealthily thin - in fact, it was in the best shape he could ever remember it being. 

He opened the door into a familiar living room. His nose caught the scent of food. The freshness of vegetables was apparent, and he thought there were some fried potatoes in there too. Without much thought, he made his way over to the kitchen.

"Good morning, son."

He stopped in his tracks, turning to the dining table. He didn't know how he didn't notice his own father sitting there. The man was in his early forties but already almost entirely bald, although he had a thick brown beard which shone red when sunlight passed through it. His face was slightly lined with age, and his warm gray eyes looked at his son in a welcoming way. 

"Did the sonya finally wake up?" another voice, his mother, spoke, in an accent so very familiar that was not yet shed despite years of living in the USA. And there she was, his mother, coming from the kitchen, a bowl of vegetable salad in her hands. 

He needed to wake up. 

"Maybe bright, but not very early," his father quipped, smiling.

"P-papa? Mama?" he stuttered, and a realization hit him - his voice, it was back. He didn't feel... there was no anxiety. The words came out freely if hoarsely. 

"Sit down, drink some water," his father told him, his face growing serious, "You've gone through a lot."

"I..." he was lost, unsure of what to do. This all couldn't be real, could it? They were dead. They were both dead. It wasn't possible.

He needed to wake up.

"Drink some water, son."

He sat down and, without looking at his family, filled a cup - his own cup, he knew this cup - with water. He drank it greedily, then filled it again, and drank it once more. 

"Son," his father placed his hand on his shoulder, and he didn't flinch from this touch, "We're very sorry you went through what you did. We're sorry we weren't there."

"You'll always be our son, remember it," his mother joined in, sitting from the other side, putting a gentle hand on him, "No matter what."

"I... I did bad things," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with shame and regret, "I'm not worthy of your love anymore. I'm sorry."

"You made them pay for what they did to you," his father squeezed his shoulder, "There is no shame in that. They violated you, and you struck back until they couldn't do it to anyone else."

"You are not to blame," his mother told him, "They tried to break you, and they got what they deserved."

"But they broke me..."

"No. What you did was your choice, the best choice you could've made with what you had," his father assured him, "But it's all in the past now."

"You... you're supposed to be dead. Mama too."

"But we're here," his mother told him, "We're not going away again."

"Never again," his father nodded, "You've gone through a lot, and we're proud of you. No matter what, we're with you. You're our son, and we love you."

Warmth spread throughout his body at this declaration. His smile was wobbly, tears were welled up in his eyes, but he felt good, better than he had in ages.

"We will always love you, dorogoy," his mother said softly, now hugging him, "You're our son, you're precious. We'd never forsake you, don't even think that for a minute. We love you, always."

"And... and I... I love you," he sniffed, hugging back both his mother and his father, "Mama, papa... I love you."

"We know, son, and this love will never be broken," his father said, "We love you."

He closed his eyes, quietly crying yet still feeling the gentle embraces of his parents. They were back - it didn't even matter how or why - and he was back with them. He rarely professed his love for them, but now he could, and he would do that again and again. 

We love you, son.

I love you, mama, papa.

His mind drifted, lazily swimming through the warmth. Everything was going to be alright. They were-

He needed to wake up.

We love you, son.

I love you, mama, papa.

He felt like he could fly. He was back, he was alive, he was good. They don't hate him. They didn't throw him away despite what he did. They knew what he did and they didn't reject him. They still loved him, and he loved them back, just like a family should. They raised him, and it was right to repay them for every kindness. No matter what, they wouldn't be gone from his life now.

He needed to wake up.

We love you, son.

I love you, mama, papa.

He drifted along the gentle winds of sleep. Tomorrow, he would wake up, and his parents would be there. The gray eyes of his father, the brown eyes of his mother. Their faces, smiling at him, never judging. Tomorrow would be a new day, a new beginning. As a human again, but perhaps it was worth it. Perhaps-

WAKE. UP.

This voice was coming from somewhere, it was familiar. But why would he wake up? He was comfortable, it was nice and warm, and tomorrow would be good.

He felt... relaxed. But not - it was tense. But no, it was relaxing. Softness surrounded him. He needed to accept a good thing happening to him. He needed to-

WAKE. UP.

There was no need. Everything would be fi-

WAKE. UP.

We love you, son.

I love you, mama, papa.

WAKE. UP.

There was no need. 

WAKE. UP.

He was fine. Tomorrow-

WAKE. UP. NOW.

The room was tiny and dark. The only light was provided by a green cocoon, which moved ever so slowly as if in a breeze that wasn't there. The deep shadows of the shelves and cleaning supplies were impossibly dark. The smell was sweet - a bit too much so.

The cocoon was stuck to the ceiling, a familiar shape inside it, Wild knew it.

How did he know it? How did he see? He was inside it. He knew he was inside the cocoon. But he was on the outside too, looking without eyes, smelling without a nose, feeling without his body.

Without. His. Body.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong. He blinked but didn't, his mind working sluggishly - and he was not inside his body. He was-

Without. His. Body.

His heart beat faster but didn't, a phantom sensation of breath catching in his throat was an illusion of his mind. Blood rushing to his head was an audible noise made by nothing and heard by no one. 

Aimlessly, mindlessly, without looking but still seeing, he darted around the room in panic, passing through objects as if they weren't even there. Where was he? What was going on? Why was he outside his own body?

He felt nauseous but didn't. How could he move without legs or wings or hands or anything? How could he be without - outside - his body? Why? How?

It was not real but it was. He knew it was real. He knew he was real. What he was experiencing was real.

He remembered - the news of attack on Canterlot, the green flash to his right. Something happened to him, and now his body - his body without his soul - was in a cocoon. 

As he moved - without legs feet hands wings muscles - he left black smoke in his wake, red sickly - how sick? - glow along the edges and swirling inside like a miasma. It was him. 

He needed to focus, but where was his mind? It was in his head, which was attached to his body, which was in a cocoon, and he wasn't in his own body.

He didn't know how much time he spent panicking, but he slowly calmed down enough to think. To think without a brain, without a head, without his own body.

He needed to get himself out of this cocoon, whatever it was. With a clarity he didn't know he ever possessed, he knew just rushing in back to his body would put him right back into the dream - into the false hopes and lies he told himself - and he would be nowhere. He needed to free himself from the cocoon, but how? He didn't have hands, he didn't have claws...

The room, it had shelves. On the shelves, there were things. His mind was still slow, but now he was looking through the shelves. Cleaning supplies dominated the storage, and they were useless to him - they were a bunch of bottles of various chemical solutions, boxes full of paper towels or microfiber towels or other sorts of rags. Various broom brushes, broom handles big and small, straight and weirdly-shaped. 

Finally, he found something that could work - a trowel of some kind, maybe a scraper, one or the other, it didn't matter to him. But how could he grab it? He didn't have a body. No hands, no claws-

He had magic. But magic was part of his body... wasn't it? But then his mind was supposed to be a part of his body but it wasn't. 

As if waiting for it, a pair of hands appeared out of him. They were smoky, black, edges glowing sickly red. Their shape was clear despite the swirls he could see inside. He didn't feel them like his hands - real hands of his human body - felt, but they felt almost exactly like his magical hands did. He flexed his fingers, sensing a vague feeling of movement inside them, then grasped the trowel. 

The cocoon felt like a grape skin to his touch, yet a lot stronger. His own hands could do nothing to it but budge it slightly, making the entire thing sway, and his body inside it swaying with it. Carefully, he picked a spot, then struck with the trowel. The skin of the cocoon stretched but didn't break, and the cocoon released a small cloud of green... something. He couldn't really feel it, but the consistency was between smoke and spores. 

He struck and struck again, but each time the trowel bounced back, seemingly not doing even a single scratch. Frustration was building up, and he could barely stave off panic. In a lapse of concentration, he dropped the trowel. Before it could hit the floor, however, he managed to catch it. 

He struck, harder and harder, but the trowel only bounced back, taunting him. The cocoon refused to give in, and he was forced to abandon his efforts. He likely needed something sharper, perhaps something heavier. He wondered if a drill would work.

He searched the shelves for something more, something better. He looked over various sprays, and an idea came to him - what if one of them would dissolve the skin of the cocoon? It was worth a try.

He sprayed and wiped on the cocoon, the small space feeling with a chemical smell of lemon. None of it appeared to work, but he didn't give up until he had sprayed a little bit of everything. And then, just to test it, he grabbed the trowel again and struck. 

It took a few tries before he could firmly grasp it and lift it. His hands still felt weird, too soft yet also strong as the same time. In a lapse of concentration, he almost dropped the trowel. 

Success, the skin was pierced! He worked with the trowel further, widening the opening, letting green jello-like goop fall out of the hole as he did it. Then he cut along, the skin separating easily, and finally, after what felt like forever, the cocoon burst entirely with a wet-sounding pop. His body, no longer suspended within, flopped gracelessly on the floor. He finally allowed himself back into his body, relief flooding him when he felt it. The fur, the skin, the flesh, everything came back, and he finally felt like himself. 

The wetness surrounding him was warm, slowly but surely fading into cold. He shivered, feeling sticky and gross, covered in who knew what everywhere on his body, even in places he didn't want to think about. He was weak now, his limbs trembling despite his muscles feeling rested. Something inside of him felt emptier, almost dried up in a way, but he couldn't quite understand what it was and what it meant. It wasn't a physical sort of sensation, but he would struggle to describe it in any other way. 

The relief inside him was replaced by nausea. He felt violated, somehow defiled, and bile rose in his throat. He forced it down, focusing his mind on getting rid of the goop still clinging to him. But even then, he remembered a different time, a time where he was much more helpless, a time where he was locked in some sort of a basement just like he was locked in now. 

The horror wasn't there - perhaps it would never be again - but he remembered how he felt, how his body felt. In that basement, there was no escape, not for a long time, far longer than now. He didn't have magic then, and he was left at the mercy of people whom he didn't want to remember. He was violated, he knew. He was bloodied, sticky, unwashed, gross and disgusting, and everything was just so wrong...

He needed to get out. He got out then, he would get out now. He had magic. He wasn't helpless. He would never again be helpless. He would not return - not to his past, not to this terrifying repeat of it, never again. He had been at his weakest, at his most vulnerable, at his most defenseless, but he wasn't now.

He fixed that thought in his mind. He wasn't powerless. He had magic. He would escape. 

A part of him whispered - why didn't he just die? What was the point of enduring it, of experiencing the same thing again?

He shook his head - it wasn't the same now. He would escape before anything more was done to him. He glanced at the door - it was sturdy steel, a tiny narrow slot at the bottom, and no sign of a lock. He blinked, shook his head. The door was made of wood and had a handle. With great relief, he opened it easily. and the door was now wide open. 

The corridor in front of him was narrow, and made even narrower by many cocoons, same as his, but now stuck to walls instead of hanging from the ceiling. There was, once again, no light except from the glow of the cocoons. If there was a switch somewhere, he couldn't spot it from where he was. 

The ponies inside the cocoons barely moved as they slept. He wondered what kind of dreams they had right now, completely unaware of what happened to them in reality. 

His mind was oddly clear, devoid of anything outside the need to, somehow, fix it all. He needed to consider his options.

There was an attack on Canterlot, he knew. He was knocked out when a green flash happened to the right of him when he was eating. And now ponies were imprisoned in some weird cocoons made of who even knows what.

Who attacked them? Some sort of oversized bugs? He didn't know much about insects, so that path of thought was bust. Knowing who or what attacked the orphanage would be beneficial, but it's not something he could easily figure out now.

He could free himself, then maybe he could free others. He just needed more cleaning supplies, and this basement seemed like a place where a lot of them were stored. 

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, focusing his mind. He couldn't figure out what happened alone, and he certainly couldn't fight against whatever it was that put him in a cocoon alone either. 

Time to get to work.
> Chapter 25: Day Two - Struggle
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild managed to free everyone he could reach in the basement, a total of twelve ponies not counting him. None of them had any idea what was going on, and most of them appeared to have no memory of between the last couple of days and the previous week. Seashell, a mostly-deaf filly a number of years younger than Wild, helped him translate his explanation for those who didn't know or had a limited understanding of Equestrian Sign Language. 

The basement was silent except for the anxious whispers of the ponies, none of whom Wild knew at all. He might have seen them from time to time but, as he never really paid much attention to anyone else, they were entirely unfamiliar. Perhaps it was a mistake on his part, one too late to rectify. He didn't know to expect something like this attack happening, after all. However, he guiltily thought that he should have - where he lived, being in a school was enough to be under a constant if not immediate threat of being in a shooting. He really should have known better.

The group was disorganized and scared - for them, the Royal Orphanage was the only family they knew, and without adults around, they didn't know whom to turn to. Even the oldest of them were thirteen - perhaps on their way to becoming an adult in a year, but still far from their experienced caretakers. None of them knew how to fight, none of them had ever been in any serious fight in their lives. They weren't prepared for an attack in any way whatsoever. Worst of all, most of them were still shaken from being woken up from pleasant dreams and learning they were a lie.

Wild himself still tried to ignore what he dreamed of. He got what he wanted so much, only to learn it was not real at all. He didn't want to think about it.

He focused on the there and then. He had a group of kids, and he felt responsible for them. While he didn't know any of them, seeing them scared woke a protective instinct inside him. Crimes against children were unforgivable. He knew he was nowhere near good parenting material, but he knew children are to be protected. Being the oldest among them, it was his responsibility to see to their safety. It was simply the right thing to do.

Wild caught the attention of Seashell again and signed to her. She nodded, then spoke up.

"Gather'round, everyone," she said. Her voice had an odd and soft tone, slightly slurry, but generally clear, "Wild has a plan."

To say he had a plan wasn't entirely accurate if Wild were to be honest with himself. It had been probably over a decade since he took part in planning any group activity, and he was a child then. He had precisely zero experience guiding anyone, but he knew someone needed to offer at least a semblance of an idea of what to do lest all of them drown in their own fear and turn to panic. The crux of the plan was very simple - they needed to escape the orphanage. Since they found themselves in this situation, it was clear whatever happened hadn't yet ended, and it was best to presume the orphanage overrun by whoever or whatever attacked them. 

The anxiety wasn't helped by the fact that no one knew what time it was, let alone how many days had passed since Wild was captured. It was true that he was the most recent captive, but he had no idea how much time he spent dreaming. Perhaps it was merely an hour. Or maybe it was over a week. He simply had no way of knowing.

"But where will we go?" someone from the crowd asked.

"To Ponyville," the deaf filly translated from Wild, "If they are ovehrun too, hide in a forest."

"How long?"

Wild looked lost, a deep frown on his face, and then shrugged awkwardly. 

"What if they're already everywhere?" 

"Then..." Seashell paused and swallowed, "Then we are already doomed."

Perhaps it wasn't the right thing to say, but Wild believed it best to tell them the truth. They had no idea what was going on outside - it was entirely possible Equestria had already been taken over or perhaps a war was going on or who even knew what. 

Wild wasn't ready for it. He was already so used to the peace in the Royal Orphanage, the very thought of experiencing something like this was, surprisingly, entirely foreign. He knew what it was like to have no one to turn to but he had forgotten how it felt. He had forgotten how it was like to struggle to survive. And yet, it appeared he was back to it, forced to endure it again. Perhaps he wasn't alone now, but children could hardly count. Princess Luna would be helpful, he imagined, but she had been either killed or captured. He tried not to think about it.

Their best chance to survive was to be armed. Unfortunately, arming earth ponies and pegasi needed special equipment that would allow them to properly control their weapons, so only unicorns ended up armed more or less well enough. Brooms and broom handles to act as spear, and bent steel pot lids to act as shields. In all honesty, they looked weak, pathetic, and out of their element, but Wild thought it was better than nothing in case they had to fight... provided they fought and not just ran away. He instructed them how to fight with the most basic moves that they could handle and hoped it would be enough. The kids were still shaken, barely holding themselves together, but Wild's appearance of confidence, as well as the semblance of a plan he told them helped. 

Despite his calm and collected exterior, he wasn't holding himself well either. He wasn't ready to fight a battle. He had never fought a battle. What he did, the swordsmanship, he did it for fun, not for war. He would spit on anyone who thought this situation would allow them to get some glory or some other crap. No, he knew that a war was no joke. War is blood, death, and misery. There are no positive things to say about it. 

Wild was no coward, but he knew he was not suited for war. He had experienced enough misery for a lifetime or even two, he didn't seek more of it.

Finally, it was time to act, they couldn't delay anymore. Wild was in front, creeping up the stairs to what was the exit from the basement. A small strip of light shone from under the door. The silence was deafening, and Wild could hear his own breath and his own heartbeat as if they were the only things that existed. He armed himself with a broom handle - he considered taping a trowel to it, but he wasn't ready to kill. He knew it would be too easy to just stab, and that wasn't something he would be able to take back. Instead, he wrapped a rope around his body to which he attached the very same trowel he used to free himself and others. If and only if he had to kill, he would be able to. Not a moment before.

Far too soon yet after what felt like an eternity, he was at the door. He listened closely, but there was nothing but muffled sounds of nature coming from behind the door. He slowly opened it, holding his breath. The door didn't squeak, no shouting erupted. When the door was fully opened, he glanced outside. It was a somewhat familiar hallway - he might have passed it once or twice - and it was entirely empty. Once, the emptiness would've been soothing - now it felt like unseen danger hiding behind every corner. He turned to Seashell, who was right behind him, and signed to her. She nodded, then passed along his message.

Low to the floor, the group slowly made their way towards where Wild thought the exit would be. Of course, it wasn't the front entrance - he expected it would be guarded or keep under watch in some other way. He was leading them to one of secondary entrances. They just needed to stay low enough not to be seen from the outside through the windows.

The area behind the first corner was clear. The silence was oppressive, the emptiness was stifling. The nature outside continued as it was, as if nothing had happened. The nearly-constant buzz of active children was entirely absent.

As he glanced around another corner, he came to face to face with someone. They were pony-like, yet undeniably also insect-like with their shiny black exterior devoid of any fur and translucent wings. Their eyes were a solid color, and they also had a horn. That was all Wild registered before a screech sounded, high-pitched and unpleasant. He knew it now - this was an alarm.

He dashed forward, placing a solid hit in the face of the being, sending them tumbling. There was a second one, whose horn started glowing. Wild struck with the broom handle right at the base of the horn, interrupting whatever spell was being cast, and the being seized, falling on the ground. Wild placed a couple more solid hits on the two, rendering them unable to fight back. He didn't care to learn who they were - now he and the kids were racing against the clock.

He opened the closest window wide, gestured, and Seashell translated it with a shaky voice. With wary looks sent at groaning being lying to the side, the ponies quickly got through the window, with the bigger ponies helping the smaller ones. Wild was the last one out.

Wild knew that the orphanage was surrounded by a wall, and there was only one entrance he knew about. The surroundings outside were familiar, and he knew where to go. He glanced at Canterlot - its shield was gone, and it was swarming with black dots. Green flashes could be seen even from this far away. 

Wild run along with the group, guiding them to the entrance. For around a minute, it didn't appear like they were followed, but then he spotted a group of five of those beings he encountered flying through the air towards them from the building. They were catching up, too, and the ponies were still far from the exit. No one was paying attention - he was the only one who saw them coming. 

Wild stopped and turned around to face them. Others would have a chance to escape. Him? It wasn't like his life was worth much in the first place. He snarled, bringing up the broom handle, his heart beating faster and faster, drawing strength from deep inside him. 

Five against one. Perhaps it was futile, but that didn't mean he was unwilling to try. With a deep breath, he rushed towards them. They were flying low to the ground, low enough to be hit by him. They saw him coming too, changing their direction slightly, and Wild knew now he was their focus. Good, that meant others would be able to escape. He absently noted that the beings all had the same aqua eyes as well as holes in legs that, while looking disturbing, didn't seem to pain them at all. Their wings buzzed as they flew, louder and more threatening than a hornet. 

A bolt of magic flew through the air, basking the surroundings in a green light, and Wild dodged. He wished he knew more magic there and then, but that couldn't be helped now. The first being was now close enough, a snarl on their oddly pony-like face, and Wild was quick to strike, nailing them in the head. 

The rest of them landed far enough out of his range, and then green fire erupted from each, enveloping them entirely for but a moment, and then disappeared. In their place, stood exact copies of Wild, which made him do a double-take. Their expressions were malicious, yet they didn't quite fit on Wild's face. 

"Surrender now, and the princess will show you mercy," one of them said, their voice so oddly close to how Wild remembered his voice sounding years ago. It was uncanny seeing himself speak, knowing it wasn't he who spoke.

"The princess wants you," another said, "Comply, and others will be let go."

He didn't know what the 'princess' wanted from him and he wasn't about to agree to finding out. He inhaled deeply, snarled, and dashed forward. 

They proved to be capable fighters, taunting him as they weaved around his strikes. He managed to land a couple, but they didn't have much of an effect. He wished he had a sword. This broom handle simply wasn't enough.

He was foolish and he was now paying the price. Five against one was a sure outcome - his weapon was knocked from his grasp, and he was greeted by the familiar darkness of unconsciousness soon after.

***

Wild came to consciousness as if a switch inside of him was flipped. He blinked wearily, then realized he was lying on tile. His brain was foggy, his mind uncertain.

"Ah, finally," a voice spoke, distinctly feminine.

He rolled on his hooves and stood up, his magic forming into a pair of hands now that he had no weapon. He recognized the space - it was the cafeteria. Behind him, five beings stood, cutting off his escape. In front of him, in the middle of the room, on a mockery of a throne made from the furniture of the cafeteria, another sat. She was taller than others, her eyes sky-blue, the very same shade...

She was there, at the tournament. He remembered her watching him with uncanny attention.

"I see you recognize me," she said, her voice soft, a smirk on her face emphasizing her fangs. Her horn was more curved than those of others. However, there was something off about her appearance. He saw it then - her exterior wasn't shiny. In fact, it was cracked in places, flaky. The wing casing was a dull green, scratched as if after an itch. One of her ears was drooping and torn. The expression on her face sent shivers down his spine, "And I know you, too."

Wild was silent, his eyes frantically looking around for something, anything, to help him. His eyes landed in a half-made cocoon hanging from the ceiling, and within it was Princess Luna. As far as he could see, she was alive, even awake, but she was mostly encased in the cocoon, only her head partially free. Her eyes locked with his.

I wish I could help you, her voice sounded in his head, But I am useless now. I am sorry.

He broke her gaze and looked back at the being on the throne.

"Oh yes, Princess Luna is right here, too," she giggled, a sound that had nothing in common with laughter, "Once Queen Chrysalis sees my contribution to her cause, she will see my value. I am this close to becoming a princess," she narrowed her eyes at him, her expression changing from a joyful to a serious in a moment, "But you... you are an obstacle. You know something important, and you will tell me," she chuckled, "But you are mute, aren't you? A freak. How ponies put up with someone like you, I have no idea," she sighed, "So soft-shelled, aren't they?"

Wild saw it then, as if his eyes were directed there, a knife lying abandoned by a cutting board in the part of cafeteria kitchen visible from where he was. His eyes traveled to the 'princess' on the throne, and he felt nauseous. But then he didn't have a choice, now did he? It was either him or her.

Kill her.

He turned his eyes to Luna, but her eyes were closed. It didn't come from her.

Did it come... from within? Did he want it?

"Now, Wild," the 'princess' said, "I want to one one thing, and I will learn it. No one has broken from a cocoon by themselves before, but you did just that," the sentence ended in a whisper, "Isn't that unusual, hm? Look into my eyes when I speak to you!"

Unwillingly, he looked into her sky-blue eyes as he was frozen in place. Then there was a sensation like falling backwards, but he was standing still. Something heavy was pressing on him in a way he hadn't felt before, and it felt sick. He wanted to get rid of it right then, to never feel it again.

How did you accomplish this? Show me.

He knew what she was asking for and he didn't want to tell her. He was strong, stronger than her. He wouldn't tell. 

You helped others escape too. Show me how.

The pressure increased and increased, the questions repeating, wearing down on him. He grit his teeth yet he couldn't look away, his head was now aching, the pain growing with each passing moment. 

The knife. He needed the knife. It was there, in his peripheral vision. He reached for it.

I am with you, Wild. I know you are strong. I am sorry I can't protect you much more now, but we'll figure out a way out, I promise.

Luna's eyes were open, looking into his. This provided momentary relief, and the 'princess' broke her gaze to glare furiously at Luna.

"Shut up!" she screamed and hurled an empty plate at the cocoon. The cocoon wobbled a bit, turning away just enough that Luna couldn't look into Wild's eyes without straining too much, and the plate shattered on the ground, "Shut your mouth! Queen Chrysalis will deal with you later, after she is done with your wretched sister!" she turned back to Wild, "Now, I ask again. Tell me everything."

The pressure on his mind was stronger now, much stronger, and his head was now pounding painfully, blood rushing. He didn't notice it then, but blood welled up under his eyes like tears. 

The knife. He needed the knife.

Show me how you escaped. Show me how others escaped. Show me how. Show me now.

The knife. The wooden handle was there, in his grasp. The blade was nice and sharp. He needed it, he needed it now.

You are strong, she cannot defeat you.

It was not Luna speaking. The 'princess' did not notice it. 

Show me. Show me everything I want. Do it now.

His ears were ringing, he could hardly think from all the pain in his head. It felt like too much was in his head, too much to fit, and he needed to get rid of some of it to make space for the rest.

The knife was silently levitated up, the glint from the blade shining into his eyes just for a moment. He had it. Now he just needed to-

WHY DO YOU NOT SHOW ME? STOP RESISTING! YOU ARE MINE!

He wouldn't give in.

Do not give in.

SHOW ME, SHOW ME NOW!

He was strong. He survived his own death.

You live again. Your suffering won't amount to nothing.

He was strong. He was stronger than this 'princess'. He had a life here now, a life he... he wanted to fight for. A life he enjoyed. 

You have the strength.

He snarled, pulling on something deep inside him. He screamed his throat raw, disentangling himself from the captivity of the questioning, demanding gaze that wanted to rip into his mind.

A gasp sounded, the connection was broken, and he coughed up blood, blinking his eyes from the sting. When he looked, the 'princess' was looking in horror at one of her legs - a kitchen knife was inside it. The other beings were in a similar state of shock, frozen in their place. Luna watched it, wide-eyed.

Wild dashed forward, pulling the knife out. The 'princess' screamed, falling from her throne. A green spell soared through the air, missing its mark.

Wild had the 'princess' in his grasp now, and his knife was pressed against her throat. He hid behind her, preventing others from casting or striking. 

"No no no, please, please don't kill me," she whimpered, "Please, I swear, I'll do anything, I will-"

SHUT UP!

Wild realized it was him speaking into her mind. She went silent, but he could still hear her frantic thoughts. He found a sense of satisfaction in reducing her to this. She was no longer in control, and what she wanted was to have it back. But how could one argue against a bloodied knife to their throat?

Kill her. She would've done worse to you.

Wild hesitated, the knife trembling in his grasp as the 'princess' continued to whine and whimper quietly, tears streaming down her face. 

Tell them to free Princess Luna.

"I will, I will!" she said, her voice wobbling, then a series of insect-like noises came from her. When the other five didn't move, she repeated them louder. With hesitation, they moved to the cocoon and started dissolving it with something from their maws. 

Soon enough, Luna was freed. She stood up slowly, and then she quickly stunned the five beings. She stretched, then turned to Wild.

"Wild," she spoke gently, "Please, drop the knife."

Kill her now. She doesn't deserve to live after what she had done and tried to do. And she would've done more. You know she would have.

Wild closed his eyes, blood mixing with tears. He had killed a monster once, he could do it again. His head still pounded, the pain was there, and her words still echoed in his mind, demanding, forcing their way deeper into him. 

Paying her back for this would be the right thing to do. He knew Luna disagreed, and he was unwilling to look at her. She didn't understand. She tried to help him, perhaps, but she still didn't understand him. He had to do this. 

Scum who violated others deserved nothing but death. He did it before, he could do it again, and swiftly this time. It was better than prolonging their suffering despite how much he wanted her to hurt. 

"You are not a killer, Wild. Please, drop the knife. You don't want to do this."

What did she know about him? He had killed before. He was a killer. Some would call him a murderer. He knew he did the right thing then - they didn't deserve anything less than death. They had done horrible things to others, to him, and he knew they would've done it again and again and again if he didn't put a stop to them.

And now... He would put a stop to it before it started. Though, who knew how many others she had already violated? Whose minds had she ripped apart before? How many others did she abduct or ordered to abduct, keep in those cocoons who knew where?

His grip on the knife tightened. He would do it.

Kill her now.

"Wild, please," Luna said, "Please, look at me."

LOOK INTO MY EYES WHEN I AM SPEAKING TO YOU

He flinched, although now it was just a recent memory. The 'princess' was still whimpering, now weaker, and she was under his control, her life in his hands. 

"Wild, you don't have to do this," Luna continued, "It is over. She can't do anything more to you. I will see to it that she pays for her crimes, but killing her is not the way. You don't want this on your consciousness."

He opened his eyes then and looked at her. He wished he could say it - he had killed before. It was too late to keep his consciousness, his soul, clean. What is one more kill, especially when it would help others? He was already done for, anyway. He opened his mouth, willing the words forward no matter how much he didn't want to. She needed to know.

"I..." he said, his mouth dry. His voice wasn't like when they spoke through an illusion of his body. It was weak, quiet, it strained him. But he had to say, "I did it before," his pronunciation was awful. His voice was ugly. He wished nothing more than to never speak again. This ugliness, however, needed to be clear to Princess Luna. Let her hear him butcher her language, let her know he was ugly on the inside too, "I killed before."

There it was, he said it. His mouth was now clamped shut again, and he would never speak. He wouldn't need to, now would he? Perhaps they would lock him up in a prison forever. Perhaps that was what he deserved.

The 'princess' whimpered quieter and quieter, sagging down. Wild knew it wouldn't be too long before she bled out even without him slitting her throat.

"Wild..." Luna said, and he forced himself to look at her. He didn't see what he expected to see - there was no disgust, no hate, no disappointment. Instead, there was... pity. Empathy. Sorrow, "I am so sorry you had to go through that. But you don't have to do it again."

His vision was blurry now. He recognized he was crying. The knife was in his grasp - maybe it would be easier to strike himself instead.

This thought disgusted him. He was alive. He could live. He liked this new world. 

He didn't want to be gone.

Shouting wordlessly, he threw the knife away, then bounded away from the 'princess' and from Luna, running away. Just away, somewhere else.

He didn't care anymore. Everything was crashing down, and he was so stupid. Why did he tell Luna that he killed before? Now she knew. Now she wouldn't want to help him. He should've thrown the knife away the first time she asked. What was he thinking? 

He was stupid. He was disgusting. He was nothing. He was an embarrassment. He was unneeded. He was a killer, a murderer. Luna knew, and soon others would know, and judging eyes would follow him, and everyone would look at him in disgust. He would be shunned, and rightly so.

To think that he could've made himself a life there... it was foolish, it was delusional. 

He wished he could forget himself. He wished he could erase himself. A blank slate in his place would be better. 

He realized he had run off to a lake. He could easily drown himself, now could he? One of the worst ways to die, or so he had heard. The most terrifying way to die, perhaps.

No, he wanted to live. 

He dropped there and then, curling up, sobbing like never before, hoping it was all a nightmare. He would wake up soon. The attack never happened. None of this happened. He would wake up and forget it all. He would go to therapy, never mention this nightmare, never mention that he killed.

Yet Wild knew, there was no escape from reality.
> Chapter 26: Day Two - Aftermath
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild came to consciousness slowly as if emerging from murky water into thick fog. The sensations were slow to register in his addled brain - first, came the feeling of softness and cleanliness, the latter both inside and out. Then there was the air - fresh, yet with a quality one could describe as sterile. His eyes weren't assaulted by light - if anything, it was pleasantly dim in the blurriness that surrounded him. He closed his eyes again, content with sinking back into the pleasantness of oblivion. His head was cloudy, his thoughts barely half-formed, but he didn't believe he would be able to get back to slumber - there was an undercurrent of a dull omnipresent ache and a faint taste of metal in his mind.

He didn't know if a minute, two, or an entire hour passed before something tugged at his mind. It still refused to become fully aware, merely floating in nothingness, the thoughts slipping through without registering. He thought he had heard some voices at one point, but they didn't make sense at all. The light might have become even dimmer too, but he didn't think about it.

Despite the confusion and ache and tiredness, he eventually fell back to slumber, softly falling like a feather through still air. He dreamed of nothing and yet something, none of it registering in his mind, none of it leaving a single memory behind aside from the vague sense of seeing without seeing, hearing without hearing, and smelling without smelling. 

It was nice.

Next time he was aware of himself, the fog wasn't nearly as thick, and he could finally think. He had a headache, thoughts were still jumbled, but his brain still worked, and he knew what came before. The memories were there, though they seemed dulled and unimportant except one, though it wasn't much of a memory, being more of an impression of one. 

He didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to be back in that false dream in a cocoon - it was green, he remembered - or in the awful reality where he... messed up. He simply didn't want anything at all.

He drifted again like dust in an old room. He might have blinked but he didn't know if he ever opened his eyes. He didn't want to.

Wherever he was, it was quiet. Not silent - there was some unidentifiable noise somewhere, which seemed natural in origin. But whatever it was, it was too quiet to make out. 

His mind grew in focus, pushing the fog away. He was Wild. His name was Wild, in any case. Something happened - he knew he already died once and this didn't feel like it. Faces were swimming before his mind's eye, blurry yet familiar. There was Princess Celestia, her fur so white and bright, her mane floating and full of colors. He remembered her. There was Princess Luna, he remembered he wanted to tell her something, something important that had made him anxious before. A few more faces passed by, still familiar but less so - Swift Strike, his... mentor, teacher? No, trainer. The sword trainer. Martial arts, that club, he remembered. Then... there was a filly. She was talented with swords too. Precision, he remembered. There was someone called Swingblade, and he - she? - no, definitely a he - was loud and not likeable. The last face he could barely make out, though he did think of 'babble' when he saw it. Why 'babble'? He didn't remember well. Something in the library, books? 

His mind lurched, he felt dizzy for a moment, and then it all suddenly came to a stop. He could now feel the headache properly, and it was a deep one. 

Wild opened his eyes. The ceiling was white - or maybe dark gray. It was dim in the room. He was lying on a bed - not his new one, not his old one. He breathed clean, fresh, sterile air. There was a fuzz in his mind, it wasn't solid in a way he couldn't properly describe. It was painful as well, even thinking intensified it to a degree. There was something he had done, something bad, something he couldn't take back. What was it? It was a blurry mess he couldn't get a hang of. The memories of - was it the previous day? The current day? The previous week? He had completely lost the track of time. Not like he cared about time much in the first place, but it was still concerning.

He focused on how he felt. There was weakness, and there certainly was pain too. Not quite a physical pain. There was also fog, and yet he also felt comfortable and clean. He could simply sink back into the void of sleep if not for the annoying dryness in his throat.

Wild opened his eyes again, finding them a bit crusty. He blinked it all away, then stretched his limbs. He was still a pony, which relieved him. It was no false dream with fake and impossible promises and absolutions.

The room was neither his new one nor his old one. He was on a bed - the only bed in the room. Next to it was a nightstand, and on it was a pitcher of water along with a full glass. His magical hand was reaching out for it before he could even think, and he gulped the water greedily from the glass first and then straight from the pitcher. It was cool yet not too cold, refreshing, a bit tingly too. Once he was done, he carefully placed both the glass and the pitcher back, noting a button above the nightstand, close enough to easily reach. It was white in color with a red cross in the center. His eyes traveled to a single window, which was currently hidden behind thick curtains. Further along the wall was a sink with a mirror that didn't face him. On the other wall next to it were two doors: one was marked as a bathroom. Near the next wall after that was a small table with two low and cushy chairs, and then he was back to his bed.

His mind supplied the answer - he was in a hospital. It looked a lot more pleasant than any hospital he had been to, and it was nice and quiet. The atmosphere was calm and peaceful, not anxious. Overall, it was surprisingly nice. But he had to get up, he longed for a walk, he needed to stretch his legs and just be.

He rolled off the bed and stood up on his four hooves. He took a few tentative steps, and he was fine. Perhaps a bit weak, and the headache didn't help, but at least he could move, and that was good. His hooves clicked soundly against the tiled floor, which confused him for a moment - the clicks happened too often. Then he realized - he had four legs, of course it would happen more often.

He walked up to the mirror and looked into it. His own familiar face stared back at him, but there were dark circles around his eyes, and the gray irises looked dull in some way. His mane was a bit of a mess as well. Otherwise, he looked good, and he was fine with that. The scar on his ear made him look a bit asymmetrical, but it also added some character to his appearance. He had plenty of other scars, too, he noted. He must be full of character.

He went to the bathroom to relieve himself as well as take a shower. He adjusted the water to be just the right temperature, then spent his time just soaking there, not thinking about anything, simply accepting the warmth of the water as a part of him. When he emerged from the shower and dried himself off, he felt quite a bit better even though he wasn't really any more clean than before. . On one side, it was quite pleasant, and he found he liked how he didn't have to think about anything. But on the other, a part of him was alarmed at it. He knew there was something he was supposed to remember in detail, but it slipped from his mind before he could firmly grasp it. He only knew something bad had happened, that he messed up somehow... but what it was all about, he wasn't certain.

He returned to the main room and sat on his bed, his mind still mostly empty and drifting. He blinked slowly, not really focused on anything at all. It wasn't bad, but the ache inside him was annoying, and it appeared to be increasing ever so slightly minute by minute.

It was then when a knock came on the door. His reaction was delayed, and he merely turned to the noise after a long blink. The door opened, and Princess Luna peeked in. There was a certain tired look in her eyes just like in his, and he could sympathize with her. 

"Hello, Wild," she said gently, "May I come in?"

He knew there was something important about it, but what? It had something to do with her, something that he had said or done or both. Maybe his head would clear if he spoke with her. So, he nodded. He watched her as she entered, closed the door behind her - without locking it, a part of his mind noted - grabbed a chair and sat down not too far from him. 

"Alright, Wild, there is something that needs to be clear - you have suffered through an extremely traumatic event, and a part of it was magical and mental in nature. Do you understand so far?"

He thought for a moment, going over her words, then nodded. He knew her words were true even if he couldn't quite process it at this moment. He, however, knew he was no stranger to psychological trauma. How would mental trauma be different?

"That's good. So, what you've gone through resulted in your mind fraying and slowly unraveling because of severe external pressure as well as internal instability. We had to stop it before it set in, and I'm sorry to say we didn't have time to even attempt to wake you up to get your consent for it."

He nodded once again, thinking they did the right thing. It was simply logical to do whatever they could to help him from suffering extremely bad things right away instead of waiting for him to tell them if he wanted it, especially if he wasn't really in the state of mind to do just that.

It was all perfectly sound and logical, he found. And now he was alive. He felt quite good if he was being honest. He would feel even better if that annoying ache stopped growing along with the worry somewhere deep inside him.

"Alright, so I'm going to ask you a couple of questions and tell you to do some small tasks to find out if everything is alright in your head, is it okay with you?"

Sounded fine to him. He nodded.

"What is your name?"

"Wild."

He didn't even notice when he said it. It felt so wrong... yet also so right. He knew he spoke before. He knew he hadn't spoken for a long time as well. And now... he felt like he could speak. Like he wanted to speak. Like there was nothing and no one that could prevent him from speaking. 

His breath caught in his throat. He remembered what he said before. He remembered what he said to Luna. He heard whimpers, a knife was in his hands, and he was ready to kill. Ready and willing. 

"I did it before," he had said, "I killed before."

And now, he was right in front of Luna, speaking as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't wanted to take a life, as if he hadn't confessed that he had done it before. 

He. Was. Awful.

His heart beat painfully and loudly in his chest. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. He saw Luna's lips move but didn't hear what came out of them. His voice was taken away, his throat tight and clamped down. 

What would be done to him now? He confessed. He told her he killed. She was a princess, a ruler. It was her duty to lock people like him up, wasn't it? 

His chest was painfully constricted, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe - at the bottom of that lake, his heart mangled and destroyed by a bullet - and he would die. He took his own life, he knew. There was no choice.

"Wild? Please listen to me," he heard, and the voice was muffled as if coming from above water.

He was going to die. He deserved it. No one was waiting for him anyway. Friends? Never had any. Family? All dead and gone. 

A part of his mind reminded him that his grandparents could still be alive, but they had never called his parents or him, now had they?

"You are having a panic attack," the voice said. A panic attack? He heard of the term, "You are not dying. You are not having a heart attack," but he couldn't breathe, "You will be fine. Now, be with me. Focus on me."

Luna's face was in front of him but rotated ninety degrees. Then it straightened, now properly in line. Her eyes were a deep aqua color, he could feel like he would drown in them.

"Good, look at me," she said, her lips moving, her words registering in his mind, "Now, through your nose, slowly breathe in. Slowly, okay? No need to rush. You are not in danger."

He felt himself nod and follow her advice. It was a strain, he needed to breathe faster, but he followed it.

"Good, now hold and count with me. One. Two. Three. Four. Now exhale, just as slowly, on my count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Empty your lungs entirely, alright?"

But then he would have no air. And yet he held.

"Okay, good. Now let's do it again."

For the next eternity, he simply breathed, looking into her eyes. He didn't see disappointment in them. He didn't see anger. He didn't see anything but empathy and compassion. How could he deserve it?

"Focus, Wild," she said, bringing his mind back before it could retreat, "Now, point at five things that you can see."

She was right in front of him. He pointed at her with his magical hand.

"Good. One more thing."

The bed. It was at his side. Did he fall from it?

"Good. Another thing, please."

The floor. The tiles on the floor. They were so clean.

"Good. One more."

The bedside table. The pitcher and the glass were both empty. 

"Good. And one more, last one."

The... the door. Right behind Luna, he could see it. It was made of wood and painted a stark white. It reminded him of fresh snow. He hadn't seen it in a while.

"Alright, very good. Now, name something you can feel. Just four things this time, okay?"

He could feel the warm but not stifling air of the room. He could feel the cold tile under him. He could feel his own fur. He could feel the pleasant buzz of magic inside him.

There was a fifth thing - he felt his own mind. Something was wrong with it.

"What can you hear? Focus on it. Three things, please name them."

Something from outside the room, a noise. His own breath, it was deep and rhythmic in just the right way. His heartbeat - it was calmer now.

"Two things you can smell?"

Something from her, some kind of perfume? The sheets of the bed smelled of something too. Something fresh. 

"Name one thing you can taste."

He could taste metal.

He breathed in, breathed out. He blinked once, twice, thrice. The room came back into focus. Luna's face - her eyes - weren't the only thing he could see. He could feel the tension in his body, and he made it relax, and then he finally stood up from where he fell. 

He felt absolutely tired. But he was him. He was Wild. He was there. Whatever it was that he was going to face, he would face it with his eyes open and with his head held high. That was a promise.

He remembered that day, the day before - or was it still that day but later? He remembered freeing himself, remembered freeing others, remembered trying to escape only to be caught. Were others okay? 

He didn't speak, signing his question instead.

"Wild, can you please ask me this question in speech?" Luna prompted him gently.

His voice was ugly. His accent was weird and disturbing and wrong. He shook his head.

"Can you do it for me, please? Your voice isn't bad at all," she said, "Your accent will improve, but there is nothing bad with having one."

How... how did she know what he was thinking?

The headache was apparent now.

"You are projecting your thoughts right now, and they are very loud for people who can perceive them," she said, "I have that talent. Usually, I can't perceive much from you. However, your mind is hurt, your control has slipped, and so we are where we are."

It struck him, and his eyes widened. Was she... like him? Did she had to deal with it as well? Could she... help him?

His thoughts were loud, she said. 

His thoughts. Were loud. 

His head hurt, it was becoming worse. Something was tingling inside him.

She could hear them. She could know everything. 

The headache was pounding now.

If she didn't already know everything.

"Wild, please focus on me," Luna said, her voice steady and calm, "As loud as you are, I can't understand half of what you think. Most of it is simply guesswork on what I can understand."

Wild groaned, closing his eyes shut, hoping the pain would just go away. 

"Oh dear," Luna said, her voice sending a painful shock to his head, making him shudder. A moment - which seemed to last forever - passed, and then she spoke again, her voice much softer, nowhere near as unpleasant, "Here, this will help with the pain."

He opened his eyes, and it was too bright despite how dim it was, as if he was looking out the window on a sunny day after a full night's sleep. Luna was handing him a small vial of something pleasantly blue. He eyed it without taking it, trying to ignore the pain and everything else.

"This is a potion, which is medicine created with the help of magic," Luna explained, her voice surprisingly soothing, "Without magic, they would be unpleasant and ineffective at best, toxic and poisonous at worst. This one is made to relieve mental pain, especially in migraines, and it strengthens the mind enough so that it can do its own repair. There are two side effects: your mind will feel less focused for some time, and you will become sleepy within an hour at most."

Wild nodded, then finally took it and drank it. Immediately, the pain stopped growing, and then a wave of relief came, and a fuzz settled in his mind, slowing his thoughts. He knew he should've been concerned - and he was - but he was mostly glad that the pain was going away. It wasn't long before it dulled enough to not be much of a bother, and he sighed in content.

"Feel better?" Luna asked, and he nodded, awkwardly handing back the vial. She took it and put it in a small pouch strapped to her side, which he failed to notice before. He noted that his attention had certainly suffered, "Good. Some people are naturally resistant to its effects, and you shouldn't take it for longer than a week unless you want to develop a temporary resistance."

Wild nodded once again. He could tolerate pain, and it would probably be a lot better in a week.

"Alright," Luna nodded in turn, paused, and then sighed, "Well, you'll be glad to know that everyone in your group managed to escape long enough for the changelings to be banished."

Princess Luna then proceeded to explain what happened, starting with how a princess got kidnapped by a queen of sapient beings who can shapeshift, and was thus replaced by the queen in question. She told him of the wedding and how the impostor was uncovered, of what happened in Canterlot afterwards. The wedding still happened on the same day despite everything and, thankfully, no one was seriously hurt, although Equestria was now on high alert just in case. 

"The one who tried to take over the Royal Orphanage doesn't have a name," Luna continued, "However, she had gained a gender identity - and changeling gender is another topic entirely - as well as some power within Queen Chrysalis' rigid hierarchy. The self-titled princess believed my capture would elevate her to an official position alongside the Queen, massively improving her social status among the changelings, and other things that you may want to look into later.

"Now, Queen Chrysalis was blasted away and is currently searched for, but the self-titled princess is in custody, and she will face justice for her crimes to the fullest extent of the law."

Wild found himself believing her. Previously, he wouldn't have taken a step forward to a law enforcement officer, let alone expect crimes to be punished, but now... perhaps his decent familiarity with Princess Luna helped. She seemed to care about him - as hard as he found it to believe - and there was little doubt that she would do what she promised. 

After all the explanations, his head grew weary, and he realized it was harder to open his eyes after closing them for just a moment to blink.

"Alright, I think this should be enough excitement for you," Luna stated firmly, "You are recovering after a trying ordeal. Get some more sleep, then I'll come back and we'll deal with whatever comes next, alright? Don't worry, I'll be with you every step of the way as long as you'll have me."

Wild nodded, then climbed back into the bed, not having the energy to even think about going back to his dorm. There were still questions he wanted to ask, worries he wanted to sate, and other things that were slipping from his mind, dancing at the edges. 

But he could do it all later when he wasn't sleepy.

***

For Princess Luna, Wild wasn't the only one she had to take care of that day. He was hurt the most during the Changeling Invasion, there were many others that were traumatized as well. Thankfully, for most of them it was nothing more than the loss of less than a day as they slept in cocoons. At worst, they thought of it as 'gross', especially the younger ones, and that was relatively easy to deal with. The best way to help them was to talk to them and to let them be together with their friends, to let them accept their experience and put it behind them.

It helped a lot that no one except Wild was seriously injured. Out of everyone in the Royal Orphanage at the time, less than a dozen ponies were hurt in the first place. Some attempted to fight the changelings and received bruises for their troubles, but that was about it.

Luna was already tired as is, and she was grateful she didn't have to deal with more. Canterlot was hit far harder - there was chaos in the streets, and amount of injuries was much higher. She pitied her sister for having to deal with the fallout of that.

Luna's office for meeting with kids who needed mental help was colored with gentle hues of blue and purple and contained a variety of furniture from which the visitors could pick whichever was the most comfortable for them. Judging by how Swingblade was shifting in his, either he was too agitated or he didn't pick the right seat but didn't want to say anything about it. 

"It's like I was frozen," he blurted out, "I've been training for years now, but when trouble came knocking, I just froze. I did nothing when they - when they struck Precision. And she tried to dodge, you know. But I just stood there and did nothing. I could do something, but..." he sagged, "I didn't."

"Swingblade," Luna said gently, "No one will blame you for freezing up. It's one of the three reactions people have when faced with danger. The other two is flight and fight. It's not something you can control without extensive training, and it's the kind of training Civil Patrol and Royal Guard offer, not a Martial Arts club."

"But... I could've still done something," he protested weakly.

"Maybe, maybe not. In the end, you're not to blame," Luna insisted, "I didn't manage to react, and I have been in similar situations before. I am a princess, a leader, and yet I was also taken by surprise. Anyone who wants to blame you would have to start with me first. So, you are not to blame in any way whatsoever, alright?"

He still looked uncertain, his mind looking for one thing or another that he could say to convince her - and himself - that he could've done something. He even had a talent mark, and his stood for being good with a sword, so surely he should've been able to do something?

"Swingblade, repeat after me, if you please - 'I am not to blame'."

"I... am not to blame," he said slowly.

"I am not to blame for an event out of my control," Luna prompted.

"I am not to blame for an event out of my control."

"Alright, that's good," she nodded, "And please repeat it to yourself as often as necessary. Keep it in mind that this kind of attack had never happened before to the Royal Orphanage, and it had been centuries since it had happened anywhere in Equestria. So, this event is not even once in a lifetime one, it's once in multiple generations," she emphasized, "No one sane would blame you for not being prepared for it. Please repeat this after me - 'Anyone who blames me for not being ready to a very rare event is thoughtless and stupid'."

Swingblade snorted and smiled, then repeated that.

"Good," Luna smiled at him too, "Feel better?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, I think I do," he nodded, "I... I think I can go. Right?"

"Unless you want to tell me something more, of course."

"Alright. Yeah, I think I'll be fine now," Swingblade stood up, "Thank you, um, princess."

"Any time, Swingblade. Have a good day."

Generally, ponies bounced back from hardships pretty well, especially if allowed to voice their concerns and deal with them together with someone else. Swingblade, to Luna's knowledge, was quite social - if a bit too boastful and, dare she say, arrogant - so he would do fine in time, especially since no one around here could blame him or make fun of him for freezing up without also displaying their own hypocrisy. After all, the only ponies who managed to escape the situation did so with the help of Wild, and only after they have already been temporarily imprisoned.

It was no surprise that, shortly after the invasion was over and the immediate consequences were dealt with, Luna was approached by many who wished to bring one gift or the other to Wild as their thanks. Rumors were absolutely out of control despite Luna's official story - some still spread it around that Wild single-handedly defeated every changeling with a tree branch as his only weapon. When he would finally be able to come out of the Hospital Wing and return to normal life, many admirers would await him, and a pile of various gifts - from chocolates and cards to wood carvings and a wooden sword someone made - would wait for him in his dorm. Perhaps he would finally have something to decorate his entrance door with as well, seeing as it had been empty since before he moved in. Luna suspected it would do him some good to receive some praise for what he did. He had been far too lonely for his own good for the longest time.

However, there was a darker part to this all - his confession and his actions when it came to the self-titled changeling princess. Fortunately for him, the only witness to it was Princess Luna and the self-titled changeling princess, and the latter would not talk about it. Luna didn't intend to talk about it to anyone else either, not unless Wild gave her explicit permission for it. If she could help him avoid scrutiny and suspicion over actions taken under extreme stress, she would do it, especially since he didn't go through what she feared he would. In the end, he didn't kill, and that was a good sign as far as Luna was concerned. And, if she were honest with herself, she would've likely done that and maybe even worse were she in his position, especially a thousand years ago.

In the end, Wild was in a vulnerable state at the time, and she didn't have the entire story. The circumstances under which he had killed before were yet unknown, and she wasn't sure she could entirely trust Wild on it in the first place. After all, there was a difference between what happened in reality and what someone might think of what happened. For all she knew, Wild was exaggerating without consciously acknowledging it. She would still need to talk to him about it, of course, but it could wait. 

She pressed a button on her desk, which allowed those outside the room know the next person in line may come in. As tired as she was, the foals were her priority. She could lose a bit of sleep if it meant they didn't lose any.

The door opened just enough for a foal to come in and then close the door behind them. Luna recognized them - they were one of a couple of non-binary ponies in the orphanage, and their name was Jade. From what Luna knew of them, they were quite social but didn't appear to have any close friends. Jade had no talent mark yet either, which wasn't uncommon for the wards of the Royal Orphanage - nearly all of them turned out to be late bloomers. 

"Hello, Jade," Luna greeted them, "Please, take a seat."

When Jade looked at Luna, she saw their eyes were bloodshot from crying, their lower lip wobbling, and tear tracks were apparent on their fur. Before Luna could ask anything, they burst into sobs. She hurriedly stood up and approached the foal.

"My dear, everything is going to be alright," she attempted to sooth them.

"NO!" they shouted, and Luna was glad the room was soundproof for exactly this kind of scenario, "It w-won't be!" a few harsh sobs escaped them before they could speak again, "It's all my fault!"

Luna knew not to deny such things outright without listening to them first. 

"Why do you think so?" she asked gently.

"I, I, I knew!" they shouted, "I knew it was gonna happen!" they cried again, not looking at Luna, "I s-should've told!"

To Luna's great surprise, the changeling shape-shifting fire rolled over them and now, before her, stood a changeling. However, unlike those Luna had seen so far, they had no holes in their legs, and their body had a nice green hue to it. She took a mental note of it with a promise to look into it later.

At first, she didn't know what to say, racking her brain for a solution, remembering what she knew of Jade's history. They came to the orphanage at around the age of four, maybe five. They weren't verbal for a while - somewhat like Wild but even less social, seemingly afraid of everyone. Celestia didn't manage to find any information on them whatsoever no matter how deep she looked, and Jade never confided their origins to anyone as far as either princess was aware. They let it be - if Jade was unwilling to tell of their past then that was it. They didn't go out of their way to cause trouble, and their past hadn't come up in quite a while. Perhaps Celestia knew about them being a changeling, but if that was true, she never told her sister.

"W-will you kick me out?" Jade whispered, hiccuping, "Now that y-you know."

"No, of course not," Luna said, and they blinked, not expecting it. Luna summoned a cup and filled it with water, "Now, Jade, please drink."

Still hiccuping, Jade drank the water, still trembling as an after-effect of crying. Some time passed afterwards as Luna patiently waited for them to speak up, sensing they had more to say.

"I... You don't blame me?" Jade asked cautiously.

"No, I would never," Luna said, "Everything Queen Chrysalis and her followers did, it is on them. Did you help them during the invasion?"

"No!" they denied, "I... I hid."

"Then why would anyone blame you?" 

"Because... I am a changeling?" they were uncertain now. Finally, they opened their eyes, and they were a brilliant emerald color. 

"And does anyone know you are one?"

"...No."

"Do you want them to know?"

"...I don't know."

"It is entirely your choice to tell anyone or not," Luna said, "You can live your entire life as a pony if you wish to."

"But I... I knew the Q-queen was preparing, and I didn't tell anyone" they said shamefully, "I could've warned..."

"You could," Luna nodded, "But you never had to. It is clear you wanted to leave Queen Chrysalis and everything she stands for behind."

"Y-yeah, I just... I just wanted to forget," they squeezed their eyes shut for a moment, "I just... wanted to live my life. To, um, to be more than just her s-slave."

"Was she cruel?" Luna asked slowly and carefully.

"...Very."

"Would you mind if I gave you a hug?"

Jade hesitated for a moment, but then threw themselves into Luna's welcoming embrace. 

"There," she said gently, "Everything will be alright. You're not to blame for anything. You wanted to forget, to have a new life, and that is not something you can ever be blamed for. There are and were many here with the same goal. They wanted to leave their past behind, just like you."

"I know," Jade whispered, "But I could've warned, and none of this would've happened..."

"Or it would've happened differently," Luna countered, "No one died, not many people were hurt during the invasion. We will recover. You can't know if your words would've made a difference. Besides, it is still Queen Chrysalis' responsibility, not yours. She is to blame for what happened, not you."

Jade swallowed, nodded, and then the two separated from the embrace. Jade wiped their eyes.

"But... what will be done to me?" they asked. 

"Absolutely nothing," Luna stated firmly, "You will continue on with your life how you wish to, changeling or not. I am very grateful that you trusted me enough to reveal your secret. Please, come to me anytime. I will do everything in my power to help you."

"Thank you, princess," Jade said, "Um, may I go?"

"Of course," Luna nodded, "Don't forget to reapply your persona."

Jade nodded, the green fire momentarily engulfed them, and they were back to their pony form. They exited the room, gently closing the door behind them.

Luna sighed deeply and returned to her seat. She was very thankful she was not bigoted against the changelings, something she couldn't say about a large chunk of pony population around Equestria. She wondered how many changelings assumed a pony form and lived around Equestria as regular people, and she now knew she had to reject one of the anti-changelings proposals - to make their presence illegal in Equestria, as well as investing into spells that would reveal them. 

Despite that, there still needed to be a way to find possible abduction victims who were replaced by changelings. Balancing this need and the right of changelings to live their lives peacefully would be difficult in the wake of the invasion, but it needed to be done so that no one suffered unnecessarily. For a moment, she thought of a changeling registry - she swiftly discarded that idea. If they didn't want to be known as changelings, then it was their right. Forcing them to out themselves, especially now, would possibly put a target on them at best or see their lives ruined at worst. 

Luna hadn't encountered such a legal challenge in a while and, after she was done talking with various foals who wanted to see her because of the invasion, she would tackle it.

She yawned. Perhaps after a good few hours of deep sleep, then.
> Chapter 27: Cognition and Confirmation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild dreamed strange dreams. He was walking along a familiar street yet there was a mountain range looming ahead, Canterlot visible on it, surrounded by a shield. He knew the shield, and the shivers down his spine reminded him of what it was, yet his mind couldn't quite remember the full significance. He was walking on two legs, clothed and with boots on. Then he was on four legs, nude and barefoot - except he didn't have feet, he had hooves. All of it felt right, yet neither felt correct. Someone called Alex - from school, maybe? - came up to him and greeted him, and he shook their hand with his own before continuing on. Who was Alex? He didn't remember. 

He had a sword - his sword, his saber - in his hand, and now he could find the changelings far better, but they had swords too. They were unskilled - he struck them easily, and they faded into smoke and blew away in the wind from the speed of his strikes. No one could stop him, no one would. He was a whirlwind of violence and he laughed, rejoicing in it.

He jumped and he flew, out of control, spinning and spinning in the air, flying over his city - then a forest - then a mountain - and he bounced off the pink shield, falling into a lake. The water engulfed him, and it was dark. The depths were murky, yet he could see his blood flowing out of his chest, bright red despite the gloom.

Wild sat up, emerging from the water in a rush, and now he was in a meadow. A couple bees buzzed by, quickly disappearing from view. A bird was chirping a merry song from a tree with rustling leaves. He sighed in content and laid down, looking up at the sky, which was slightly cloudy. The clouds were shapeless, swirling like a storm yet snow-white and bright.

He closed his eyes, and then he opened them, his gaze met by a white ceiling. 

He blinked. This was real, he knew. The odd and disjointed dreams were already fading from his memory, their vagueness and blur replaced by the sharp clarity of true reality. He blinked again. He could feel the warmth of his own body, the feeling inside his limbs - something he didn't feel when he dreamed. He could hear his own calm breath. His ear twitched at some distant sound, and he blinked again. His mind felt sluggish as if still asleep despite his clear understanding of being awake. It was an odd feeling, but he couldn't do anything about it.

He looked to the night stand, spotted a glass and a pitcher or water - the latter refilled since he had last drank from it. With stiff movements, he got up from the bed, and his magic sprung forth to help him pour the water into the glass, then bring the glass to his lips so that he could drink. It was a nice, simple sequence of actions that wasn't difficult to complete. 

Feeling the call of nature, Wild stumbled his way to the bathroom. The mirror showed him that he was, once again, messy, although the dark circles around his eyes lessened somewhat. Perhaps he would feel fine soon. Perhaps he would be better. Although, he wasn't certain he wanted his dreams to be as confusing as they were even as he struggled to recall them now. He relieved himself, then took a shower to help himself wake up. The steady rush of water was nice to listen to and feel on his skin. He knew he had fur, but it was still an odd sensation when it flattened as it got wet, clinging to his skin like hair on his head but everywhere at once. He shook that thought off, then used a towel to dry himself off. He brushed his mane, fur, and tail - and wasn't it odd doing that, as if he wanted to impress anyone. He hadn't considered taking care of himself much ever since... a time he didn't want to remember. He was also perfectly aware that he didn't look good as a human. At least now he was no longer heavily balding, and, if he was to be honest with himself, he quite liked looking good. Not that he really knew what 'looking good' meant when it came to ponies. No one ever told him he was ugly, so he had to assume he was decent enough.

Why did he care about it, anyway? How odd.

He shook his head, getting rid of those strange thoughts and tangents. What did it matter to him? He forced any sort of attraction to anyone else out of himself since long ago. It was simply... better this way.

He knew he was lying to himself despite how fuzzy his mind was. He had been lying to himself for a long time. He also knew he refused to think about it. It was easier to simply ignore it and pretend there wasn't a problem. It would go away eventually, like a dream. Or so he hoped, at least. 

He returned to the room and sat on his bed. He had a feeling he wouldn't be alone for much longer, and he was proven right soon.

A knock came on his door, then it opened slightly. Princess Luna peeked in. He thought she looked even more tired than before.

"Hello, Wild," she said, "May I come in?"

He heard the words, but it took him a few seconds to process them. What she said to him was a greeting - that was simple enough. Then a question, and he put the words together in his mind. It was slow, it felt sluggish, but he had to make do with what he had. Wasn't that just the story of his entire life? In the end, he simply nodded.

A part of him wondered how much more he needed to wait until he could think straight again. He knew what was happening to him right now wasn't right. But knowing it and being able to do something about it were two entirely different things, he knew that very well.

"Will it be fine if I ask you some questions to make sure everything is alright?" Luna asked. It was a longer sentence, more complex, but it didn't take Wild that long to decipher its meaning. He hated how slow he was right now, although even this feeling was distant. He nodded again.

"What is your name?"

Wild. He knew that well enough, and so he signed it. 

"Could you repeat it to me vocally?"

What was that word she said? He dug in his mind and didn't find the meaning.

"Can you repeat your answer to me using your voice?"

That was much more understandable. 

He knew there was something wrong with speaking. He wanted to speak, but he didn't know if he should. His brain didn't offer a solution aside from a vague feeling of unease. He would rather be silent... but perhaps it didn't hurt to speak. She had heard him before, after all. Even at this, there was a pang of... something. However, he decided to ignore it.

"Wild," he said, and the feeling of unease lessened somehow. His voice was not right, it was... he just knew it wasn't right. But it felt good to speak, somehow. 

"Very good," Luna smiled at him, and it made him feel odd. What had he done to be smiled at like this? "Can you tell me the names of things around this room?"

He nodded, his eyes traveling over everything in the room. It was easy enough.

"Bed," he croaked, then cleared his throat. His tongue didn't quite make the words sound right. But he felt like he was close. And it felt good to speak. He should've done more of it, "Small table," he gestured at the night stand, "Water... big cup thing," he described the pitcher, finding out he didn't remember the word for it, "Cup," he tapped the glass, then stopped, the fuzz in his mind feeling stronger for a moment. Through it, he asked, "Do I need to name any more?"

"Thank you, that should be fine," Luna shook her head, an odd look on her face that Wild didn't notice, "Now, can you count from one to five and then backwards?"

Wild nodded again, then spoke, "One, two, three, four, five," that was simple enough, he knew numbers since he was a little kid, "Five, four, three, two, one."

"You're doing good," Luna assured him, "Can you tell me what I asked of you first?"

"Name," he tapped his own chest. Luna's eyebrows rose, but he didn't notice it either.

"Good, and one last thing," she pulled out a piece of paper and a black crayon, "Please, draw a clock, put in all the numbers in the clock, and set the time to ten after nine."

Wild nodded, took the crayon, put the piece of paper on the nightstand, and started drawing. His circle wasn't quite a circle, but then he wasn't exactly an artist. He had drawn some things as a kid, sketched and doodled as a teenager, but he had never really been inclined towards making paintings or music or anything else art-related. At least he wasn't asked to draw a pony, he was sure his attempt would be pitiful at best. The numbers were easy - from one to twelve, clockwise, more or less all in their right spots. He marked the center dot, and from it the short hour hand pointing at a bit past nine, and a longer minute hand pointing at ten. It was a bit of an odd request, sure, but it wasn't difficult. Though, he wondered, why was the short hand the hour hand and why was the long hand the minute hand? At least he didn't have to draw the second hand, which was a bit shorter than the long hand and also about half as thick. 

"Alright. How do you feel, Wild?" 

Wild furrowed his brows in thought. He didn't really know how to describe the fuzziness in his mind that stood in such a stark contrast to his surroundings, certainly not in the new language. His memories were lazily swimming around him, and he couldn't quite focus on them even though he knew their contents. He remembered his last talk with Luna, remembered what she told him about the changelings, and... he had the same mind stuff that he did. He also drank that potions which made the terrible headache go away, but now he couldn't quite think right. However, he remembered the pain - his current state of awareness and consciousness was far more preferable than having it clear yet very painful. And didn't Luna say it would help him recover faster? 

"My... head," he said. It was hard to find words and speak them. He wished he had at least tried to speak before even if the first words... well, there was nothing he could do about that confession. It felt distant anyway, "It is... odd."

"This is the side effect of the potion you took, I have told you about it," Luna nodded, and Wild nodded to that. After all, it was true that she did, even if recalling it took more effort than it should have, "Your mind is unfocused. It is harder to think, right?"

Wild nodded. It was. Luna was making quite a lot of sense today. But then she had never really not made sense if he remembered it all right. 

"In time, you will recover," Luna assured him, "Now, would you like to eat?"

Wild's stomach grumbled, and now he could actively feel the hunger. When was the last time he ate? Definitely before he was put in the... cocoon. It would be too soon if he saw a cocoon ever again. But he did want to eat, so he nodded to Luna.

"Anything in particular that you would like?"

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. Truthfully, he could go for anything, and he had yet to find anything ponies made that he didn't like. Daisy sandwiches and spiced hay were odd, true, but they were enjoyable. Hay was also not yellow like he expected but green, and it didn't look like dried grass at all. From what he knew, hay in general was free, and almost every establishment had it at least as a snack. He remembered hearing or reading about it, in any case. Maybe one day he would visit a restaurant. When was the last time he had done it, anyway? Probably years ago, when his parents took him with them sometimes.  

Luna departed his hospital room, and he was left to wait. He licked his lips, imagining the food - he was just so hungry right now, he wondered how he hadn't it before. Ponies really knew how to cook, especially since they could eat a lot more plants than humans could digest, and Wild found it very enjoyable to discover whatever it was that they cooked up this time. They certainly liked to add flowers to various dishes. It was sometimes odd, and one time a bee landed on one and he had to wait for it to fly away before eating, but it was fine otherwise.

It wasn't long before Luna came back, a tray of food floating in behind her. Wild licked his lips again - the food smelled absolutely delicious. Once he had the tray, he dug in with gusto. 

"Wild, I did consider allowing you to eat with the others, but now that I know you have certain mind-related powers, it won't be a good idea," Luna said. Wild tilted his head and looked at her, showing that he was listening, "There are very few who are trained to restrain their outward thoughts, and it would do you no good if you were assaulted by a mass of various thoughts all at once."

It was, by far, the most complex thing Luna told him today, and it took him a while to process as he chewed on the food. Eventually, Wild nodded in understanding. He would rather avoid stifling his own recovery. While this state of mind wasn't bad - it was quite nice, actually - he knew it wasn't who he was, he knew he wasn't thinking like he should. Perhaps it would be more alarming if he could just grasp the feeling of being alarmed. But, for now, nearly all of it escaped him like water between the fingers. 

It was difficult to think, it was difficult to feel, and so he was looking forward to being himself again. Even if it meant he wouldn't speak again. However, now he was dead-set on continuing speaking because it just felt so good to do that. His voice might be... different, but it was still his voice. A memory jumped at him - he was at home then, crying after a stressful day at school. He was perhaps eight. He was made fun of by people his age he couldn't remember, he fought them, got in trouble, and then he just couldn't explain himself. To the teachers, it didn't matter that he was insulted. It only mattered that he fought them because of it. He didn't know it at the time, but he was going non-verbal from the stress, and he simply couldn't speak until he was out of the school and back home.

"Don't let the world silence you," his mother had told him, he remembered. It was encouraging, which, for the longest time, prevented him from shutting down completely. 

It had been a long time since then. The world changed, his understanding of the world changed, and he changed. 

And this new world... it was good. He hadn't felt so good in ages - aside from the Changeling Invasion. According to Luna, it was over, and the aftermath was already being dealt with. He found himself trusting her to... protect him. Protect others, too.

He wondered if he thought this way only because of his mind being a mess.

"I'll leave you to eating," Luna said, "I won't be far if you need me."

Wild nodded and continued eating. It was truly delicious.

***

It was nighttime when Luna returned to her office. She didn't bother turning the light on, using her horn to provide illumination instead. It wasn't like she ever had problems seeing things well at night in the first place. She sat down behind her desk and pulled out a file on Wild. She had two files on him - the first contained everything relevant to his health: physical, mental, and social. It held no reference to her thoughts on his origin or anything related to it. In it, she wrote down a simple statement after writing down the date and time.

Cognition test passed with minor obstacles. Needs more time before rejoining everyone else.

The first file was returned to the general folder she kept on everyone. Naturally, it wasn't publicly accessible just like all the other medical information. However, it wouldn't take much for someone to get it if they really wanted to. 

The second file on Wild was hidden from all others but herself, stored in a magically-created folder she always carried with her. No one except her even knew of its existence, not even her sister. 

Luna conjured the file seemingly out of thin air. Silently, with her horn glowing, she unlocked the file with a password only she knew and no one could possibly hope to guess. Such precautions were perhaps unnecessary, but it didn't hurt to be thorough when it came to this.

She opened the file and added Wild's drawing of a clock to it. Then she grabbed a pen and started writing.

Wild spoke an unknown language without noticing it. His projected thoughts provided direct translation.

The clock has unknown numbers on it but his thoughts provided the meaning.

Neither the language spoken nor numbers shown appear in our world throughout known history.

Luna knew what to write next, but it still made her nervous. She had her strong suspicions, true, but...

She put the pen to paper once more to write her conclusion.

This is direct and undeniable proof of his origin being from another world.
> Chapter 28: A Clue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The emptiness was glaring. He stood there amidst the silence, and not even the wind blew. Trees stood absolutely still, their leaves entirely unmoving. The water surface of the lake was like glass, not a single ripple on it. In the distance, the mountain range stood tall, taller than it perhaps should be. Canterlot was equally still as everything else, barely a speck from this far.

He walked yet he was floating, his steps unnaturally muffled. He wasn't certain if the sky or the sun existed. Everything was washed-out.

He entered the building. It was dim, abandoned. The details were blurry, and only one thing was certain - there was a staircase leading somewhere up, somewhere he couldn't quite see. The walls were empty and gray, as dull as anything could ever be. 

At the bottom of the stairs, a television stood. It was old and bulky, its screen of glass bulging outward. He walked to it, and it turned on, displaying images that didn't make sense. There was something familiar about them, but it didn't matter how close he looked - they didn't show anything coherent. There was also text, mirrored and inverted, as if it was him who was inside the television and he was being watched. He tilted his head this or that way, but the writing didn't make sense, and it continued changing every few seconds, frustrating his attempts at understanding it.

The image changed to an infinite sea of stars. It seemed familiar too, but he couldn't remember why. It swirled and churned yet remained perfectly still. Text appeared, and he read it. It vocalized itself inside his head... or was someone speaking?

If there is one thing you should know is that you are not safe.

You thought you were. You thought it was all over. You thought your life would go on past you, you just a passive observer.

The image melted, turning into what looked like a still frame. There was Wild, a broom handle in his grasp, and changelings shaped like him, surrounding him.

They beat you, they will beat you again unless you learn.

The infinite sea of infinite stars swallowed him whole. There was no television, no room, no stairs, just the darkness of emptiness and the light of trillions of small dots. 

You are weak, you must become stronger. 

The world tilted on its side, the image becoming garbled, the voice fading into what sounded like static. High-pitched whine arose, everything turning into nothing, and the noise continued. It turned into what sounded like a scream, yet heavily distorted as if coming through a radio.

Wild woke up, his head pounding in pain. He whimpered - it felt like someone was trying to split his head in two with a dull axe too small and too light for the job, yet that didn't prevent it from striking again and again and again.

There was something important he needed to remember, and he knew it would be gone if he got rid of the pain. The sea of stars, he saw it when his eyes were closed, but the pain was unbearable. He tried to ride it out, to endure, pressing his head into the pillow in the vain hope that it will help. He rolled, he tried to focus on his breath, but nothing helped.

He gave in, opened his eyes, spotted the potion. He uncorked the vial and dumped its contents into his mouth, and then swallowed. A second, no change, and he flung the vial at the nearest wall. With a dull thud, it collided with the wall, then dropped down without breaking, rolling away. Another second, and the pain was still there. He whimpered, his eyes squeezed shut, praying to anything and everything that it would go away. Third second, and relief finally hit him. The pain was retreating, taking his thoughts with it.

He was out and back to dreaming by the time the door to his hospital room opened and Luna walked in, worry on her face. She spotted the vial lying on the floor, then saw Wild lying on the bed, peacefully dreaming. She sighed in relief, picked up the vial and the cork, and walked out of the room.

Luna knew at once what happened - he attempted to resist the pain. She shook her head, thinking of how he needed to get rid of such mindset. There was no need to prolong his own suffering when there was help offered. She wondered if he thought of himself as weak for having to take the potion, for being unable to handle the pain. It wasn't an uncommon mindset, of course, but helping people deal with it properly was never an easy task, and she expected it to be harder for Wild, considering his... well, his everything.

Luna tried not to think much about his true origins. They mattered, yes, but she knew it wouldn't be wise to dig. If he told no one of them, then perhaps he had a good reason to be silent. She was perfectly willing to let it go despite her own curiosity. Her priority was and had to remain helping him, and pushing him where he didn't want to be pushed would only alienate him. The best she could do was gently nudge him along the way, and it would be up to him where to go from there.

***

On the second day of his recovery, Wild already felt more clear-headed, although something was telling him he had forgotten something important. He tried to figure out what it was, but his thoughts remained elusive and uncertain. He knew it was the side-effect of the potion, and he would have to bear with it unless he wanted the splitting headache to come back. If he was honest with himself, that was not the kind of pain he wanted to experience ever again. Mushy mind and blurry thoughts were a small price to pay for not being in pain.

Despite it all, however, he did know he was far more lucid, more aware of his surroundings and time. He now knew that he spent most of the previous day staring blankly at a wall, which was concerning, frustrating, and even sad. He had never before been reduced to what he was now - a barely-functioning person. He still ate food and cleaned himself, but he only did it automatically, with barely a thought, and everything else was distant. Even now, trying to catch a complex thought was not unlike trying to grab a small length of a hair floating underwater - it simply slipped through his grasp no matter how hard he struggled, and success was more due to luck than his conscious efforts.

Fortunately, he was still aware of who he was even if the memories that made him himself were aimlessly floating somewhere just out of reach. He still passed the cognition test Luna walked him through, so he was glad he wasn't entirely bed-bound and unaware of anything at all. The most concerning thought was that his emotions were mostly gone. He wasn't even sure if he actually felt concern and didn't just try to convince himself that it was what he had to feel. 

"I want to go out," he said to Luna, his words slow but coherent, his accent obviously there but controlled enough to be easily understandable, "Outside. I want to... walk."

He was ready for the answer to be 'no'. And yet, he couldn't help but ask. Now that he was more aware, the walls felt stifling, and only the presence of a proper window prevented him from feeling like he was in the basement all over again.

"You were never forbidden from that," Luna replied.

Wild blinked. From what he remembered about hospitals, wasn't he supposed to stay unless told otherwise? But then he wasn't physically hurt, was he? He could walk. He could navigate the halls, his... what was the term? Spatial awareness, yes, it functioned perfectly fine. 

"Before we go, I must tell you that I will have to stay close to you," Luna continued, "Not because I believe you will hurt yourself or that it's unsafe for you to be outside. It concerns your mind - it is still in disarray and healing. Because of your affinity for catching stray thoughts, they may impact you and hurt your mind. I will have to shield you from the thoughts of others."

Wild processed it, then nodded. He didn't exactly know how the thoughts of others could hurt him, but he didn't want to find out whether it was slight discomfort or throbbing pain. 

"Alright, then I will shield you now," Luna said, "It will be a strange sensation as I cast the spell, tell me to stop if it becomes painful."

Wild furrowed his brows, then nodded. Perhaps he should have spoken a verbal agreement, but now it was harder to say things. However, he remembered a thing he was told some time ago, although he couldn't recall who told him that or when or where - he was told that it was important to speak, no matter how little, in order not to grow more and more silent. He didn't care much not long before he died, but now... now, he wanted to speak again. As bad as his voice was - oh how he wanted to stay silent forever - there was still something about speaking that made him feel good. Besides, it wasn't like anyone aside from Luna had ever heard him anyway. Speaking to her was... fine, although he couldn't yet articulate exactly why.

Luna shielding his mind felt like being wrapped in something he couldn't quite describe, but the sensation wasn't unpleasant. It felt not unlike entering a silent room after being in a quiet room - the difference was small but very noticeable. 

Wild didn't like to be touched, but this... this wasn't unwelcome. He didn't mind that it was her who did it. He thought about it - why was he like that when it came to her? Speaking to her, allowing her to touch him... and then it hit him, a realization - he trusted Luna. Not only that, but he trusted Luna with his well-being. He now knew she cared. She was there for him when he needed her, and she hadn't taken advantage of him despite his state of mind. He knew she could have, he expected her to take advantage of him before the last few days, and yet...

It felt good. To have someone to trust, to give them his trust. Not that he was about to tell Luna everything, but if... if he one day wanted to, she would be the first person he would go to.

Finally, he emerged from his hospital room into the hallway. What he expected wasn't what he got - instead of white sterile walls, harsh lighting, and tile everywhere, he was met with hardwood floors, pleasantly and warmly green walls, and natural lighting coming from tall windows. It appeared he took one of perhaps twenty similar rooms in the same hallway. The light didn't hurt his eyes, but he had to look down and blink rapidly to get used to it after the dimness of his hospital room. Luna patiently waited for him to adjust and, when he was ready, led him past all the doors. It wasn't long before they came into a wider room that was the entrance hall, which had quite a similar look. On one of the otherwise blank walls, there was a board, on which many children's drawings were hanging. In one of the corners, there was some soft furniture and plush toys lying around. It all looked quite welcome as far as Wild was concerned. Double doors made of wood led into the rest of the building, but a door to the side led outside. 

"Wild, this is Nurse Fairheart," Luna told him, gesturing at a nurse who was currently doing crosswords at the welcome desk, "If I am not here, you can ask her for help with anything, and I do mean anything."

"Yep, that's my job," the nurse chirped, her eyes looking at Wild warmly, "I'm glad to see you up and about, Wild."

He nodded somewhat awkwardly. She seemed friendly enough, and if she had Luna's trust, then maybe he would seek her help. Maybe.

"It's a nice day outside," the nurse continued, "The next few days will be warm and sunny, so take advantage of that, alright?"

Wild, once again, nodded. Thankfully, further conversation was avoided, and he was led outside. True to Fairheart's word, the day was indeed warm - not hot - and sunny, only a couple clouds in the sky. He blinked in confusion - the leaves on the trees were already largely yellow, orange, or red. He didn't keep the best track of time, but he thought it couldn't have been months since the Invasion. 

"It's the third day since the Changeling Invasion," Luna explained to him, "It is your third day in the hospital."

Wild was a bit unnerved by the fact that she too could catch thoughts, but at least this answered his unspoken question.

"You are better at keeping your thoughts close," she told him, "Tomorrow or the day after you should be back to full control over them. Once you've fully recovered, I will teach you how to deal with it even better if you allow me."

That was a relief to hear. He would certainly much rather keep his thoughts to himself. As for Luna's offer... he would consider it. 

The outside was a large yard surrounded by a brick fence one could climb over but not simply walk over. There were a couple tables with seating under cherry trees, a couple of bird baths, and a fountain in the center. It all had quite a relaxing atmosphere, and Wild simply faded into it, not noticing as he traced the pathways with his hooves, enjoying the nature. His mind was empty of thoughts once again, replaced by the rustling of the trees in the wind, the feeling of warmth that got to his skin through his fur, and the smell of fall. It was bliss.

Luna followed him around silently, not disturbing him from his walk. The yard was empty now save for one person Wild had yet to notice - a filly a couple years younger than him. She was distant for now, hidden behind the bushes and the trees.

For Wild, it felt as if it was forever since he had last been outside. The chaos of the invasion, the stress and the fear, the pain... for a moment, it almost made him forget the peace of... of ever since he died. There were hurdles, yes, but in general.... it had been good, hadn't it? 

He stopped and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, focusing on the smells and the sounds and his thoughts. As slow as his mind was right now, he still knew...

This life, this second chance... it was worth it. He died, yes, but he was glad that he lived. Did he not get what he wanted anyway? His past was left to haunt only him, but it would remain within him. But he told Luna he killed before, didn't he? He knew it was important. He knew he should've been panicking about it. Yet she didn't speak about it. As long as it wasn't brought up, he wouldn't bring it up either. He knew her forgetting it was not possible, yet he vainly hoped that she would never talk to him about it. 

If he could go back to that moment, he wouldn't speak those words. Perhaps magic made it possible to travel backwards in time, but how much effort did it require? He only knew the basics, he could only do the basics. It might even be too late by the time he learned the spell or the ritual or whatever it was.

Perhaps... it would be for the best if he simply went with the flow. There was nothing that he could do. He only hoped it wouldn't ruin his second life. Despite everything... he wanted to live. He wanted to thrive. 

He wondered if he would think this way once he recovered. Did he genuinely think this way or was it his addled mind that pushed him into it somehow?

Right now, he found it difficult to care.

He opened his eyes, feeling a little woozy, a headache at the edge of his mind. Perhaps it would be better if he lay down, and there was a comfortable-looking patch of grass under something that looked like a birch tree. 

Entirely gracelessly, he flopped on the ground and rolled to his side. The ground wasn't very soft, but he didn't care. The headache was subsiding already, and he was entirely content not to think for a long, long while.

***

Luna sat not too far away from where Wild lay, watching over him in the corner of her eye. What started as simple rest turned into sleep, which wasn't surprising - his recovery depended on it. The longer he spent not actively thinking - or at least not thinking much - the sooner his mind would, with the help of potions, heal itself. Luna was grateful for the existence of such medicine - she remembered how awful recovery from such attacks was in the past, even with regular painkillers and sleep medication.

She summoned a book to her, an adventure novel, and resumed her reading on a marked page. Might as well read while Wild slept. Luna had always been an avid reader, and now she had a thousand years worth of backlog. The printing press already existed during her times, but it had improved tremendously since then, and more books had been written than she could ever hope to read. No longer did the old Royal Library look imposing - in fact, the old part was the smallest, and the entire library had to be expanded multiple times to accommodate all the new books. Luna had been consuming books like crazy, yet it was clear she hadn't even made a dent. It was certainly exciting.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Wild's horn flaring briefly in light. She turned her head and saw his magical hand appearing out of nowhere, scratch his chest, and then disappear. Wild remained asleep. Luna hadn't seen such behavior before - usually, ponies rolled around a bit to scratch whatever itch they had, even unicorns. 

Wild, right now, looked completely different compared to how he usually was. Luna knew now - he had that wary look on him almost all of the time, his face always a bit tight, his body tense in general. It wasn't uncommon - foals who came to the orphanage from abusive environments tended to behave like that at first as well. Wild had improved somewhat - before the Invasion. Now, however... Luna didn't know how it would impact him once the damage is all healed.

Wild mumbled something in his sleep, but Luna had no idea what it was. When he was sleeping, he didn't feel like a pony would - his dreams were different. Unstructured, chaotic, flowing from one scenario to another without so much as a pause, and yet not harmful... usually. They could always turn for the worse - that was the direct result of their unpredictability. It was difficult to register when he was having a bad dream or a nightmare, making it harder to help him when he needed it. Luna also needed to be careful now - with his mind weak and vulnerable, even her best intentions could cause it to turn for the worse. 

Luna closed her book, marking the page where she stopped - just a few sentences past where she resumed. In truth, she wasn't at ease, and her mind would keep distracting her from the book. Her worry about Wild was getting to her, she knew. Of course, it wasn't unusual for the Royal Orphanage staff to get attached to one foal or another in some sort of familial, caring relationship, but Luna was especially invested in Wild's well-being, and she didn't know exactly why. Perhaps it was because she felt like he needed her help most of all. Perhaps it was because she was the only one who could give him the help he needed. At least, that was the truth for now - Wild seemed to have some measure of trust in her, which she didn't expect to be true for others. 

As Wild lay on the ground sleeping, she realized she had never really looked at him, not closely. She knew his features, but all the other times she saw him he was awake and alert. Now, it was as if she was seeing his physical body fully for the first time. He was lean yet muscular, a reward from his intense yet thoughtful training - he was one of the most fit ponies his age, in fact. There was that scar on his head and a tear in his ear, of course - it was impossible to miss. However, there were more that weren't as visible, but now they seemed to pop out, calling for her attention.

His face had five more scars aside from the obvious one - how didn't she notice them before? Two were near his nostrils, almost invisible, although she imagined they would form small folds when he scrunched his muzzle. Facial scars tended to do that, she noted absently. Another pair of scars was near his lips, thin and short, almost impossible to see if one didn't look specifically for them. The fifth and the final one was a bit above his right brow, forming a barely noticeable short line where fur didn't grow.

Luna wondered what kind of stories were behind those scars. What caused them? Was it an accident, was it from a fight, or was it something else entirely? Judging by how small those scars were, she wasn't sure she could say they were inflicted deliberately. However, accidental scars are almost always placed on the limbs. 

Speaking of his limbs, one of his forelegs had a couple thin scars as well, right near the hoof. That could have certainly been accidental, she had seen similar ones, especially if someone broke their leg around that spot. Casting her mind back, she recalled the way Wild walked and moved in general - it didn't seem like any of his legs ever bothered him. 

This reminded Luna that Wild would eventually need to go through a thorough medical examination. She had yet to raise that point with him, and she didn't know whether he would agree or not. A simple magical scan was performed on him when he was first found, of course, but nothing beyond that. Whatever deeper issues he might or might not have, no one but him could possibly know. 

Wild snorted in his sleep and rolled, exposing more of his stomach and chest. Luna traced his body with her eyes, looking for more scars, feeling like there was something she needed to know. To the right of his stomach, there was... she nearly gasped - it was undeniably a scar from a knife stab, a nearly perfect trace of a cross-section of a knife - if she was right, it was diamond-shaped. Just how in the world did he get it and how did he survive? Undoubtedly he got very lucky - the knife could've nicked his intestines, which would mean easy infection from the intestine's contents, and that would've been a very painful death that couldn't have been easily prevented. She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts - there was a non-zero chance that wasn't the end of it. Perhaps it wasn't even the worst of it, even though she hoped otherwise.

However, there was no relief for her - below his belly button, there was burn scar tissue. That one was no accident, she knew immediately - the scar was centered, the shape too... deliberate. It was a circle, and within it was something... something like a symbol. 

Luna felt nauseous - she had seen similar scars before. Not the same symbol, but she knew the intent, knew the signs to look for, and this scar was, without a doubt, special in a way that she had hoped to never see again. 

It was a brand. She could picture it in her mind clearly - Wild being held down as someone used an iron to burn this into its place.

Luna remembered history well - a long time ago, when Equestria was a new, weak country, still recovering from losing their homes and lives to the hateful cold of windigos, ponies often disappeared. For a while, it was thought that they departed to places unknown to build their own lives, away from others. However, the truth was far more horrifying - they were kidnapped and forced into slavery. They were made to plow the fields, to grow the food, to suffer in the mines, to make weather perfect for their masters, and many other things. Usually, a tag with a number was clipped to one of their ears to signify to whom they belonged. That was, unfortunately, the kindest brand - many others tended to brand their 'property' with a hot iron, oftentimes on the forehead. 

Luna closed her eyes, forcing a deep breath. There were those who branded ponies where Wild was branded. Ponies branded that way were... no, it couldn't be. It shouldn't be. Luna forced another deep breath, calming down her racing thoughts. He was from a different world, wasn't he? This might mean something else, something different than what she thought. 

Oh, who was she trying to fool? Herself? There's a reason why Wild didn't like being touched. There's a reason Wild tended to place himself where he would be the least vulnerable. There's a reason why, that one time, he reacted strongly to being touched from the back.

A brand with this sort of placement could only indicate one thing - sexual slavery. 

Luna felt sick to her core and furious beyond belief. Who dared to do that? Who were the monsters responsible for this? She felt black rage rising inside of her, telling her to sharpen her blades and prepare her magic. There were people who deserved to die, and she would gladly deliver the killing blow. She would tear them piece by piece, hear how they begged to be spared and then beg for death, and she would enjoy it. She didn't fight for her subjects only for some cruelty-driven asshole to believe they could take whatever they wanted and inflict whatever harm they wished. She would strike them down, delivering the only fate they deserved - death.

She was broken out of her thoughts when she heard a tiny sound coming from Wild. A grimace was on his face, his body tense. 

Luna forced herself to calm down, regulating her breathing and bringing her thoughts under control. Soon enough, Wild's features smoothed, his body relaxed, and he was back to sleeping soundly. 

There was one last thing that she saw about him - his nipples weren't there, only ugly scar tissue. 

Luna wished she could hold him tight and allow him to cry out, to release every single bit of pain he held inside him. She wished she could tell him that everything would be alright, that he would recover, that there was a happy life still ahead of him, that he wasn't broken nor tarnished by his experiences.

Yet, she knew he wouldn't accept her help, not yet. There was trust yet to be built, connection yet to be properly established. Were she to tell him now what she knew about him, he would likely run away, and every bit of progress would be for nothing.

However, there was one thing she could do - prepare. If Wild ever decided to trust her with his past - and with his trauma - she would need to be prepared to help him. What he went through was something that hadn't happened in Equestria for many centuries now, she would need to dig up old historical records from other psychiatrists and psychologists. On top of that, she would need to brush up on a course about helping survivors of sexual assault. It was likewise extremely rare to the point of non-existence, so she would need to look up older records here as well, and perhaps some of the older doctors had direct experience with it, considering that Luna had heard of some sort of scandal about a noble and what the said noble did to hired servants at least a quarter century ago. 

Then a thought wormed its way into her head - if Wild was once a slave, then he somehow managed to escape and end up in this world. Perhaps it was during that escape that he ended up here. And there was the fact that he said... he said that he had killed.

It clicked in place easily, and it explained perfectly how Wild was trying to convince himself to kill the changeling princess. Perhaps he saw the similarities between her and his master or masters - whom he had killed. Without a doubt, that was what his words meant, Luna knew it now. Perhaps he killed them during his escape, maybe he killed them in revenge afterwards. She wouldn't know how unless he told her, and she had a feeling he didn't feel good about having done what he did. She would have to reassure him, to make it clear that he did no wrong. No one, not her sister, not anyone else who knows the history of Equestria would ever condemn a slave for killing their master. 

Luna sighed - she had a lot of work ahead of her, and she couldn't let Wild know what it was about, certainly not yet. She was all too aware how victims of abuse tended to hide what they went through, hoping that their trauma would go away if they just didn't think about it. For some, time was a good healer - for most, time would only deepen the scars. 

At least, for the physical scars, one could undergo treatment to make them fade unless they were severe. Wild's ear, for once, couldn't be easily brought back to its previous state. In the end, it would be up to him to take the treatment for his scars or decline the opportunity. Luna knew some ponies were sentimental about this sort of thing.

"Oh, Wild," she whispered, being careful not to wake him up, "I am so sorry you went through what you did. I promise I will do everything in my power to help you," she looked over him. How could anyone want to hurt anyone like that? Well, she knew the answer - some people were simply evil, "You may not be ready for my help now, but I hope you will be, one day."
> Chapter 29: Of Friendships
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leaves danced and shivered above him, shading him from the perfect blue of the infinite sky. A gust of stronger wind ruffled his mane, the rustle of grass and leaves growing in intensity for just a moment, and a tree creaked in the distance. 

"Hi!"

Wild jumped, startled, swiftly turning his head to face... a unicorn filly. She was lying on some odd contraption that resembled a bed but was on wheels. And not small wheels like on a shopping cart, but something like wider bicycle wheels. Wild had never seen anything like it before, though the bed part itself looked comfortable. The filly looked somewhat strange - her limbs appeared too thin, unhealthily so, despite the pudginess of the rest of her body. Her face was odd as well - while her eyes were full of life, everything else appeared slacked. Perhaps she was trying to smile, but it turned out to be more of a twisted half-grimace.

"What're you staring at?" her voice rang in his head, a frown appearing on her face with what seemed like a monumental amount of effort. He winced as something inside his head gave a painful tug.

"Lina, you have to be careful with your telepathy."

Wild turned his head and blinked. Luna was there... right, he remembered that. 

"Wild is sensitive to anything involving the mind right now," Luna explained to the filly. 

Lina looked at Luna, apologetic, then returned to Wild, who was still trying to get his bearings, blinking the remains of dreamless sleep out of his mind.

"Sorry, didn't mean to hurt you," her voice sounded again, somehow lighter on his mind, not tugging at it, "Just, staring gets to me, you know?"

Wild rose from his lying position, sitting up more or less straight. When did she get this close anyway? 

"I mean, I know what's with me, mirror's not a new invention," she continued, "Can barely move my legs. Can't take a shit without someone there to hold me either."

"I... didn't need to know that," Wild replied slowly, a part of him relieved that he didn't need to speak aloud, "Who... are you?"

"M'name's Lina, your resident cripple," she chuckled breathily, "I'd bump your hoof or something, but, y'know," one of her legs twitched, if barely, "So, what're you in here for?"

"I..." Wild searched for the words for a moment, frustrated at his mind's continued fuzziness, "My mind is hurt. I am recovering from that," a beat passed, "What... about you?"

Perhaps it wasn't the best question to ask, but the realization that it might have been rude only came afterwards.

"I am in a wheelbed," one of her brows raised a bit, "Obviously I'm here because I am insomniac and need this to fall asleep. Wheels are for taking me anywhere I want to sleep at."

Wild didn't know what to say, just sitting there awkwardly. 

"That was a joke, come on!" another breathy chuckle escaped her mouth, "In truth, I can't take care of myself, and I'm fucking tired of everyone staring at me wherever I happen to be. Here, it's lonely, but at least I don't feel eyes crawling all over me all the damn time."

Wild nodded, cringing inwardly at profanity. He remembered how foul-mouthed he used to be, and then there were those who swore at him with him unable to- well, it wasn't important right now. He hadn't said a word of profanity in quite a while, and he liked to keep it that way. 

Aside from that, he could perhaps understand her. He didn't like to be the center of attention, though he did have a few exceptions. However, wanting to be alone wasn't a new or an infrequent desire for him either.

Now that his brain was working better, he wondered what was the point of the conversation. 

"It's not like I need to wait for all that much longer to get all this done with," she continued, "But the wait is just killing me, you know?"

Wild blinked, "All... done with? How?"

"Oh, you don't know?" she looked at him as if he was supposed to know what she was talking about. In truth, he might have known - if he bothered to pay attention. Now he knew that he was stupid by not listening to news, "Basically, they're making a whole new body for me, but they gotta make sure it doesn't form a brain or else it's a big ethical issue because someone else will be in that body. They tried it a few times already, you know, but just ended up making new ponies. I think one of them's hanging around here somewhere, and one's like twenty or something by this point."

Wild... didn't know what to think of this. Were they making clones or something? Were they making ponies in labs? That wasn't something he expected to hear, but then he was rather ignorant of nearly everything, wasn't he?

"And, like, it takes a long damn time to get everything done, so I've been waiting for five years already," Lina said, "Five years ago, I could still walk, you know. Three, could at least crawl, and also sit my self on the fucking toilet. Two, my face was still fine and I could speak and eat easily. One, and I could still mumble stuff coherently sometimes. It's so fucking frustrating, you know, just seeing this shit happen to me with no chance to even pause it somehow? It's just, ugh."

Being out of control with things that happen to you... Wild knew it very well, he could emphasize. However, he wasn't going to admit it to Lina. He still didn't see the point of her telling him all this, didn't know why she was so willing to just unload her frustrations and problems as if they weren't something personal to herself. He tried to imagine himself doing the same, and... well, it was clear it was impossible.

"So yeah, that's about it," she twitched in what could perhaps be a shrug, "I should be out of here in a couple months at worst if everything goes right. How long do you have to be here?"

Wild shrugged in response. For all he knew, he would need months before he could go back to his usual life. He felt more like himself, that much was true, but there was something still obviously wrong with him, even he couldn't deny it. 

Feeling this helpless was frustrating, but he was now thankful he wasn't in Lina's position. Neither his human body nor his pony body ever failed him beyond the usual. 

The conversation didn't continue naturally from then, leaving the two in an awkward silence. 

"Yeah, good talk," Lina bobbed her head slightly, "Anyway, I'll be around. Come visit sometime or something. I can play chess or checkers or a board game, whatever, my magic's still working fine and all. Yeah."

With that being said, she used her magic to turn the front pair of wheels for steering and back wheels for actually moving and drove - or rode, Wild wasn't sure - away. 

***

Wild, with Luna's permission, started exercising again.

"It is your mind that needs healing," she told him, "Your body is fine. In fact, I think exercising will help you, I was going to suggest you resume your regiment. You don't overexert yourself, and you have improved your physique without suffering injuries due to overtraining. I believe you're qualified to teach others how to train, so I trust you to know what you're doing."

As he went through the motions pretty much automatically, he wondered about his future. Teaching... it wasn't something he considered a viable path in his life. He had never been much of a good student, first of all, so how could he be qualified to teach others? His grades had always been average to below average, and nothing he did seemed to help at all. He just couldn't stand class work or homework or any type of work related to school. It was boring, it was repetitive, it was just plain not fun. His parents impressed on him the importance of grades, but even that didn't help, so eventually any and all arguments about his grades stopped. He wasn't outright failing anything, so he was left alone.

Of course, that was about academic subjects. Physical Education, that was where he was consistently above average. While he didn't care much about building a massive amount of strength - it took too much time and effort for his liking - he was still one of the most fit people at school. Perhaps not outright big and muscular, but he had endurance to spare, and he had strength enough to do more than a dozen pull-ups in a row. He enjoyed feeling that way, and, if he were honest with himself, he enjoyed the way his body looked as well. That was, of course, before... everything. 

Now, his body was once more at what he considered just about peak performance. He had learned a number of lessons about how to grow strong and agile without also forgetting endurance, and he knew what it took to have steady progress, as well as what could stop that progress or, worse, make him regress. 

However, he didn't know if he could teach anyone. It was a lucky stroke that he didn't hurt himself in his new body, considering how different it was compared to what he had before. Besides... he didn't want to teach. Teaching involved too many things that he didn't care about, and he knew he didn't have patience for people who learned differently or slower than he did.

Frustratingly, there was also a limit of what he could do with his new body. For once, climbing was almost entirely out of the question. Pull-ups were, of course, impossible. Sit-ups are likewise impossible, and push-ups were far too awkward and difficult to do. Essentially, everything boiled down to squats - or whatever ponies called it - and running around. One could put some weights on as well, which would increase the difficulty. There was also stretching, which he absolutely loved to do. There was just something so nice to be able to do splits, fold himself in ways that others would consider impossible, and so on. There was also grabbing a weight with one's mouth and lifting it, which would strengthen everything around the neck, but Wild saw little purpose in that for himself. 

He sometimes still wished he was bipedal. He enjoyed climbing, enjoyed running, and even enjoyed parkour. Now, though? If there was a wall taller than him, he couldn't get over it just by using his own body. Rolling was possible but quite awkward too.

Perhaps if Luna knew his origins, she would also know that him being a teacher of Physical Education or something similar was simply impossible. He did what he did because that's what he liked, and he knew a lot of people would want more or would want less, and he didn't want to deal with it. He exercised his body how he saw fit in ways he thought of as possible.

One thing that he could perhaps teach others is swordsmanship. He knew his skill was great, he knew he could help others achieve his own heights. However, he didn't want swordsmanship to turn into a chore, which he suspected it would become should he become responsible for how others performed. 

He interrupted those thoughts as he galloped straight into a small pond, splashing water everywhere. He dunked himself in, enjoying the contrast of cool water against his hot skin, and then emerged. That felt excellent. 

Whatever future he would have, he didn't want to think about it much. He shook himself, getting rid of more water, and then saw Nurse Fairheart approaching. He tensed up despite himself.

"Wild, there are some ponies who would like to see you," she said when she was close enough, "If you agree and if Luna agrees too, I will let them in here."

He thought for a moment, wondering who would want to visit him. He wasn't particularly close to anyone. Surely no one really thought of him as a friend? He didn't exactly socialize much. He could name some ponies, of course, but they were acquaintances at best, not friends. Why would they care?

A part of him whispered that they would care about him. They wouldn't want to see him if they didn't.

He didn't know what to feel about that. 

"If you don't want to, I will tell them that you're still recovering," Fairheart added, "No one is going to force you to see anyone."

Wild hesitated for a moment, then signed that he did want to see them, whoever they were. 

"As long as I'm here, I can make sure Wild isn't overwhelmed," Luna said.

"Very well, then I'll let them know where you are, Wild."

Wild sat down, unsure of what to do, water still dripping off him. He shook again, but it seemed he would be a bit damp for quite some time. Perhaps it wasn't his most thought-through decision to jump into a pond.

"If you allow me, I can use a spell to dry you off," Luna offered. Wild, surprising her, agreed rather quickly. Her horn lit up for a brief moment, and all the water blasted away from him and back into the pond as if by a strong wind, "Here you go."

Wild blinked, then nodded his head in thanks. He would need to learn that spell one day, seemed very useful.

Soon enough, he saw three ponies walking up to him from the building. Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised to him that they were Precision, Swingblade, and Artful. The first two were sometimes his partners in swordsmanship training, and the third... well, he could admit he saw that Artful was interested in him somehow. 

Funnily enough, perhaps everyone who had talked to him - including Lina - liked to talk while he simply sat there and listened. He wasn't much of a conversation partner, now was he? 

As they got closer, he noticed that Artful spotted a scar on his cheek, around which his fur was shaved off. Did he have that before this day? 

"Uh, hi," Swingblade was the first to say anything when all of them got close, "How're you doing? We've heard a-"

"A bunch of crap," Precision cut in, "There are some insane rumors floating around about you, but I don't think you out-dueled every single changeling. You're good, but not that good."

Wild, to the surprise of nearly everyone, chuckled. Perhaps it was his addled brain, but he found it funny. He, out-duel everyone? He dreamed of it before, of being the hero of a story, and that was fun to think about when he was a kid. The reality was much more of a slap to the face, however.

He shook his head, then started gesturing, explaining what happened - while omitting some details. He didn't care that Luna was there - if she thought he would tell them everything, then she was insane. Thankfully, she didn't contradict anything nor add anything. In fact, she seemed to be hiding, staying away from them all. Was she being unobstructive on purpose or something? Whatever was the case, Wild was glad for it.

"Ah, so like the princess said," Swingblade nodded, though he was disappointed, "Wish it were true, though. You're badass, you know that, right?"

Wild just shrugged, hoping the conversation would shift to something else. Thankfully, it seemed everyone caught on, and soon he was hearing about their own adventures. For Precision and Swingblade, it didn't amount to much - they were taken out pretty much straight away.

"I, uh... kinda smashed a plate on one of them?" Artful said, his tone sheepish, "A chunk bounced off and cut my face."

"That's a battle scar, brother, you earned it," Swingblade bumped him, which made Artful inch away from him just a bit. Wild noted Artful didn't appear phased at the touch, but he could still see how he wasn't exactly entirely comfortable with it. Wild wouldn't dig - whatever happened to Artful, it was for him to deal with, and Wild barely knew him anyway. Wild knew he had no right to intrude into life that wasn't his. Besides, he seemed mostly alright.

Wild realized that he cared about him. Not in any way close to a friendship, but... this small thing, being uncomfortable with touch, it... resonated with him. That still didn't explain why he cared, however. There were - and had been - plenty of people he knew and didn't know who hurt, but he didn't care about them, now did he? 

It had to be his brain and his less than fully functional mind, he decided. It wasn't like he never cared, it was just... it was exhausting to care. About anyone. He had been chewed and spat out by his own world, wasn't he? 

A painful pang in his head, a feeling like some sort of an aura, and he was uncorking another vial with his medicine. Swingblade opened his mouth, but Precision bumped him in the side, so he didn't say anything despite staring at the vial. Artful politely ignored the medicine.

Wild hesitated. Each time he took the potion, his mind became fuzzier. With those three ponies around, he didn't know if-

And then the pain spiked, making him wince. He could afford to drink, say, half of it - he would still remain somewhat clear-headed without suffering a headache. He did just that, but before he could cork the vial and put it back, Luna's voice appeared in his head, gentle.

"You need to drink the rest, otherwise you'll be in pain in about half an hour, and the second half won't be of much help then."

She is trying to trick you.

He shook that suggestion off. Luna had shown him nothing but support, he could trust her. If she wanted to take advantage of him, she would have already done so. She was far more powerful than him anyway - it wouldn't take much for her to force him to do anything she wished. And yet she didn't do that. Just like his parents, who had all the power over him, didn't stifle him, didn't make it their lives' mission to control every aspect of his life. 

He drank the rest, and no one commented anything about it. 

The pain faded away into nothingness, and his own thoughts already started to blur, and his frustration at it was dulled. 

He gestured, asking others how things had been going since he got stuck in the hospital wing. 

"Everyone's still talking about you," Precision said, "And you did do a great thing, even if rumors are crap."

"Yeah, without you, we'd probably still be stuck in those cocoons," Swingblade shuddered, "I hate those things. Too slimy."

"How did you break out of it, anyway?" Artful asked, "I, uh, looked some things up, and apparently no one managed to do that before."

Wild thought for a moment, wishing he had already come up with a plausible scenario to explain it. But how could he talk about being smoke and existing outside his own body? He knew it was real - despite how blurry the events of that day were in his head now, even more so than everything else. However, if it was real, then how did he do it?

In the end, he shrugged, then signed that he simply woke up and somehow broke out of it from the inside. It wasn't like anyone would be able to contradict his story anyway.

"Changelings, ugh," Swingblade grimaced, "Would be too soon if I have to see them again."

"I wouldn't mind some payback, myself," Precision added.

Payback? Wild thought it would be monumentally stupid. He, for once, didn't care about payback - Luna was taking care of it, wasn't she? He was perfectly fine with that.

"I think we can get on peacefully with them," Artful said. Precision and Swingblade both looked at him in disbelief, and he didn't look them in the eyes, his body tensing up, "I mean, I don't think most of them even wanted that. Or maybe they were, um, misled."

"Misled?" 

"Like, we've not really heard of them, so they live somewhere i-isolated, you know?" he continued, stumbling over his words a bit as he spoke, "Last I heard, most of those who w-were caught can't speak our language. And, you know, maybe they didn't know? We don't know what Queen Chrysalis told them, right?"

"But they still attacked us, didn't they?" Swingblade countered.

"Yeah, and that's bad, but no one died," Artful pointed out, "Like, I'm not saying we should just forgive and forget as if they didn't do anything, but, like, we can give them a chance, right?"

The argument continued, and Wild didn't know if he wished to contribute to it. The fogginess in his mind made it hard to focus on what was being said. On one hand, what Precision and Swingblade said make sense. Changelings attacked, so they need to be punished. On the other hand, Artful was also right.

Wild let the argument fade from his mind. Thinking about it was difficult right now, so he would rather not. If it got out of control, Luna would intervene, he was sure of it.

Wild would just let them talk it all out, then maybe go for a stroll with them all, and then he would... stare at a wall or something. 

Perhaps he would think differently if his mind was clearer, but for now, he was perfectly fine with letting it all go.

"Wild, what do you think?" Swingblade called, bringing him back to the conversation.

Wild shrugged, then signed that he didn't know what to think. It was true, and he also didn't want to think about it. Not when he was in the current state, at least. Then he signed a suggestion that they all go for a walk around.

There was some talking afterwards, but he was more than happy to let it wash by him as if he was a rock in the middle of a river. Perhaps it would wear him down over time, but he didn't need to worry about it in the short term.

***

The next day, Wild felt much better about himself. When he awoke, his mind was noticeably clearer, and there was something about him that made him feel less tense overall, as if some sort of unnoticed weight was lifted off his shoulders. Whatever it was, he couldn't properly describe it, but he was glad it happened anyway.

Unfortunately, with his returning clarity, his speech suffered. During his now regular cognition tests, he could barely speak, feeling as if something was squeezing him from the inside each time he opened his mouth. He realized what it was - it was there before, ever-present since a long time. He had gotten used to it, dealt with it for years. However, because of his mental injury and the state of his mind afterwards, along with the medicine he took, it briefly lessened, almost disappearing entirely. But now it was returning, and it took his breath away, stole his words, and shut him up. 

It felt... wrong. He was so used to ignoring it, to working around it, that he had never noticed how bad it felt. Now, he wanted it gone. Despite how he thought about his voice - ugly, slow, wrong - he still wanted to speak, and he didn't want this pressure anymore. 

He steeled himself and told Luna, speaking where he could and signing when his throat closed up. It was somewhat disjointed, perhaps even incoherent, but he was desperate to let her know. He couldn't deal with it anymore, he didn't want to deal with it anymore. He wanted it gone. By the end of it, he was breathing hard, feeling as if he scratched his throat raw. His heart threatened to jump out of his chest, and he had to place his legs firmly on the floor to stop them from trembling. However, he could do nothing to stop the sensation of crawling skin, feeling as if Luna was scrutinizing him, as if he had told her too much. Something bad was going to happen, he just knew it. 

"Wild, focus on my voice," Luna spoke calmly, "Breathe with me. Inhale... hold it. Exhale. Inhale again, feel as the air fills your lungs, taste the freshness of it. You are going to be fine. Now exhale..."

It continued for what felt like forever, like it was doing nothing at all. Gradually, however, Wild calmed down, Luna's voice carrying him from the heights of anxiety back to the present. His heart stopped feeling like a drum, his breath was now slow and steady, and he no longer felt like he would jump out of his own skin.

Wild knew he could trust Luna. As strange as this feeling was, the truth of it was evident.

"Do you fell better?" Luna asked. He nodded, not daring to speak, fearing it may compromise him again, "Alright, that's good. So, you want to speak, but there's something inside you that stops you from doing it. How long has it been there?"

If it were a different time under different circumstances, Wild would've been cautious, aware of the fake past he told others, and thus he would try to lie his way around it. Perhaps he wouldn't even be in this situation in the first place. Now, however, he was ready to be honest. He wouldn't get into the entire history of his anxiety - and he knew it was anxiety, a proper medical thing, a diagnosis. All the circumstances around it were just too delicate to tell Luna. A part of him already suspected she knew more than she should have. However, a bigger part of him was willing to simply put his trust into her. She hadn't failed him yet, after all. She could, but she hadn't, and that meant something.

Wild told her it had been like that for nearly as long as he could remember. Certain situations overwhelmed him, he admitted. It was simply easier to be alone - or perhaps lonely, but he didn't say or sign that. 

"What are situations when you can speak?" Luna asked.

"When... I talk to you," he replied, and it came out relatively easily. He hated how he sounded - his voice was slow, it took him a solid few moments to pick the words he wanted to use, and even then they came out wrong. They could be understood, yes, but he didn't sound like a pony. To him, he sounded like he was wearing a pony's body, and he hated this thought with a passion.

He was his own person, and this was his own body. He knew, he just knew it wasn't wrong. He hadn't taken over another person. Everything that he was, spirit and body, was him and was his.

"Why?" 

Wild hesitated for a moment. Saying that he thought that she cared about him would sound pathetic. Maybe not pathetic, but certainly weak. He had shown enough of his vulnerabilities in front of her. Not that showing any more would make it any worse. However, logic didn't enter into this kind of thing.

"Because I..." he searched for the words, "Put my... thoughts..." he grimaced, racking his brain for something better, "Because I..." it was frustrating, needlessly so. He knew what to say, but how to say?

Luna sat there, ever-patient, not hurrying him along. For a moment, he wished that she did, but only because he wouldn't have to answer then. 

"Because you help me," he settled on. He unfocused his gaze only so that he wouldn't have to see whatever expression was on her face.  

"But you don't feel the same way about your friends?"

He looked puzzled at her. Friends? He didn't have any. They knew him, and he knew them in turn, and they were around each other sometimes, but... they weren't friends. Not like he thought, at least. He didn't care much about them. He would probably be sad if they were hurt - they didn't really deserve to be hurt - but beyond that? He wasn't sure. 

"You don't think Swingblade, Precision, and Artful are your friends?" Luna asked. He expected pity - there was none. Perhaps judgement - but it wasn't there either. Some sort of reprimand, then - but it was absent as well. It was just a question.

He shook his head in response. The first two were part of the same club he was in. Why they hang around him, he had no idea. Sure, Precision seemed to get some enjoyment out of dueling him during club time, and so did Swingblade. They jogged with him when he jogged, but that was just exercise, a smart thing to do. 

Artful... he just met him one day in the library. He was nice enough, perhaps. Talked a lot, which was... something. He was good at painting, too - Wild easily recognized himself in the latest picture Artful was making, the one he asked Wild's help for. All of it was, if Wild was being honest with himself, somewhat endearing. A change of pace from Swingblade's and Precision's near-constant lighthearted bickering and one-upsmanship. 

In truth, the only reason the three were around was because Wild allowed it. Why he did it, he didn't know. He knew he wasn't the most welcoming person, and he had his reasons. However, these three were fine, even if he had known Artful for just about a day in total. 

"It is not my business to tell you whom you can't or can't be friends with, nor is it my business to tell you to make friends or not," Luna said, "But friendship takes many forms, the only common thing between them is care. If you didn't care, you wouldn't even think of them. If they didn't care, they wouldn't have visited you."

Wild shrugged, uncomfortable. He didn't know if he cared about them or not. He wasn't neutral about them - which perhaps already meant that he did care - but he couldn't tell what exactly he felt.

Friendships, to him, were a frustrating, mysterious thing. It came easily to others, he knew that much, but he had never had many friends. He was never particularly close to anyone aside from his own family - and his family was his family, and his parents cared about him, so that was a given in his mind. He did play with some boys and girls when he was young, though he was somewhat more comfortable with just climbing trees or doing whatever by himself. It was simply easier that way, a good way to avoid blundering

A part of him told him that it was because he didn't fit. That he was defective. That he wasn't wanted. That the people who cared about him were from his own family, and that meant they had to care about him. A child was an investment, after all. Even if he turned out a disappointment.

It was difficult not to listen to that part of him.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Luna gently reminded him. 

He then swallowed, feeling as if his throat was dry, and nodded. To him, it was stupid - other people didn't have those difficulties, why did he? Why couldn't he just be like everyone else?

"Alright. If you want to speak more, there are a couple ways we can go about it," she switched the topic, "First, you simply need to speak more often. Maybe even just to yourself when you're alone. I don't mean that you have to push yourself every time, but you do need to make an effort."

Wild nodded his understanding. It wasn't far from what he knew about it beforehand, after all. 

"Is there anything you need help with in order to speak?" Luna asked, "Even if you believe it's something insignificant or stupid."

"I... my voice," he said, "I need a better... tone. I don't sound good."

"I don't believe you sound bad," Luna shook her head, "Merely unaccustomed to speaking. Speaking more, as well as talking to other people, will help you along. It would still take time, so you have to take that in mind, but eventually you will be where you want to be. There are also some vocal exercises I can help you with. Even right now if you want to."

Wild thought for a moment, then nodded. The sooner he could speak well, the better, and his terrible accent needed to be gone. 

For the next couple hours, Luna taught him the intricacies of the pony language and its sounds. They were different enough from either English or Russian, so he had to make quite a bit of effort in order to get anywhere close. He remembered how difficult it was for him to pronounce the rolling r sound when he was a kid, but he really wanted to because a character on TV could do that and, to young Wild's mind, sounded so cool. 

There was the weird tongue placement, the exact way Wild needed to breathe out, the position of his lips and teeth, everything. It wasn't helped by the fact that, at first, he was trying to adapt how he used to speak to the new way, which didn't go well - after all, his face shape was now a lot different. He suspected that he sounded as bad as he did because he just wasn't used to speaking with his new body, and it all just sounded odd and strange to his ears. Speaking of his ears, their sensitivity and placement were different as well, so it was a contributing factor too. 

By the end of the lesson, however, there was some improvement.

"You've made quite a bit of progress, Wild, you should be proud of it," Luna told him with a smile, "You'll have to work more, of course, but I can see that it won't take you too long."

Wild wasn't sure, it still felt like there was a chasm between where he was now and where he wanted to be when it came to speech. Sure, there was a little progress, but he didn't think it was that great. 

"It may feel like you've not accomplished much, but trust me, you have," Luna insisted, "You will get there sooner than you think, I promise."

Wild was doubtful, but he was willing to accept Luna's words. He sensed no deception in them, no lies. She wasn't trying to make him feel better about himself, so whatever praise she gave him, it was entirely genuine. He didn't know what to think about that.

Well, at the very least that did elicit a sense of accomplishment within him.

It felt good.

***

Wild decided to play checkers with Lina. He had never been good at chess, and Luna also vetoed the idea of playing it - his mind was still not in great condition, so intellectual exercises and extreme focus that chess required wouldn't be good for him. Checkers were simpler.

While they played, Lina would rarely stop talking to him. Or, more like, talking at him. It was nice background noise, at least.

"So yeah, I think that's cool," she said, "Like, everyone with wings can fly, and we have airships and balloons and all that, but someone's making a... plane, I think. It's built of wood and metal but it can still fly, imagine that! And it's also kinda smaller than any airship too. More controllable. Hard to believe, but they already flew for about ten seconds without crashing, so maybe there's something to it. What do you think?"

"Yes, it's good," he replied, "I think they will succeed."

"Sure hope so. I flew on an air balloon once, and it was kinda boring," she said, "I was flying, yes, but it was so fucking slow! Like, no fun at all. It was really disappointing, but the view was nice."

Wild bobbed his head in a nod. Personally, he had never flew a plane, let alone a balloon. He didn't think he was afraid of heights, but he had never really been all that high - just a few floors up in a building, perhaps. He also climbed trees, of course, but he couldn't go particularly high on them.

He didn't know if he would like flying. He was reborn as a unicorn, not a pegasus, and he didn't think he would trade his magic for a pair of wings. Besides, going fast wasn't really for him. If he could help it, he would never step into a car - he would remain on his two feet - or, more like, on his four hooves now - and that was for the best, he felt. 

"Hi, everyone," Artful's voice sounded as he appeared from around the corner. This time, he was alone in visiting Wild, and the latter allowed it. Artful carried a wide rectangular bag on him, "Checkers?"

Wild nodded, and Lina turned her head to look at Artful. 

"Oh, you can do that?" his eyes widened, "That's so cool!"

Lina smiled to that. Whatever she said to Artful via telepathy, Wild didn't know. His mind was still shielded from the thoughts of others by Luna, who was reading a book far enough away from them that it felt like she wasn't there.

"I read about telepathy, but I thought it was rare," Artful said. After a pause, he continued, "Yeah, I know it can be learned, but never met anyone who can do it before."

Lina turned to Wild and asked, "You can do that, didn't you tell him?"

"I didn't know until you talked to me," he replied, deciding it was best not to mention his mind powers. Luna explained to him that it was because of them that he could use telepathy naturally. Lina turned away from him and to Artful again.

"Wild can do that too? I feel like I'm underperforming now," he chuckled, "Though, it's also kinda creepy. Not, like, bad, but, uh..." Lina said something to him, "Yeah, that. No group chats and all. Hey, would either of you mind if I paint you?"

Wild shrugged, and Lina offered her own response.

"Alright, I'll set my stuff up here, then."

For the next while, it was quiet. Artful was now sketching the pair, and they continued their game of checkers. It was quite nice and peaceful, Wild found - and wasn't that something? His talk about friendships with Luna came up in his mind, and he wondered if this was how friendships were like. It appeared like everyone was comfortable with everyone, although they didn't even know each other for long.

Truthfully, Wild didn't know when being acquaintances turned into being friends. Was it time? Was it them doing something? Was it something else entirely?  Just what qualified as friendship? 

"Yeah, there are some ponies that have long tails with brushes on their ends," Artful said, and Wild quirked his eyebrow. He apparently missed an exchange between him and Lina, "Their art is really unique, I wish I could replicate it. But my tail is, well," he made it twitch, "Not really precise. Theirs, though, are like a limb. I think the term is 'prehensile'."

Whatever that term was, Wild had no idea what it meant. He tried not to feel frustrated at his lack of knowledge of the language. He knew his voice was bad, but his understanding of what was being said wasn't all that great either. Ever since he got stuck in the hospital wing, he couldn't even do much about it, considering that he was forbidden from mentally straining himself. He wished he recovered sooner.

Not much later, Artful turned the canvas around, showing Wild and Lina what he had so far.

"What do you think?" he asked, a bit of shyness in his voice. 

Wild thought that it was certainly a lot better than anything he could have ever drawn. Stick figures and such were the best he could do, after all. Though, there was one thing he didn't like - his tail was a bit out of the way, and apparently Artful had nothing against drawing what was otherwise hidden. Wild signed to him, suggesting that he move the tail to cover it, although he formed the request in such a way that he didn't say directly that he found it uncomfortable.

"Alright, no problem, give me a moment," Artful easily agreed, turned the canvas back around, and started changing what he drew. 

Wild, meanwhile, adjusted his tail. He usually kept it pretty close - as long as he was conscious about it, anyway. The casual nudity ponies had was something he pushed to the back of his mind. At first, it was extremely uncomfortable, but now... Now, it was fine, he accepted it as a part of their culture. However, that didn't mean he was entirely comfortable with it.

His own nudity still bothered him sometimes, but he thought it would be too weird for him to wear underwear or anything else. From what he had learned, ponies rarely wore anything that covered their backside, the usual exception was a dress. Otherwise, they had jackets, suits, scarfs, and other things that covered the front in a somewhat human-like manner. Essentially, it looked like if a human only ever wore top clothes but never anything below the waist. 

Wild was glad that he had, so far, received no sexual advances of any kind. He had already seen older ponies getting together and then disappearing for somewhere private, and he didn't need to imagine anything to know what was going on. Once again, it made him uncomfortable, but he was unwilling to raise any fuss. 

"Better?" Artful asked, showing the canvas again. This time, everything was covered, so Wild nodded, "Alright, great!"

The day then passed in conversations and being subjected to being put in a painting. It was nice and quiet, and Wild found it enjoyable. 

Was that what friendship felt like? He really wanted to know.
> Chapter 30: Progress
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once Wild's mind was strong enough, Luna approached him about his mental powers, reminding him of her promise to help him. He explained to her the technique of 'mental noise' he developed and how it helped him. What he didn't speak of was precisely how he saw his powers in the first place - to him, this ability wasn't what he wanted to have, an ability that shouldn't exist in the first place. The mere fact that he possessed it made him feel dirty, and it was bad enough that he didn't even need to actively use it for it to work. The power it gave him over others wasn't what he wished he had, and he didn't doubt that people other than Luna would be far less charitable about him having it. 

"Wild," Luna said, and he listened, the tone of her voice serious, "You don't have to beat yourself up over being able to do this."

He realized that he had let his thoughts slip. He looked away, unsure of what to say now. 

"I understand how you feel," Luna continued, her voice soft and filled with empathy, "It feels like a breach of privacy, doesn't it?"

To that, Wild nodded.

"Depending on the use, it can be," she said, "However, it's not always a breach of privacy. Think about it this way - is it a breach of privacy when you overhear something with your ears? See something that you weren't supposed to see on accident? Should you not have the ability to hear things just because you may sometimes hear what you weren't supposed to, should you be blind so that you never see anything others don't want you to see?"

"But..." he said. Speaking was still hard, but he managed. He wanted to speak again, he has to remind himself. And besides, he trusted Luna, however odd that was to think about. Her promise to not reveal that he could speak again held truth to it, he could feel it with more than just his heart. There wasn't anything that could become worse if he continued to speak anyway, "It is not the same."

"It isn't," Luna nodded, "But it is similar. What you have is just another sense, another way of perceiving the world. An unusual one, yes, and uncommon. However, there are certain species that communicate mentally almost exclusively, and to them, your ability is as natural as hearing is to you. If you don't deliberately use your senses to spy on others, then why should it be an issue?"

Wild thought it was all perfectly logical, but he just couldn't agree. A mind was supposed to be unassailable, not directly. As long as he didn't speak his thoughts out loud, didn't write them, didn't draw them, didn't reveal them in any other way, they should belong only to him and him alone. Same should be with the thoughts of others. He had no right to hear them, even if a part of him told him it could be useful now and could've been very useful in the past. 

He didn't know whether he would be able to reconcile his view of a mind and how things worked in this world.

"Alright, let's talk about your technique of blocking out the thoughts of others," Luna said, "It's not a bad solution, certainly not for someone who wasn't trained in any kind of mind arts."

There was more to it? Wild hoped these 'mind arts' weren't even more expansive. He had enough fears for his own mind already. Unfortunately, he expected he wouldn't be so lucky for his ability to be the end of it. 

"You may not have felt it when you begun using this technique, but it would have out more and more strain on your mind the longer you used it or if you were around more people. It would have eventually put too much pressure on you mind, and the consequences would be severe."

Wild shivered at it, suspecting that breaking down was probably the least that would happen. Perhaps had he had a clearer mind, he would've been far more suspicious of Luna's claims. However, in the present, he trusted her, even if he otherwise wouldn't. 

When this very conversation emerged in his memory a long while later, he would feel thankful he listened and accepted her words as truth. 

"Fortunately, there is a different, if a more difficult, way of protecting your mind."

Luna guided him to settle down on a comfortable pillow. The two were in a different wing of the Royal Orphanage, one that most of the time stood empty. There wasn't any particular reason why except that the population of the orphanage wasn't big enough to warrant the use of every room. The room Luna and Wild were in was once a sitting room of some kind: warm woods with burgundy walls, and the furniture was nice and comfortable. There were shelves along the walls, but they were empty - all the books had long since been moved to the library or elsewhere. The room had two tall and wide windows, which let in plenty of light, but today wasn't a bright day - it was raining outside. Wild found the patter of raindrops soothing, as muffled as it was. Sometimes, the rustle of leaves intensified as a stronger gust of wind blew, complimenting the steady rainfall in a way that made Wild feel at peace. 

"Meditation is a big part of this technique," Luna explained, her voice calm, and her cadence was just right, "It would help if you relax your body. Close your eyes - visual stimuli would make it more difficult. Settle down, allow your body to take a comfortable position."

Wild did as asked, fidgeting around until he found a position where his legs didn't feel stiff and where his neck didn't feel strained. It was already relaxing. He felt somewhat more at ease despite the fact that he wasn't alone. Perhaps it was exactly because he wasn't alone that he felt safe enough to relax. It was something to think about later, when his mind was clearer. 

"Good. Now, simply breathe. A deep inhale, then count to four. Do it slowly, but not too slow - there is no need to deprive yourself of air. If you feel the burn in your lungs, you've counted for too long. Then you exhale, slowly, feeling the air exit your lungs."

Wild breathed, aware that this same exercise was useful for calming him down if he felt overwhelmed or if he had a panic attack - the latter he had, thankfully, not experienced again. In truth, he was somehow more relaxed nowadays. Perhaps it was his medicine that helped him, he didn't know.

He breathed, he counted, and he breathed. He felt himself settle somewhat, as if he stopped pacing and lay down physically but in a mental sense. 

"Now, what your ability does is it catches thoughts," Luna explained, "But it's not like a magnet - thoughts don't stick to you by themselves. Instead, you unconsciously reach out for them because that's what your brain wants to do. It is a natural defense and communication mechanism. You need to exert conscious control. You need to let the thoughts flow by. They may touch you, you may want to reach for them and grab them, but you can control this. Don't block them, don't push them away - merely let them by. I will now send you a thought, try the technique."

Wild felt something brush against his consciousness, and he reached out before he remembered not to. He retracted his metaphorical hand, but the thought was already clinging to it - Luna felt the touch of the pillow against her legs, and it was nice. Wild frowned and shook his head as if to dislodge it.

"Don't worry, Wild," Luna said slowly, "It will take time for you to get it. Let's try again."

For the next while, Wild did his best not to reach out to the thoughts he felt, but it was difficult. A small part of him was curious, wanting to know what those thoughts were. A different part of it considered it like an itch - he simply needed to scratch at it. 

Luna felt like the rain would help nourish the ground. Luna thought the cloud arrangement was perfect. Luna thought the empty shelves needed filling. Luna wondered what she would eat for dinner. 

Wild felt another thought coming. He needed to catch it - but he didn't. This itch would have to continue on, he mustn't scratch it. He felt the thought brush against him, and oh how he wanted to reach out and take it, but he remained still. It was an infinite moment when the thought continued to brush against him, and it took all his willpower not to grab it, not to touch it, not to reach out for it. And finally, it slipped, and it simply passed by. 

Wild opened his eyes and inhaled sharpy, having realized he had been holding his breath. His body felt stiff and uncomfortable, but a sense of accomplishment bloomed in his chest - he did it! 

"Very good, Wild," Luna smiled at him, "Would you like to try it again?"

***

In the evening, when everyone had gone to sleep, Luna was still up, sorting through some documents in her office. A knock came from her door. Luna wondered who wanted to see her so late, so she put down the papers.

"Come in."

The door opened, and it was her sister Celestia who walked in. Luna's eyes brightened, but it was immediately replaced by worry - Celestia didn't look very well. There were bags under her eyes, and her mane was done into a bun that wobbled on the back of her head. Luna knew it was a sign that her mane wasn't being properly taken care of, as Celestia tended to let it loose whenever possible, which was almost all the time. 

"Tia? Is everything alright?" Luna rose from behind her desk and walked around it to approach her sister, "You look awful."

"Yeah, I know," Celestia sighed, and the two hugged, "It's all the changelings, you know. The public isn't happy about them. But let's not talk about work - how are you doing? I hoped to visit sooner, but..."

"I understand," Luna told her gently, "Come on, sit down," she summoned two big and comfortable pillows, and Celestia gracelessly flopped on one of them immediately, "Up for some tea?"

"The day I say no, check if I was replaced by a changeling," Celestia said dryly, and Luna chuckled. 

Soon enough, both Luna and Celestia had a teacup in their grasp, the tea a nice herbal blend without any caffeine in it. Celestia inhaled deeply, a smile spreading on her face that highlighted her stress yet also made her more relaxed. She took a sip, then shivered in pleasure. 

"Ooh, this is exactly what I needed," she said, "Thank you."

"Of course," Luna smiled in turn, "Now, I believe everything is going quite well on my end. Almost everyone has recovered from the ordeal, and we weren't hit very hard in the first place. It's all mostly back to how it was before, which is a relief. It helps the foals move past it, and I'm glad the Invasion was as short as it was. I shudder to think what would have happened if it turned into occupation."

"That's good to know, but I didn't ask about how others are doing," Celestia looked into Luna's eyes, "How are you doing?"

"I, well..." Luna sighed, "It has been... something. I am handling everything well enough, I suppose. You know I like doing this, helping others. Despite all the hardships, it is still true."

"Well, you certainly look better than me," Celestia chuckled, "I'm glad you're doing well. That's the least you deserve."

"Tia..." Luna sighed deeply, remembering all the times when Celestia said the exact same thing. 

"No, Luna, I know I messed up," Celestia said, "There's nothing I can do to ever make it up to you fully."

Both of them were very aware it wasn't about the Invasion. 

"That's not true, you don't have to make it up. I made my choice back then, and I paid for it."

"But..."

"We have talked about it many times," Luna pressed, firm yet gently, "I don't blame you. You did what you had to do."

"Doesn't mean I liked doing it..." Celestia looked down.

"No, but neither of us knew better. Let it go, sister. We cannot change the past."

Silence reigned for a while as the two sipped their tea. Luna had to admit to herself - she had blamed her sister for her imprisonment. Not anymore, however - there was no way Celestia would have ever wanted a thousand years of loneliness for her own sister. The Elements of Harmony, as helpful as they were, didn't have much mercy. They wouldn't kill - they were incapable of that - but, if Luna had to be honest with herself, what they did wasn't much different, and they had no sense of measure. 

Perhaps it was a mistake on Celestia's part to use them on Luna when she was Nightmare Moon. However, before then, they were only used twice, and Celestia firmly believed the Elements would simply purify her sister, not banish her for a thousand years, not rip her from Equestria as if she were something alien, some outside force. Luna knew Celestia had regretted using them ever since, and that was the reason she hadn't wielded them and didn't want to use them ever again. Having the Elements split between more ponies would, hopefully, safeguard from any potential similar mistakes in the future. 

"You should come visit during the day," Luna told Celestia, changing the topic, "Some foals are eager to see you again."

"I would like to, but there's still so much work to be done," she sighed, feeling like she couldn't help but talk about work. Truthfully, as a princess, she could never truly escape it, especially now, "Quite a few legislature proposals were... problematic."

"You mean severely bigoted?"

"It would be easier if I could call them what they are, yes," Celestia's lips twitched in a smile, but then it twisted back into a frown again, "But the public... the changelings haven't made a good impression. I know a few, and they've never caused trouble for as long as I knew them, but... Well, they can't reveal themselves openly, not even to their friends. Not until the public's opinion on changelings change, and who knows how much time that will take. Even my word won't be enough to change the tides."

"What an awful mess indeed," Luna nodded. Ah, how she enjoyed hearing her sister complain about politics. Commiserating about it always made her feel better, "I suppose... it won't be a breach of trust if I tell you we have a changeling in the orphanage."

"Oh, you know Jade?" Celestia smiled, "How are they doing?"

"As well as could be expected, I suppose," Luna frowned, "They are... still not taking it very well. They have withdrawn, and it would take a lot to bring them back."

"I should talk to them, then."

"It would likely help, yes," Luna nodded, "I suspect that Jade may think you hate them now because of what happened."

"Goodness, no, I could never hate them!" Celestia denied, "I will definitely talk to them first thing tomorrow and damn anyone who would stand in my way."

"That's the spirit," Luna smiled and raised her cup.

The two spent some more time chatting and drinking tea until it was time for Celestia to depart and go to sleep. Luna bade her goodbye and then retreated herself, going to bed. However, she wouldn't dream her own dreams today - it was time for her to attend to her duties in the Dreamscape.

Entering it had been easy for her for a long time. Surrounded by the cosmos, she floated among nothingness, sensing thousands upon thousands of pony dreams. She had once resented them for sleeping during the night, but no longer. Her night was beautiful, yet now she knew this beauty wasn't for everyone. When she was young, she thought every single pony needed to see it, needed to enjoy it, needed to appreciate it. However, ponies needed their rest, and most of them weren't nocturnal. Perhaps it was a nasty twist of fate that made Luna the night's architect for those who could never fully see the whole beauty of it. 

However, there were those who deeply appreciated the night, and now she didn't ignore them, didn't overlook them. It was enough to know they were out there, gazing at the stars, basking in the moonlight. As long as even one person enjoyed and appreciated the night, Luna would be content.

When it came to the dreams, she usually didn't have much to do. Nightmares were rare - save for the recent times. After the Changeling Invasion, their count spiked, and she had spent much time soothing ponies, reminding them that it was over, that it wouldn't happen again. 

Other nightmares were often, from her perspective, quite silly. However, she still took them seriously, helping foals overcome their fears and anxieties, even if it was as simple as fearing a corner of the furniture would turn into a pony-eating monster when they weren't looking. 

There was one pony whose dreams were odd, and that pony was Wild. She understood now that his brain worked differently, that he wasn't always a pony. Whoever and whatever he had once been, she had yet to see, however.

Usually, the entrance to other ponies' dreams took the shape of a door. Luna suspected it wasn't how Dreamscape worked but how she thought of those entrances. They had changed with time as styles and architecture changed, and each door for each pony was different, showing something of their personalities in a symbolic way. 

Wild's door was tall and somewhat narrow, not shaped like a door to a pony-sized house would be. There was a handle about two fifth up the door, in a place that wouldn't fit a quadruped but would fit someone bipedal, like a minotaur. The door was made of steel, an industrial and secure sort of look, despite the peeling paint and spots of what looked like rust. 

Now, the door had more of a wooden look, though it still mixed with steel in ways that weren't possible to achieve. The paint was somewhat more intact, and rust was less common, but it still overall didn't look very welcoming nor exactly healthy. 

Luna had learned that Wild valued his privacy very much, and so Luna didn't venture into his dreams unless he needed help. Right now, his dream radiated unease, but it wasn't exactly a nightmare, so she simply stood outside, waiting, hoping it wouldn't turn into a nightmare. 

Wild's dreams were as strange as they could be graphically horrifying. She still remembered the burned-down orphanage and an empty lake filled with disfigured, burned corpses. It was one of the most graphic nightmares she had ever seen from someone who wasn't a surgeon or any other profession that semi-regularly dealt with bodies in one way or another. What it implied when it came to Wild's experiences, Luna hoped for the best - perhaps he had seen some graphic photos or paintings or drawings. She didn't want to think of the possibility that he had experienced something that made him see such horrors in reality. 

The door to his dream suddenly disappeared, meaning that he woke up. Luna frowned - it was just around past four in the morning at best, he shouldn't be awake yet. Was his dream an actual nightmare that she didn't feel out correctly? Was the unease she felt not unease at all but fear, muffled and muddled through Wild's own natural mental defenses? 

To her relief, his door reappeared not long afterwards. Whatever it was, it wasn't serious enough, thankfully.

Luna moved away from his door, feeling a call to go elsewhere. As much as she cared about Wild, she couldn't neglect anyone else. 

As she assured others had their dreams free of nightmares, her mind yet drifted back to Wild. Knowing what she did about him, it was hard not to seek more ways to help him. She wanted him to know that there was someone who cared about him and who wanted to help him to be the best version of him that he could, she wanted him to recover, and she wanted him to live a good life. 

And yet, even now she remained stumped in her efforts, unsure of how to proceed. She thought she was doing well enough, but she had yet to discuss anything of Wild's true past with him, and she feared a misstep would be disastrous.

Luna needed help in figuring it out and yet she didn't want to betray Wild's confidence. It was true there were discoveries of her own, things that he did not share but she knew, but... it felt like a betrayal of trust. Should Wild come to learn about what she knew, what would he do? Would he run away, would he deny it all and thus stop trusting her?

She wished she knew what to do.
> Chapter 31: Two Weeks
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild didn't count the days, but he knew a number of them had passed since he woke up after the Changeling Invasion. His sense of time refused to correct itself for the longest time and, with his mind being what it was, he didn't bother with it until the fog cleared. It was then when he made a conscious effort to figure out the time.

It had been two weeks since the Invasion. It had been two weeks that he had to spend in recovery despite not being physically injured. Realizing that he lost so many days to it was an annoyance in itself and, had the changeling 'princess' not been dealt with, he would have been plotting violent and bloody revenge. He was, after all, not a stranger to it, and he would have more tools at his disposal now. The very thought of planning something like this sent a shiver down his spine, a sensation of cold, sharp focus briefly arising from within him. 

"She was sentenced to a lifetime imprisonment," Luna told him when he asked about the changelings, "Many more of her crimes were uncovered, and it is a relief for me to say that  she will no longer be a danger to anyone. As for Queen Chrysalis, we are still searching for her, but there is much ground to cover. There is a large number of caves around Equestria, we're not likely to find them before they see us coming. But we'll do our best, I promise you that much."

From what Wild knew, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza had far more grief with Queen Chrysalis than he had, so he decided to let it go, even as a part of him was disappointed at it. He still longed for vengeance, a thirst for violence. If he came across the Queen, he wouldn't hesitate to bring her down. However, he realized that he didn't want to spend his time hunting her. Partially, it was because he feared he would fail, would be captured by her, and then... he didn't want to think about it. Secondly, he found himself trusting Luna to do the best she could to do it in his stead. He was, and he had to remind himself, just one person - he couldn't stand against five changelings, and Queen Chrysalis likely had more, not to mention that her own power rivaled Princess Celestia's, according to what he had heard. 

A voice in his head told him that it was only a matter of time before he would need to protect himself again. He needed to grow stronger, and not just physically. As much as he trusted Luna to protect him, she wasn't there when he was attacked. He had to break her out. 

The voice telling him to grow stronger only became more insistent the more time passed since the Invasion. He couldn't know whether that would be the end of it. He couldn't know whether it would be the last time he had to fight - or attempt to - for himself or others. The only thing he could do was prepare.

As his mind healed, he was allowed to freely do more and more, including mental exercises. His language lessons resumed as well, which allowed him to read more complex books. However, there was still a limit to how much he could do at a time. His medicine had to be put on pause so that he wouldn't grow tolerance to it, and that left him suffering from light to moderate headaches if he didn't strain his mind, and heavy headaches if he did. There was, however, a way to deal with them.

Luna guided him once more, this time through mind-clearing meditation. It consisted an hour of sitting or lying still, whichever was the most comfortable, doing absolutely nothing and thinking no thoughts. At first, he couldn't do it at all - his thoughts were everywhere, he couldn't focus, flowing as he was along the river of his mind. He jumped from one thought to the next, thinking this or that, and it seemed like he couldn't stop.

The solution to it, as well as the first step towards progress, turned out to be not being still. Instead, he did physical exercises, those he was so familiar with he could do them in his sleep. His mind wasn't focused on the exercises when muscle memory took over, but the constant movement provided a nice background sensation and noise that allowed Wild to not be disturbed by any thoughts. And, with time, he learned to sit still and do meditation that way, although he much more preferred moving meditation.

A few days before his scheduled release from the hospital wing, Wild woke up to a mental clarity so startling he wondered how he could have ever tolerated missing it. The fog cleared, the veil was lifted, and he could think again. Not just drift along as his mind weakly tugged at the stray strings of thoughts scattered around his head like discarded toys in a messy child's bedroom, but a clear focus and direction.

It felt like Wild recovered from a lifelong poor vision, gaining full hearing after being half-deaf, feeling everything that was him like it was supposed to be.

With this clarity, his mind went back to that fateful day of the Changeling Invasion, as if it waited all this time to make him plunge back into the worst day of his new life. He experienced it as if for the first time, remembering how he floated, disembodied, and how he freed his body, rushing back into it. He recalled how it felt - and how it didn't feel. When he was outside his body, there was nothing but a sense of being, one he struggled to put in words. There was only one feeling then, a feeling of his own self, of his very soul, his truest identity. 

He wondered why he didn't simply fade away when he was outside his body, and the thought scared him. Would he be like a ghost, forever attached to reality and yet unable to experience it like a living person? Would he be forced back into his native world? Would he travel back in time to, what, fix everything? Would he travel forward in time? The more possibilities he considered, the more afraid of them he became.

He had once considered death as something to crave, but now he feared it again. He was lucky he was reborn, and into a world that was, from his experiences, better than the one he left. The Changeling Invasion was, in truth, no worse than anything he could have experience - and, in fact, had experienced - back in the USA. 

However, with magic, more possibilities entered the mix, and apparently he could have real out of body experiences, and this scared him. Would he disappear if he somehow let go? Would he fade away if he couldn't go back to his body soon enough? At one point, death wasn't something he feared - or, at least, he convinced himself of this. Now... he didn't want to be gone. Not anymore. He had at least one person who cared about him, and his life had honestly been pretty good as far as he was concerned. 

His mind continued on with the memory of that day, pushing him further. Wild remembered how he freed others, how they all organized, and how they attempted to make a break for it. In the moment, he was focused, chasing his fear away, trying to be confident. Even as their escape was discovered, he was determined, and he was ready to fight. He stayed behind as if he was a hero, as if he could be a hero. Even at it, he failed, and he was captured after a short and pitiful fight. What was he thinking then, he didn't know - he should have known he hadn't had a single chance. As good as he was in swordsmanship, it would be idiotic to think it would help him in a real fight. For a moment, he even believed his hobby could help him turn the tides of battle, but reality crushed his hope just like it always did. 

Perhaps if he had a gun, if he had a real sword, he would have had a chance, but then... he would kill again, wouldn't he? He would aim the gun, look down the sights, and pull the trigger. He would feel the kick of the recoil, see the bright flash of burned gunpowder, hear the thunderous clap that was a gunshot. Some people said guns sounded like fireworks - Wild thought it wasn't true. Guns sounded like raw power, like thunder, something that couldn't be stopped or controlled once it was there. Fireworks were there for the amusement, for celebration. Guns, however, were used for killing.

As for a sword... he had once been stabbed. He remembered it clear as day even if he forgot the exact circumstances. He remembered how painlessly the knife slid into his body, how he didn't even feel it for a long moment even as the blade was pulled out. But then, quickly, he was collapsing, blood was flowing from his wound, and the pain rushed into his mind. He remembered how he whimpered and he cried, terrified of his mortality, unable to stem the flow. He felt pure horror then, seeing nothing but his wound, hearing nothing but the beat of his own heart, feeling nothing but blood flowing out of him, staining his clothes, painting his hands red, and dripping on the ground. The only mercy was that he passed out soon after and, miraculously, survived.

His mind rushed along as he remembered using a knife on the changeling princess. He remembered how she gasped as if in disbelief, then whimpered - just like he had once had. It was an awful sound, and he knew it could be made even worse had he gone through with killing her. It could've been so easy - the blade would slide across her throat, opening it up, and she would gurgle and drown in her own blood. He had once seen a video of it when he delved thoughtlessly too deep in the internet. There was some kind of dark fascination when he watched it, unable to look away, and it imprinted on him forever.

Even knowing how awful it was, knowing how painful it would be, Wild was still ready to kill. He wasn't sure he would've stopped himself had Luna not been there to talk him down. And yet, he couldn't deny he enjoyed being in control then. The changeling princess hurt him, but he was holding her life in his hands then. He... relished in her pain, knowing she was at his mercy. There was a deep sense of satisfaction in being in that position. 

None of this satisfaction could prevent him from feeling disgusted at himself. He knew he enjoyed causing pain, especially on those he deemed deserving of it, but he had always thought of it - was always taught to think of it this way - as wrong. And was it not wrong to wish pain on others? To inflict the kind of pain he knew himself capable of inflicting?

At least he could stop himself from prolonging the pain of others. He could control himself, freely accepting consensual pain from those who agreed to suffer it. When Wild fought against others in a duel, he knew they were there willingly and could leave at any moment. Every flinch from a hit he struck, every bruise delivered by him, every grunt of pain resulted from his actions was a part of the deal, and he could freely enjoy it and ignore the feeling of guilt and shame.

There was another side to this. One way to stop the pain was... to kill.

Wild knew what death was, and a violent death was messy, disgusting, and, he had to admit, scary. When he shot himself in the heart, he was still conscious for just a few moments. He remembered the horror that set in, he remembered seeing his own blood flowing unstoppable out of his wound, and a sense of finality descended on him in those few short yet infinitely long moments. He was conscious just long enough to know that even a bullet to the heart wasn't an instant death.

To inflict such death, any death, on others... it was unthinkable. Yet he did it before. To those that hurt him the most, he did it. He hurt them back and then killed them, and he remembered how it felt then - despite the horror of what he did with his own hands, despite everything, there was glee. There was relief, and yet there was also joy. They were gone, and he made it possible. He hurt them, hurt them back, and they would not return from it. They would never be in his life again nor in lives of anyone else.  

Wild's heart thumped in his chest as he jumped out of his hospital bed. Luna knew he killed. He told her he did. She had not yet talked about it, but she wouldn't forget, no, she wouldn't. And what then? When she eventually learned of it, of how it all happened, of what he felt - and he knew she would - what then? She was kind to him now, perhaps, but...

What was he to do? What could he do? There was nothing, there was nowhere to go...

Wild realized he could hardly breathe, and he didn't notice himself curling up, trembling uncontrollably, his thoughts spiraling. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would go away, but it only grew in intensity, and soon he could do nothing, not even breathe. His vision went fuzzy, static was around the corners, and all he could hear was the painful thumping inside his chest.

A part of him, a small part, said to him: "You are having a panic attack."

It came with such clarity, he knew it was true. What did Luna tell him? Luna, whom he had told... no, not now. He needed to get himself under control. Anything else would come afterwards.

"Focus on me," he remembered her saying, and it was easy now to imagine her face as she looked at him with genuine worry in her eyes. Worry that he, perhaps, could never deserve, "Now, through your nose, slowly breathe in. Slowly, okay? No need to rush. You are not in danger."

He was not in danger. He knew, on a level that he couldn't explain, that he didn't need to fear Luna. She knew what he did - what he admitted to doing - and he had ample opportunity to push further, to learn more, and to punish him for it like he knew he deserved. And yet... wouldn't she have done it already if she wanted to? For the past two weeks, she had been nothing but helpful. She didn't need to be, he knew, and yet she was, even after what he admitted to. When she looked at him, he didn't feel a hateful glare or a stony mask of dispassionate judgement. She, somehow genuinely, cared about him. Despite everything that he was, everything that he did - and almost did - she was there for him when he needed her.

He breathed in, doing it slowly despite the rush he felt. He held it there, feeling the burn in his mind but not his lungs, and then he slowly let it out. Luna's soothing voice talked nonsense in his ears as he inhaled and exhaled to the perfect rhythm she taught him. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Nice and steady.

His heart was coming down from the high, beating slower. His breath was no longer shaking, now more even. The trembling subsided into shivering. 

Breathe in, hold, breathe out. He could do it. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

After what felt like forever, Wild knew it was over. He uncurled on top of the bed, feeling physically and mentally drained. His body felt wet with sweat yet his throat was dry as a desert. He looked around and found the usual pitcher of water on the nightstand, which he grabbed and drank directly from. He gulped heartily, enjoying how the coolness and the freshness of water soothed him, then settling down in his stomach like a comfortable weight.

He couldn't allow himself to spiral out of control again. Once was enough, twice was pushing it. A part of him knew panic attacks couldn't be controlled, could only be perhaps avoided, but he ignored it. He needed to be stronger, that was just how it was.

Wild stood up, stretched to chase away the last shivers, and went to the bathroom. There, he allowed himself a long shower, alternating between pleasantly warm and refreshingly chill as he worked the sweat out of his fur.

"I am a person," he told himself, his voice barely audible above the rushing of water, "I am alive," it felt good to remind himself of that, "I am here."

Luna had taught him to remember his name when he was struggling mentally. These statements were an extension of it. And now, with a voice that didn't make him feel like a failure, he could speak it aloud. He had, to his great surprise, managed to make leaping progress in regards to his speech. 

He didn't know what he felt about Luna. He had to admit he barely knew what he felt about anything that was, undoubtedly, good for him. He couldn't say he loved her. Certainly not in any sort of romantic way - he knew his love lay not towards the opposite gender. He couldn't say it was a friendship either - the age difference too large, the experience difference an immensely wide chasm, and she was, without a doubt, responsible for him in a way that a friend could never be asked to. Was it then familial love? Ever since he was born, he only knew familial love between blood-related family. He didn't think he would ever call Luna 'mother', it simply didn't feel right.

Mentor? Guide? Teacher? All of those were closer, yet those words meant a measure of distance to Wild. His own school teachers weren't particularly close to him, always separated by an impenetrable wall of authority. Wild only knew of when teachers were too close to students, and nothing good ever came out of it.

What was Luna to him? He couldn't give a definitive answer, and certainly not to her were she to ask. He was, in the end, simply glad for all the help she gave him, all without him quite asking for it. Her gentle words of encouragement, her honest praise of him, they warmed something inside him. Perhaps she wasn't family, but she was still close, and he was thankful for it.

Swift Strike visited him once, and he told Wild he was proud of him. He wished him a steady recovery and told him he would be welcomed back to the club once he was ready for it. That was when Wild felt the difference - Swift Strike was not a friend, a lover, nor family. He was where Wild expected a teacher to be - there when needed with their specific subject but otherwise distant. To Swift Strike, Wild was one of many students in the way of swordsmanship. Perhaps a bit more special because of his skill, but that was it.

Swift Strike also suggested Wild to apply for the annual Equestrian tournament that would be held in winter, a few weeks before Hearth's Warming. From what Wild was able to gather, Hearth's Warming was an annual celebration about the founding of Equestria. Aside from that, it was a season of gift-giving not unlike Christmas but not religious in any way that Wild could think of. There were songs, but not carols. There was no reference to any mythological person. In truth, the only similarity was the decor and, of course, the season.

Wild didn't know whether he would sign up for the tournament - he didn't feel particularly ready, not with having missed so many training sessions. He kept his body as fit as he could manage under the circumstances, of course, but it was only recently that Luna told him he would be able to be among other ponies without being hurt by the presence of their unshielded thoughts.

He was visited by Precision and Swingblade again, though it wasn't much more than them being interested in how long he had before he would be released. Both of them were looking forward to having him back in the club.

"Not much challenge there without you," Precision had told him with a playful smirk. 

Precision and Swingblade, he knew, were his club mates, but not anywhere close. They stuck around, but they didn't stick to him. They were comfortable at this distance, never really trying to get any closer. Whether it was because they respected his privacy and way of life or because they thought of what the three of them had as friendship already, he didn't know.

He wondered what they would think if they knew he had killed. Would the playfulness of Precision wiped off her face, replaced by wariness? Would Swingblade's arrogance replaced by submission? He shivered at the very thought and hoped that they never found out. The relationship he had with them now was good enough and didn't need to change for the better or for the worse, as far as he was concerned.

Despite it all, he was itching to get back into swordsmanship, to rejoin the club and attend their meetings, to train with others like he did before. It would help him feel normal again - as normal as he could be, considering everything that he was. Despite it all, he desired, longed for the simplicity of the Martial Arts Club where he could lose himself in the physical sensations of a good fight among people looking for the same. 

Perhaps, with time, those club meetings would replace and dull the memories of the Invasion. He knew the Invasion was an important point in his life - he knew he couldn't just get rid of it, forget that it had ever happened. However, that didn't mean he didn't wish for it to be the case. He had a good thing going on there with the Martial Arts Club, following a nice and simple schedule of life.

Artful visited him quite often, and Wild found himself enjoying his company more. He was quite a good artist, and he had made two copies of the painting of Wild playing checkers with Lina, and he gifted a copy to each of the two. Wild didn't know how to feel about it nor what to do with it, so he simply placed it on the nightstand. Perhaps he would hang it in his dorm once he was back. It was... nice.

There was another painting Artful gifted him - it was showing Wild fighting in the tournament. He was startled just by how accurately he was portrayed, it was almost as if it was a still from a video. He could place himself in the painting, almost feel what he felt during that particular duel. He saw himself and he knew it was him in every single way. Nothing was embellished, nothing was overlooked. He looked at the painted version of him and saw nothing but himself. That painting would certainly go on one of the walls.

He once asked Artful if he made paintings for other people.

"Yeah, I sometimes do," he had said, smiling and blushing at the same time, "Like, I get struck by inspiration, and it feels right to give people paintings of themselves. I know many people prefer photographs nowadays, but I think there's, um, something special about paintings."

Wild itched to ask a different question - why was Artful around Wild in the first place? What made him so much special? One didn't make paintings of people who were not special to the artist in some way or form. Who was Wild to Artful? Why was Artful trying to get to know him, as slow as it was going? 

Wild had gotten used to being alone, to doing things all by himself, and now... now, it felt good to have some people around, as confusing as everything was. At least he could understand them, even talk to them, and that felt like an achievement in itself. 

He knew this was a new chapter in his life, and it scared him. When he went to the lake to die, he didn't expect to wake, let alone in an entirely new world, inhabiting an entirely new body. He went along with being taken to the Royal Orphanage because that was all he could do, and he had lived an uneventful life until the Invasion because that was simple enough.

Wild knew it was time to accept that he had a new life. To stop floating along. To become stronger. To become a true person, not merely a shadow somehow still stuck to existence.

He didn't know if this was inspiring or scary, but he had to go on anyway.
> Chapter 32: A Misstep
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the day. Wild recovered as much as he possibly could under supervision in the hospital wing, but prolonged stay was no longer necessary. His headaches were now few and far between, his mind was clear, and his ability to perceive thoughts of others was under control. However, before he was to be let go, Luna approached him with an important question, one he didn't quite see coming even though he should have expected it eventually.

"When we have taken you in, there was only a basic magical scan performed on you to determine if you needed immediate help or if you had any chronic conditions that needed continuous treatment or if you had any contagious diseases that would endanger others," she told him, "However, it was not as comprehensive as a full health check-up is. I believe you are know knowledgeable enough in our language to understand medical procedures and consent to them, so it is time I ask you this - would you like to go through a full health checkup? You have a right to refuse it."

Wild's first thought was to refuse - he didn't want anyone poking around his body. However, a different thought stopped him from doing just that. He knew he had never been a perfect picture of health, although now he was pretty close to it as far as he was aware. He didn't think there were any physical pains that bothered him - not after the event he titled inside his head as his rebirth. All the aches were gone along with his old body, and the new one... he felt deep inside, almost falling into a thoughtful meditation there and then. 

Meditation taught him to be thoughtful of himself, of his own body in a way he hadn't been before. He felt the depths of his very physical form, from the end of his tail to the tip of his horn. He was aware of how each of his muscles moved, aware of how his chest moved when he breathed, aware of the feeling of magic inside him. 

And now... he honestly couldn't tell if there was anything wrong with him. His scarred ear itched a bit - a phantom feeling, nothing more, and it didn't happen very often anymore. There were other scars, few of which he could feel at all. The stab wound, he would never forget it, aware of how his skin was incorrect there, not as elastic as it should be. Then there was... the brand. He tried not to think about it, wishing he could erase it from his body and mind. Before he could dwell on it further, there were his nipples - or the lack thereof. Another painful memory, another reminder, and another scar he wanted neither physically nor mentally. 

To allow others to see it all? To know it, to ask him question about those scars? That, he couldn't allow. And yet, there was a possibility, one that he only needed to ask about to find out. He steeled himself, then opened his mouth. His throat was gripped with anxiety as if choking him, preventing him from asking the question. 

A voice inside him told him Luna would want to know all about it... wouldn't she? Besides, even if she didn’t, she wasn't a doctor he would need to approach about it. That meant he would have to talk to someone else, someone he didn't know at all. Uncomfortable questions would be raised and who knew what else.

A part of him struggled, wanting to know. Another part of him was squeezing his mouth shut, refusing to voice it, fearing his voice might give away the source...

He surrendered to them, signing instead. It was less personal, somehow. Even as he feared, he did it, moving through the sentence without any errant twitch, making sure nothing gave away the anxiety he felt even as he knew that simply not speaking was enough of a sign to show it anyway.

Can I get rid of my scars?

He felt relief and also felt dread now that the question was asked. He resolutely refused to let it show on his face. Now, whatever came next was out of his hands, and there was a sense of ease to it. He hadn't been able to allow others to take care of him for a long time, after all.

"Of course," Luna nodded, and he briefly studied her face, hoping, wishing she didn't recognize his fears, didn't sense his anxiety as he kept it tightly leashed to his own mind, hidden behind the shield that was his own will and strength. It had been days since he had a thought slip out of his mind and to Luna, and he intended to never break the streak. And now, whatever Luna thought, it was hidden from him as well. Perhaps she didn't see his own emotions, perhaps she didn't let it show that she did - he had no way to know. Before he could think about it more, she continued, "I don't believe much if anything can be done about your ear, but anything else that you may have can be healed without much issue. I don't know the specifics of the treatment, however, so you will have to talk to a different doctor."

So, there was a chance - no, not even a chance, a certainty. He didn't have to bear his every scar, he could remove them. He knew some people liked scars, saying that they were marks of experience, something to remember, something to be proud of. His scars, to him, were nothing to be proud of. They were experiences he had rather never had, though some were more acceptable than the rest. He knew he survived, the scars were the evidence of that fact, and that was enough for him - he didn't need those scars as another reminder, one that would not fade with time.

"Anything else you would like to know?" Luna prompted, pulling him from his thoughts. 

Still unable - but now also unwilling - to speak, he signed his next question.

"The doctors will measure your height and weight, perform a blood analysis, measure your blood pressure and heart rate, respiration rate, temperature..." Luna continued on, explaining each step, and Wild nodded along - it wasn't all that different compared to what he had undergone as a child. There was a relief in knowing that he wouldn't be going into it completely blind should he choose to.

The last time he had an check-up was an annual check-up - though, it couldn't really be called that, considering it was the second and the last full check-up he had in his life. He was still a long way from being an adult then. Once he grew up - and lost his family - he hadn't had the money to afford anything but the bare essentials. Certainly not any sort of treatment for his anxiety or anything else. 

Not that his family was all that much better off when they were whole. To this day, he remembered his parents' dismay at the fact that the healthcare in the US was unexpectedly different compared to their previous home of USSR - they needed to pay tremendous sums in the US for what they could freely get in the USSR. When his father was... hurt, it nearly bankrupted them, and it was one of the first steps in their realization that they were sold a lie when they were told of the American Dream.

Fortunately, he was no longer in the US, and he had been provided with far more than anyone in the US could ever have. Had he been forced to pay for his own food, for his own bed, for his own education... he would not have lasted long, he knew. Perhaps he would be rotting in jail by now if not worse. He wouldn't know the language, he would likely be malnourished, and he knew is mental state would have deteriorated further had he not had the stability of having food, water, and shelter. He was self-aware enough of that, at the very least. He had once been homeless and with no one to turn to, and he didn't long to repeat the experience.

"I know that you have issues with other people touching you," Luna said, her voice soft yet not overbearing in tone. Despite it all, Wild felt himself stiffen, preparing for an interrogation even if the reasonable part of him knew it wouldn't come, "However, it is possible for you to undergo the check-up without anyone ever touching you directly. There will be scans, and magic will touch you, go through you. It is a tingly sort of sensation. Will you be comfortable with it?"

Magical touch wasn't like... human touch. It was not a hand on his body, it was not the... other thing. Drawing a clear line between ponies touching him and humans touching him helped him become more used to the former. Ponies didn't look like humans, didn't sound like humans, didn't do things like humans, and so making this separation was relatively easy. 

Magical touch... He could weather it, he thought, so he nodded.

"Alright. So, do you agree to undergo the medical examination?"

Wild could stomach it. Wild could handle it. The reward would be getting rid of scars, and perhaps he would improve his own body, which was a nice thing to think about. Maybe it would prevent any future lengthy stays in the hospital wing. Besides, he knew annual check-ups were important. His parents told him so, doing the best they could to keep him healthy, using their limited experience to check whatever they could. From what he knew, his father could have easily applied to a medical college or university or a school and would have passed - had he the money to pay for it and the health to go through with it. 

Wild nodded. He could do this.

"Alright," Luna smiled encouragingly at him, "Now, the Royal Orphanage doesn't have doctors on-site aside from emergency care, myself, and a few others who need to be here to help others on a long-term basis. Two days from now, a contingent of various medical specialists will arrive and will remain here for a week or more, depending on how long it takes for everyone to go through the check-up. I am making the schedule now, when would you like to go through and is there anyone you'd like to be with you?"

Two days - it made a memory emerge in his mind. He remembered his promise to give Luna his decision on... all that was himself. To reveal who he was, to allow her to help him. Even now, he wasn't completely sure of his answer. She had been helpful and she hadn't asked any questions so far. He could trust her. He did trust her. She had proven to him that she cared about him. It was enough for him to agree to undergoing therapy, to tell her of his past, the full truth of it. He wanted to become better, but there was a fear - what would she do if she knew? He killed. He admitted to it. That it hadn't been addressed yet was a miracle in itself.

She was now before him, and he could tell her that he... well, perhaps he wasn't ready, but he was willing, and that was what counted... wasn't it?  

But... these two days, they gave him more time. 

You are a coward, a part of him whispered.

She mustn't know, another said, She knows too much, let her forget it. Let her care for you make her blind to your faults. Perhaps it is her courtesy to you after what you suffered. Take it.

Remain in silence like a coward, the first part hissed, A coward you are, a coward you will remain. Afraid of yourself, afraid of others.

Wild shook it off. After the conclusion of the check-up, he would tell her his decision. That was an unbreakable promise. He would've told her if not for the Invasion-

You would not have. You are a coward.

It is for the best.

He shook those voices off again. He would tell her in two days. He had to.

And finally, he answered Luna's latest question - he asked her to place him the soonest he could go through the check-up, and he didn't want anyone to be at the same time as him.

"Alright," she nodded, "Very well, now I will scan you, and you can finally go back to your friends, your dorm, and your activities."

He still didn't know if he had friends, but it wasn't something he wanted to think about that day, so he simply nodded. The scan indeed felt a bit tingly, but otherwise it wasn't uncomfortable at all. If everything was going to be like that during the check-up as well, then he wasn't going to have any problems with it. Or, at least, he wasn't going to break down there and then, and that was good enough for him.

"One last thing, Wild," Luna said, and Wild felt himself tensing up at the tone of her voice. It was still gentle, but there is something about it that set him on edge, "There was something you admitted to me during the Invasion."

Wild's heart skipped a beat. A part of him always knew she wouldn't forget that, and now it felt triumphant because it was right. A different part of him was struck with horror. 

He should have never said what he did. He should have never admitted. And yet, all of those protestations meant nothing - the truth was uncovered, revealed to the light of day. It was out of his hands, and he had felt this terrified of it only once before in his life. The day when, for a long and painful while, everything was ripped out of his hands, removed from his control. 

"I am not going to pass judgement on it until I know more," Luna continued, each her word in near-painful clarity. He expected a threat to come. He could almost hear her next words as she warned him that, should he hurt anyone under her watch, he would die a painful, terrible death. 

Alicorns were powerful, he knew, even if he didn't quite believe it when he read of it. But now, now he knew she could squash him without effort. She could grab the pitcher of water nearby, smash it to pieces, and then drive those pieces through his eyes and into his skull. She could use her magic, tearing him limb by limb, all before prying his rib cage apart and ripping his still-beating heart out.

"Wild," she said, her voice soft, and he felt and saw the blurriness at the edge of his tunneled vision clear. He was now aware of his fast-beating heart, of the trembling in his limbs, of the sweat of his body, and of his hard breathing, "I will not hurt you, that much I can promise," and he believed her, which stopped him from spiraling further down. Instead, he listened, "But you must understand I can't ignore what you said. It is my duty to investigate such claims."

He wanted to run, yet he remained in place as if rooted to his spot. What would he tell her? What could he tell her? Would she even believe him? Would she always look at him with suspicion in her eyes, expecting him to do more, to kill again? But, perhaps... she would listen. Maybe she would understand. She cared about him, didn't she? And she could have asked earlier, when he wasn't exactly in his own mind to make up a lie.

"Because..." he squeezed the word out of himself before the grip of anxiety tightened on his throat again. As those unseen claws choked him, he fought against them - this was something he had to say in his own words. There was no other way. He said he killed, and he would now say why. He struggled, one word formed in his mind after the other, and then he finally spoke them, quietly, barely even a whisper, but he spoke them, "Because they hurt me," he lifted his gaze and looked Luna in the eyes, surrendering himself to her judgement, "Because they hurt me a lot."

He didn't know how to put it in proper words - and neither did he want to. What he said had to be enough. For now, at least. Surely she could understand, surely she could hear what he put in those words.

And, in truth, it was they who pushed him to kill himself. His life was not great before, but it was hell during, and it barely improved afterwards. His worst days of life had irrevocably, irreparably changed him. A part of him was violently torn away, the last of his innocence destroyed. He was no longer who he had once been and could never go back. There was nothing to come back to, anyway, nothing to even live for. As he plotted his revenge, nightmares haunted him almost each night, and he deteriorated before his very eyes into a shell of who he had once been. By then, his life was only driven by his need, his desire for revenge - he couldn't allow himself to die until he had dealt back the pain they inflicted on him.

They deserved everything he had done to them, no matter how wrong he felt about it in the end. And it wasn't the killing of them he felt wrong about, no - he could not be shaken from his conviction that they deserved death. Monsters like them had no right to exist, not after what they did to him and others. Wild bloodied his hands for a good cause, as far as he was concerned, but not all of that blood was from their death - there was also their suffering before they were allowed to die, too.

This was not something he could reveal. Even as he felt shame that he didn't tell Luna the full truth, the entirety of how he killed them, he couldn't. Killing them was, perhaps, not unforgivable. Enjoying it as he did was.

He didn't realize he had closed his eyes, didn't realize tears were rolling down his face, his body shaking in anticipation of Luna's judgement. 

"Wild," she said softly, yet he shuddered anyway as if violently struck, "Please, look at me."

Wild gritted his teeth and forced himself to open his eyes. He blinked his tears away, feeling the sting of crying in his eyes, and yet now he looked into Luna's eyes. Eyes were a window to the soul, he knew - he wondered what Luna saw in his. He refused to look away even as shame tore everything inside of him. 

"I believe it is time that I am honest with you," she said, and he blinked in confusion, "I have been able to deduce a couple things about you, and I think it would be best if you heard about it now. First, I would like to say that you can rely on me. I am here to help you, and I can only ask you to allow me to help you."

And then she told him everything she had learned about him. She told him about her suspicions and how they proved to be correct, telling him she knew he was from a different world. Before he could fully process this, she continued, telling him of the scars she spotted on him, and what meaning she managed to get from them.

"That round scar... is it what I strongly suspect it is?" she asked him.

Wild stared ahead, unblinking, processing the fact that she knew. She knew who he was, even if it was not in full. How could he have allowed himself to slip so badly? How did he miss everything so badly she could put it all together and find the truth?

You were a fool to think you could hide it forever, a part of him told him.

Does this not prove Luna's trustworthiness? another said.

Wild's heart was gripped tight, uncertainty and anxiety filling him. How could it all have gone so wrong? All of it was now out of his hands... again. Luna stood between him and the door, preventing his escape. She held all the cards, knew more about him than he was ready to tell her about.

She was in control, not him.

Trust her, a small part of him advised him.

Run, the other, bigger one, told him, ordered him, and it didn't sound quite like him.

Very distantly, he was aware his breathing was picking up in intensity, and his horn was now sparkling.

"Wild?" Luna asked him, worriedly.

He wanted to be anywhere but here. 

The glow intensified.

He wasn't ready.

You are a coward.

He wasn’t ready. He couldn't face it, not now. He needed to escape.

Magic surged from within him, and he disappeared in a bright flash of light, teleportation sucking him away elsewhere.

The backlash of untrained teleportation rushed outwards like wind, making Luna stumble and the furniture shift. The glass rattled in the window, and the door creaked dangerously. In just a moment, the chaotic energy settled down and everything stilled.

Luna blinked, then swore loudly and without restraint, "Fuck!"

She messed up, she messed up, she messed up-

There was no time to panic, no time to waste on anything other than trying to fix it. Wherever he was gone, she needed to find him as soon as possible before it all spiraled out of control, before her mistake snowballed into something else. 

Luna cursed at herself for her own stupidity - she could've approached it differently, and her honesty only served to backfire. She was adamant about him knowing the truth before, but now she thought she was too hasty, too sudden. Wild had grown used to her, but this was more than anything else she had ever said to him. Her approach was like a cannon blast straight to his face, and it turned out to be the wrong way to go. 

She hoped she hadn't done something irreparable.
> Chapter 33: The Body
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild fell on the ground hard, disoriented, his head spinning. Spots of harsh light danced in his eyes, and the phantom feeling of being squeezed lingered. He attempted to stand up only to roll on a different side, but he struggled some more and managed to get on his all fours. Once he came to his senses, he saw that he was in the middle of a road, one that was somewhat familiar. Then it struck him - he traveled this road when he first came to the Royal Orphanage. Something supplied with the knowledge of the direction of the orphanage, and he now knew where he needed to go to return.

However... could he return? He ran away. Teleported away, even. He knew it was possible, but he had never tried teleportation before. He shook his head - that wasn't important there and then. He was away from Luna, away from her questions, away from the only person who knew more about him than he could ever disclose willingly. Was she the only person? Had she told anyone else? He had no way of knowing now, and the best thing he could do was run away further. Perhaps he wouldn't be caught, perhaps he would form some semblance of a plan, perhaps...

Run!

He obeyed the voice, picking up the pace, something oily and slick in his mind, something foreign that he couldn't think about, not yet. Stumbling at first, he managed to get his body entirely under control in a few moments, and was galloping as fast as his legs could take him. He felt like he was flying, going faster than he had ever remembered, racing away and away from the orphanage.

Run.

He didn’t have time to question the urge, didn’t have time to think as he broke away from the road, jumping over and dashing through the undergrowth, evading the trees, and doing his best not to stumble over the roots with how fast he was going. There was something wrong, something off, but-

Run.

Chill crawled up his spine - whatever home he had, it was probably lost to him now. Would he survive away from it? He didn't know, but there was still that urge to run away, and he allowed it to take him, knowing that he needed to be away. 

He ran and ran, sometimes stumbling, sometimes falling, gathering scrapes and bruises he didn't feel. He didn't look where he was going, didn't think of where he would go now that he didn't have a home. There was no time to stop, no time to think, no time to reconsider. He heard something snap in the distance, and he knew it was the sound of teleportation - how he knew that, he didn’t know, but that wasn’t important. 

Perhaps he could return now - maybe he could do something, talk-

Run!

But no, Luna knew, and what would she do with that knowledge? He trusted her before, but could he trust her now? Could she be trusted with the knowledge she had of him? He didn't know, and everything within him screamed with a want to never find out.

Always a coward, a part of him sneered at him in contempt, Run away now, and continue running. That's all you can do.

The part of him that would tell him to return was curiously absent, yet he didn't spare it a thought. He simply ran.

***

Luna was on Wild's trail, she knew. She followed his teleportation, then used a tracking spell to highlight his very recent hoof marks. It was clear he was running away at top speed, but she feared he didn't even know where he was running. She had to follow him through the underbrush, seeing where he stumbled, seeing where he fell, and yet he continued running. Worry clenched her heart, panic raised, and, once more, she cursed herself for being so foolish.

She idly noted that it was immediate regret. She should not have pushed, should not have told him of all that she knew of him. She should have allowed him to get used to regular life again, to feel safer, and yet her impatience and her desire to help him ended up backfiring, possibly destroying all her efforts. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream in frustration, of anger at herself, but she knew Wild came first - she had to get to him, had to get him back, had to get him to understand that she was there for him, that she would die before she hurt him. 

Luna hoped to spot Wild in the distance, but he was fast, perhaps even faster than her. She swore she could see the blue of his fur in the distance between the trees, but those flashes of color were gone before she could truly identify them. She flew up, but the forest canopy grew denser the further Wild ran into this forest, and she couldn't spot his hoof marks anymore from up high, let alone him.

Worse yet, further ahead lay the Everfree Forest. This was where she stumbled, thought of going back, of calling her sister. She didn't think it was wise to return there, not to the spot of her defeat, of her foolish mistake. Darkness seeped into everything there, shadows whispered false promises, and the memory of her bitterness and hatred lingered in the air like a bad smell. However, as dangerous as it was for her to go there alone, it was ten times so for Wild. Were she to wait for her sister or any other sort of reinforcement, he would be too far away, too far into the danger. 

In the distance, she heard a yell. She needed to hurry.

***

The forest grew darker, more gnarly, twisted in more than a physical sense. It was as if the branches of the trees grew with the intent of covering every bit of light they could, preventing it from getting to the forest floor. It grew quieter too, suspiciously so, but Wild didn't stop running until a pair of creatures blocked his way. He remembered those creatures - they were timberwolves, and now they hungered for him again, their eyes flashing with the desire to rip and tear him apart and to feast on his warm corpse.

He would not die today. With a snarl and a yell of defiance, he dashed forward before the wolves could, his magic smashing into them like a battering ram. So surprised they were by his attack, he was ripping apart one of the wolves before they reacted. The first wolf yowled as he tore off one of its limbs, using it to pry apart the rest as his hooves worked to smash it to pieces.

The second timberwolf lunged, and Wild dodged easily, and used the energy of that move to finish the first wolf. The second one was then hit with relentless attacks for everywhere as Wild threw stones, hit it with branches, and used magic directly too. The wolf yowled and then retreated, running away without looking back.

"Wild!"

Wild swiftly turned and saw Luna. She was yet in the distance, but she had seen him, and he knew it wouldn't take her long to come to him.

Run!

Magic surged inside him once again, and a flash of light announced his disappearance.

***

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Luna swore as she saw him disappear. She was so close, almost got to him, but he was whisked away once more by his own magic. It was clear this action wasn’t entirely conscious - controlled teleportation looked and sounded different. However, it was clear he felt threatened, felt like he needed to escape, and his magic rose up to the occasion, providing what he needed. 

She resisted her own urge to teleport to his last position, knowing it would disrupt the tracking spell if she did. She had to spend precious seconds getting there as fast as she could, cursing herself in the meanwhile. If only she thought before speaking, if only she was better, if only she wasn’t stupid, all of this could’ve been avoided. 

The Everfree was pressing down on her, feeling almost physical, and the oppressive sense of darkness permeated the strange-smelling air. Chances were, Wild was now even further into the accursed forest, further into the danger, and it was only luck he stumbled on two timberwolves and not a pack that would’ve torn him apart before he could as much as think. 

If Wild were to die because of this, Luna would never forgive herself.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she reached the spot. Timberwolf remains were littered around it, marking its precise position. It was perfect for tracking, but something was wrong. She couldn’t sense the proper coordinates, couldn’t feel for the position, only a vague sense of direction and distance. The forest was interfering with her, she knew now, and it was clear Wild teleported himself further into the depths of it. Perhaps even to...

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized where exactly Wild took himself to.

***

Out of breath, his entire world spinning ceaselessly around him, Wild landed hard on a - stone? - floor. He lay there, breathing hard, feeling his heart beating in his chest like nothing before, felt his limbs trembling, and sensed his magic sputtering in fatigue. Wherever he was, he couldn’t teleport again, not until he rested. Not that he even knew how to do it, his magic acting on his instinct and not deliberately. It was as if it wasn’t even him who did it.

The urge to run disappeared suddenly, making him pause for a moment. One instance, it was there, and another, it was gone, as if a switch was flicked. Instead, there was... something else. He couldn't define this feeling, it was just... odd. He didn’t like it one bit.

After what felt like an eternity, his mind cleared, the world around him stopped spinning, adrenaline high disappearing, leaving him tired to the bone. Even if he needed to run again, he didn't feel like he would make it far. If he needed to fight, it was clear he would lose. His strength was almost entirely sapped, and if he could think about it long enough, he would realize it wasn't natural.

He knew one thing - he needed to figure out what to do next. He blinked, clearing the last of the blurriness away, and finally gathered enough strength to stand up.

Where he was could only be described as old ruins. Old paint was peeling or entirely gone, exposing the crumbling plaster or the bare gray stone of the surrounding walls. The ceiling had once been glass - now it was gone entirely, smoothed shards lying all around him, barely resembling a part of the ceiling they had once been. Moth-eaten and rotten remains of tapestries still somehow hanged from the high ceiling, their colors faded and barely recognizable underneath what was perhaps centuries of moss and dirt. Old chandeliers, glittering in gold where they weren’t dirty, were still hanging as well - even if one of them was lying in pieces next to a scorched pillar.

This place was giving him the creeps. It wasn’t anything physical - he wasn’t entirely fond of abandoned buildings, and this one seemed sinister in a way that defied description. The atmosphere in it seemed... heavier, somehow. Unnatural. Far more than just imagined echoes. The ruins were devoid of life that had once filled its halls, and it was replaced by something else.

He looked around some more and saw a pair of old thrones. The wood had mostly rotted away, but the gold accents on one and silver on the other remained, and their size and positioning told him they were, in fact, thrones. The better preserved tapestries hanged above them: one with warm yellows, oranges, and whites above the gold-accented throne, and one with cold purple, blue, and silver above the silver-accented throne. They seemed familiar, somehow, as if he had seen them elsewhere... but where, and what did they mean?

Curiosity entirely replaced his urge to escape, and he walked around slowly, quietly, afraid to disturb... what, exactly? Whatever it was, he would be wise not to mess with it, that he knew instinctively. Even his careful steps seemed far too loud in the quiet of these ruins. His own breath sounded more like a shout, and his heartbeat was like a drum. He shouldn't have been there, he knew.

He needed to find the exit. He needed to be away from it, some sort of deeper instinct told him. It wasn’t just the emptiness of these ruins, not the darkness in the corners and in places where it seemed like it had no place to be. It was... the feeling. He couldn’t describe it and neither was he willing to try, not there.

Without warning, something smoke-like poured from the entrance. Yet it was not smoke, not quite - it was a sea of stars, darkest shades of blue and purple, dotted with white. Wild stumbled backwards, his mind screaming danger, and then a second thing poured in after the first one, the same yet ever so slightly different.

“Finally,” the first one spoken, their shape resolving into one of an alicorn. Wild noticed that their shape resembled Luna in some way, which he found odd, “You are here.”

“As he should be,” the second said, voice the same yet different, “We’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Wild felt shivers crawl down his spine, and a hysterical laughter almost burst out of him. First the Invasion, and now... whatever this was. Honestly, who was he trying to fool by thinking everything would be alright? This world had magic and all the things and beings that had it, why would he ever think things would be simple? He was such an idiot.

“You, Wild, have something that we want,” the first said, coming closer, and Wild didn’t notice as he backpedaled some more, almost stumbling on some debris as he did, “And we are... willing to offer you something in return.”

That was how horror stories of impossible debt began. Wild wasn’t exactly well-versed in folklore, but he knew making any deals with mysterious beings was an extremely bad idea. And their voices... they were oddly familiar. Their voices seemed feminine, and their inflections were... where had he heard them before? The tone, too, there was something about it...

“Oh yes, you have what we want,” the second moved smoothly ever-closer, gliding on the ground, “You have experienced horror not many ever hear about.”

“Your very being is marked by it,” the first added.

“The fear, the anger, the helplessness, the hatred, oh how lovely!”

“The desire to grow stronger, to be able to protect yourself...”

“We can give you the strength,” the second was right in his face, making him stumble backwards as his eyes darted around, panic rising, “We can give you power. Teleportation is just a taste of what we have to offer.”

His brain was moving slowly, and he realized...

“Oh yes, it was us who guided you here,” the first said, replacing the second, “You fear Luna’s power, that is why you ran away.”

“You fear what others can do to you, what those more powerful than you can do to you.”

“You fear the helplessness.”

“You fear the lack of control.”

“We can give you all the power you need to always be in control, to never be helpless. There will be no one more powerful than you. Even in your sleep, you will not be vulnerable.”

Wild, despite his fear, was listening. Something was slipping inside his mind, calming him. Was their offer not what he wanted? 

“The false changeling princess? She would have been nothing but dirt under your hooves had you our power,” the second said, “Her mind would have crumbled under yours, shattered to pieces, turned to dust.”

The weeks he spent in the hospital wing... he hated them. His mind was not right then. He didn't want to experience it again, he knew.

“With the defenses we can provide, your mind would be impenetrable to all, your thoughts well-protected.”

He had the ability to read thoughts - he didn't want anyone to read his.

“Your body will not tire, will not need recovery, and it will withstand what would have killed you before.”

If he were stronger, could react faster, he could've saved his father from harm, could've jerked the car out of the way before it collided with another. His father would have not been crippled, would have not buckled under the strain of his injury, would have not... went away.

“And besides... you have already seen the results of our work, felt the power we possess.”

Wild blinked in confusion even as he felt his heart race even faster. He did? 

“When you were imprisoned by the changelings, when you were alone, we were there,” the second said.

He remembered the insistence, the foreign voice telling him to wake up.

“It was we who woke you up from the false dream.”

“It was we who protected your mind from being destroyed.”

He remembered the agonizing pressure and how, despite it, his mind managed to survive even as he flailed uselessly, mentally weak and untrained.

“It was we who moved the knife just so.”

The kitchen staff put all their cooking equipment away after everything was done. The knife wouldn't have been there normally. 

“And it was we who gave you the chance to strike down the enemy.”

Wild hadn’t thought much - tried not to think much - of exactly how he broke out of the cocoon, of how eager he was to kill the changeling princess. But if what they were telling him was truth... 

“That was just the fraction of our power,” the first said, “We can offer you more.”

“We are limited, but we grow stronger, and we can grow even further beyond with your assistance.”

Despite everything they were telling him, something in Wild just knew it was a bad idea to make a deal. Seeing the chance, he ran to the only exit he could see, bolting with speed he almost couldn’t process. The dark doorway was almost there, and he dashed - only to bounce back from a glimmering purple barrier. He blinked, confused for a moment, and then he slowly turned around. The beings - whoever and whatever they were - watched him without eyes, an expression of amusement somehow evident on their featureless faces. 

“We are giving you a choice,” the first said, gliding smoothly over to him, and then the second joined. They started circling him, prompting him to get up on his hooves and move, “Either you accept what we have to give, all in exchange for a place alongside you...”

He wished he could ask what that meant.

“Or we take what we want,” the second said, leaning slightly closer, and Wild got an impression of bared teeth and an aggressive gaze, “You will cease to exist, your soul made into fuel for us, and your body taken from you to serve us.”

“Or you retain who you are... partially,” the first said, “There are parts of you that you reject, are there not?”

“Share them with us, let us take those parts...”

“And you will remain. You will change, your body will change...”

“But you will live, more powerful than before, better than before in every. Single. Way,” the second finished.

They stopped circling him, and he found himself a lot further back from the entrance than he thought, now close to the silver throne. The moon throne, he suddenly realized.

What choice did he have? Wild was a fool, and he held no illusion - these beings led him here somehow. He would have never found this place on his own, and had he found it somehow, he would have never entered. Their presence explained the feeling of unease, and it was the strongest when they were close. Whoever they were, he couldn’t trust them, but he couldn’t run away either. He could feel he wouldn’t manage to teleport any good distance, and running away from them was, as he had just learned, impossible.

He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry. The day began well enough, but his own idiocy resulted in yet another Invasion situation. He should have just stayed and seen what Luna had in store for him.

She had never threatened to kill him, after all.

***

Across a chasm, Luna stood, her mouth set in a thin line as she gazed at the ruins of the Summer Palace. The place of her defeat, the legacy of her greatest mistake. Even now, a thousand years later, it was steeped in darkness, radiating malice in an almost physical sense. Even two uses of the Elements of Harmony, as well as the presence of the Tree of Harmony nearby, hadn’t purged it. And now Wild was somewhere inside, and Luna had to squash her horror down lest she abandon her mission and run away.

She needed to hurry, she feared. It was no coincidence Wild was there, and she tried not to think of what could have possibly lured him there. At least she could still feel, through her tracking spell, that he was alive and no more hurt than he was before. She could only pray that it would remain so for the time it would take her to reach him and get him back to safety.

She crossed the chasm by flight, then landed on the overgrown remains of the road to the main entrance. The oppressive atmosphere of the ruins made her slow down, and she knew it was in her best interests to tread lightly. She folded her wings, steadied herself, and went in.

The entrance door, or the remains of it, was ajar, overgrown with moss. She didn’t need to disturb it to get inside, and so she didn’t. With her steps quiet yet sure, she entered the palace. She did not look at the destroyed walls, did not look at the cobwebs and the dust, did not look at the cracked and dirty floor. She pushed her memories of it all down. She didn’t remember how she and her sister used to play there. She didn’t remember how her bitterness grew, turning to hatred. She didn’t remember how she shut herself in the library, looking up books she should have been far more cautious about.

Luna’s horn lit the way as she ventured deeper into the ancient halls, a pang of regret appearing in her head that she quickly chased away. The less time she spent dwelling there, physically and mentally, the better. The danger was lurking, and she had - and could have - only one goal - getting Wild out of this place. Nothing else mattered, nothing else could matter. 

In the darkness, she was alone, and it reminded her of the times she had to not remember. The light of her horn was barely enough to keep herself from disappearing into the black, to never reappear again, not as herself. 

Voices echoed from afar, making her quicken her pace as her thoughts raced.

It cannot be, she thought. It must not be.

She prayed and prayed, hoping that the worst would not come to pass even as she knew it was futile. She only needed to be quicker - but not so quick as to stumble and lose her way. Her spell unerringly led her to... the Throne Room. She knew that room. It was where that night happened. It was where she attacked her sister.

Her blood stilled in her veins. 

No, she thought, prayed, hoped, begged. 

She emerged into the Throne Room, and it seemed as if time had stopped. Wild was there, alone, scared, eyes darting for an escape opportunity. And, between him and Luna, they stood. As one, the Nightmare turned to her, and Luna’s heart stopped.

No.

“Ah,” the first said, half-mockingly, “She has arrived.”

No no no no no-

“It appears, dear Wild, that your choice has just been made for you,” the second said.

Wild met Luna’s eyes, the horror in them making her freeze. In that moment, one of them lunged into the center of his body. His horror turned to shocked surprise, and then even Luna could hear the phantom sound of tearing, of something being ripped apart, and Wild’s gaze went blank as his body went limp.

Luna screamed as he fell, wisps of black smoke entwined with red escaped his body, gone between one blink and the next. 

Luna continued to scream as his body shuddered as if a hidden puppeteer yanked on the strings. His fur, mane, and tail all darkened, black round spots covered where Wild’s talent mark would have been one day. His empty eyes regained life, blinked, the iris becoming lighter, the pupil now vertical. His body stood up, awkward as if used to something else, something bigger, taller.

“Finally,” the Nightmare said in the voice that had no hints of Wild. Then it turned to Luna, a wide toothy grin spreading unnaturally on the face that didn’t belong to it, “And now... you.”
> Chapter 34: The Spirit
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

He felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing. He was but a piece of existence, floating in nowhere, barely strung together with the thinnest strings, like a piece of fabric left in the wind for far too long. 

Fabric. He knew what that meant. Clothes were made out of fabric, and he knew he hadn’t worn them in forever. What did it mean to wear, anyway?

This oblivion was pleasant. He could be nothing, do nothing, want nothing. It suited him just fine. 

...

It did not suit him just fine. He existed, and there had to be some meaning in that. He was a he - but what did that even matter? Why assign himself a gender? He had never really cared about it, accepting the label as it was, because he was told he was a he. Told by whom, however... that was a question he didn’t know the answer to.

And now, he was in pieces, scattered across infinity yet still connected. Was he anyone?

“He is gone, now!” someone laughed - someone familiar. The laughter was full of malice and derision, “A broken thing, a coward. The world does not need the likes of him!”

Who was talking? Why were they talking? How were they talking?

That last question was odd, why did he think it?

Why... why did he think at all?

“There is no return for him, Luna!” the same voice cackled, “Only we remain! And we will prevail!”

“You will die!” another voice, a very familiar one, screamed in rage and despair.

There was a pang in something he could call a heart, but there was no heart to be found. And yet, he wanted to comfort the one who was screaming. They were in pain, and he felt like he wanted to make them feel better.

What did it mean to feel? He didn’t know it, but then he did, and he understood. To feel means to experience. And he was experiencing... something.

And then there was that name... Luna. It was a name he knew. Feelings were attached to that name too, as impossible as it sounded. The name belonged to a person. What was that person to him? A caretaker. But a caretaker of whom? The flowers, the garden? He was neither the flowers nor the garden. And the flowers and the garden were not whom, they were what. And he was not a what, he was a whom. He was the one taken care of. But in what way? 

“Like a fool that he was, he ran to us,” the first voice taunted, “All we needed to do was... nudge. Here and there, tiny pushes to make him do what we wanted. To make him think what we wanted. And he has fallen for it just like you once had!”

These words, they were familiar, and they made sense when strung together. They should have made him angry, he knew, but he could only take them as a matter of fact.

He remembered the voices, remembered those nudges. The knife in his hand, ready to taste blood. The fight between trust and distrust in Luna. The fear, growing as if fueled, as he ran further and further away. He was foolish then, and he knew it now. 

“You will die! I will purge you, and you will burn!” the familiar voice of Luna screamed in rage, and he felt power behind them, humming all around him, almost tangible in its presence.

“Yes, rage at us! Hate us! Despise us! But nothing will bring Wild back!” the other voice taunted, dripping with venom, “He is gone, forever! We may not taste his soul, a broken little thing that it was, but he is dead!”

Luna screamed wordlessly, filled with hate, filled with rage, and with an underlying sadness and sorrow. He wanted to reach out, but how? 

“So broken was his soul, it took but a single pull to tear it apart!” the malicious voice taunted, “It was barely even attached to his own body! Perhaps it was his destiny to die. When he came into this world, he did not want to live. We merely granted him what he had longed for all this time.”

“Liar!”

“You can’t know him as we do, Luna. We have seen his soul, we have seen him. He did not belong. He would never belong!”

He died, but then he lived, and now he was... dead again? 

He remembered his death. He remembered how it felt immediately after. It was much like this, a glaring emptiness, yet also... it was far more empty then than it was now. He could hear them... something supplied him with knowledge - the malicious voice belonged to the Nightmare. A being, a creature, a spirit, a demon, he didn’t know, but he knew it - they - were the Nightmare. 

He remembered how he had hoped to no longer exist after he died. 

And yet, there he was. 

How?

He didn’t know. 

He put a bullet through his heart. He felt it. He felt himself dying then. But then there was that pull. He remembered the pull - or perhaps the Pull. Why the capitalization? Because it was the Pull of life. He remembered how his very soul was grasped firmly yet gently, and then pulled towards life. Then there was the wetness and the warmth. A hum, pulsations, and an eternity spent there in the birth of life.

And now... he was dead again. There was a push, a horrible tearing not-sound, and everything that was him shattered, ripped apart from the vessel of his soul. 

But he didn’t die. That was the thing, wasn’t it? Death was supposed to be something one couldn’t experience. To be dead, one needed not to be at all. Everything that made one a person needed to be gone in order for one to be dead. Death was supposed to be incomprehensible purely because it could not be comprehended once achieved.

He was still alive. His heart was not beating, his lungs not breathing, his brain not firing off neurons or whatever it was that a brain did, but he existed, and he remained who he was even without his body. Which was a realization he didn’t know how to deal with, so he put it away for later.

Against all odds, slowly but surely, pieces of him were pulled back together, dragged through the not-space until they were in close proximity, ready to rejoin into a whole, a whole that was him.

A thought surfaced as a piece reconnected - his name was Wild. It was not his first name, the name given by his parents. He remembered his first name, but it didn’t matter anymore. No one knew him by that name now and no one ever would in the future. His name was Wild, and Wild was a person. A person with dreams, desires, fears, all the feelings that made him who he was. Those feelings were now flooding him, filling the entirety of his being, reminding him of who he was at the core.

He was uneasy around abandoned buildings. He would rather never be in a basement. Those were the fears he remembered right away. 

He hated himself. It was a deep-seated core feeling that was a part of him ever since he realized who he truly was. This feelings twisted and swirled, apart yet together with what he loved.

He loved causing pain. There was something great about the feeling of hurting someone else, of hurting those he deemed deserving of punishment. To hear them grunt as he hit them, to feel their bodies give in under his strikes, to see them whimper as he stood victorious, that was what he lived for.

When he clumsily slapped at a kid who took his toys without asking, it was satisfying to hear them cry. When his too-wide swings of his fists connected with faces of those who insulted him, he felt elated. When his trained punches and kicks caused whimpers in those who wanted him hurt, he relished in it. When those who broke him cried in agony when he struck them with as much might as he could, he reveled in it.

And yet he hated how he loved the pain, hated himself for causing it when he could restrain himself, do no more than needed to be done. Pushing the kid away and taking his toys back would have been enough. Insulting people back would have been enough. Not kicking those who were down and defeated would have been enough. Swiftly killing those who broke him would have been enough.

He hated how, when he looked it all up to learn more about what he felt, he found out people got off to it sexually. He never did. If someone trusted him enough to be this close to him, why would he wish to cause them pain, to enjoy causing them pain? It was wrong, and not in a way of societal rules and expectations - it felt wrong. He learned of sadomasochism as well, and it made him feel uneasy. However, from what he managed to understand, people could partake in it consensually, which was something he was willing to accept. It was simply natural, to have someone who enjoyed pain and have someone else who enjoyed being in pain. 

But wasn’t causing people pain for the sake of causing them pain wrong when done without consent? That was a societal rule, not a feeling. His parents taught him it was wrong. The society taught him it was wrong even as it showed him that it was alright if you had power over others and could provide reasons and causes and explanations that sounded at least a tiny bit plausible. 

He loved swordsmanship because it satisfied the urge in him to pick up a weapon and hurt others without it weighing on his consciousness. He knew the balance between hurting enough and hurting too much, and he knew the former was acceptable and even expected in martial arts. That was where he could satisfy himself, and that was what he became very good at. Why swords? Because they were personal weapons. They weren’t guns - guns didn’t give any satisfaction in their use. Pull the trigger, and it’s all done in an instant, no effort required. He could hurt others with his own body, sure, but there was something missing. With a sword, he had a power multiplier. Even as he used his arms to swing, the thwack of the hit was much more satisfying as it reverberated from his arms to his body, and that felt very nice.

That was the very core of himself he knew, all that mattered the most to him. There were other things, perhaps, once upon a time, but those roads were closed to him now. 

Or were they?

Were they?

“You better surrender now,” the malicious voice taunted, and he felt as if it was aimed at him, “You were never a match for us!”

Us... it could be many, many things and many people. 

When he was young, he was no match for the kids around him. It seemed as if he could do nothing right. He was jittery, didn’t pay attention to things for long, and struggled to connect with others. His parents still loved him, but he knew they struggled to raise him. He remembered people saying many an unkind word about him behind his back - that he must be a disappointment to his parents, that he must be ashamed of himself for being weird, and that he must be a psycho because he was often angry. 

When he became older, he was no match for the adults around him. They always found him lacking: in his school grades, in his physical performance, in socialization with his peers. As he hit puberty, his anger grew, and the desire to hurt others was coming through even stronger. He fought and did so often, screamed at others when they got him riled up, even at adults. Even his parents were cross with him until he learned to control himself better around them.

And when he became even older, he was no match for the world that was out to get him. Without a support network, he was left homeless and alone. He struggled to survive as even basic needs such as getting food and a place to sleep became nigh-impossible to fulfill. It was him against the world, and he learned just how much he needed his parents to survive.

He was no match for those who sought to harm him, to break him, to use him for their own amusement. He was no one and nothing then, merely a thing, not a person. 

When all was said and done, when he had gotten his revenge, that was when he surrendered, but it didn’t prove to be his end.

And now... he had the option to surrender again. He felt how he was pulled together again, how he pulled himself back into one whole. It would be so easy to let go, to give in, to give up.

It was tempting. 

With a clarity he didn’t know he possessed, he was aware that there would be no more him if he let go. He would cease to exist, his awareness would be gone, and there would be nothing, not even a blackness.

He remembered what it was like to want it, to desire it so fully that barely anything else mattered. He remembered how he functioned before his death, how mechanically he ate the bare minimum he needed to keep himself going, and how much pain he tolerated knowing, expecting there to be a release once he was done.

Now, however... he didn’t want to be gone anymore. He could easily let go now, let himself be pulled apart, let himself fade, let himself be gone. 

He decided to choose differently. 

His name was Wild, he reminded himself, and he was a person. He wanted to exist, he wanted to live. To feel the wind brush his naked yet furred body, to feel the warmth of the sun and the chill of the water, to hear his own heartbeat and his own breath and the nature, to see the mountains and the forests and the lakes and everything there was, to taste all the food there was to taste, everything. He wanted to live not only for those things but also for the people. For the good company and competition that were Precision and Swingblade, for the oddly desirable company of a young artist by the name of Artful, even for the self-confidence of Lina who remained bold and bright in the face of her failing body. And for Luna too - she helped him, treated him well, all without expecting anything in return. She cared in a way that his parents had once done for him, when they were still alive. Despite everything that she had learned about him, she was still there, and she came for him when he ran away, and she despaired when he died.

Wild was a person, and he could grow along with those around him, people he forced himself to be apart from. There was so much for him, he could almost see it, the infinite vastness of possibilities, all in front of him. How much did he not know? How much could he learn?

With an effort of will, he pulled himself together, the pieces satisfyingly snapping back in place, good and bad, desirable and not. 

He was willing to give life a try, as difficult as it would no doubt prove to be.

The reality came back to him, rushing in. He saw, he heard, he smelled. He was in the ruins of a palace, in the throne room. He smelled the wetness of the moss despite not having a nose, felt the grime on the floor beneath his non-existent hooves, and then saw and heard the sounds of battle. The ground shook, the remains of plaster raining from above in half-dry half-damp chunks. The walls were scorched, smoke and vapor coming off them as they cooled.

The Nightmare in his body - which they had already begun to change to suit their needs - was fighting Luna, the latter desperate, enraged, and scared. Her face was twisted into a grimace, her horn shining bright as she cast spell after spell, yet it was obvious she was not fighting in full - Wild realized she was avoiding hitting his body. Her thoughts roiled off from her in waves, hitting his own mind with her hope that she would be able to bring him back if only she managed to banish the Nightmare from his body.

His body belonged to him. The Nightmare tried to take his life away from him, and he would not surrender.

***

Luna knew the fight wasn’t going in her favor. As strong as she was as an alicorn, as skilled as she was as a warrior, giving the Nightmare access to her back when she was young and foolish was stupid and idiotic. She thought she would aid herself - she spelled her own doom instead. The Nightmare was weakened at first, and it took a second blast of the Elements of Harmony to rid Luna of them. However, they took a part of her with them, including a chunk of power. She wasn’t physically smaller and less magically powerful compared to her sister because of genetics or because she was younger, that much she knew.

The Nightmare fed off her, gained strength as she lost it. Now it was all the more apparent. 

She should have never returned to this place alone. She couldn’t help Wild-

-don’t think of the fact that he died, don’t think of the reason being you and your own foolishness-

-and she couldn’t help herself now.

It took all her focus, all her efforts to defend herself from the onslaught of spells from the Nightmare. Luna knew, had she been quicker, had she been there before Wild, she would have been able to stop it from happening, to prevent it from ever occurring. Spirits without a body were weak, easy to capture if one knew what to do. However, now it was too late. Luna couldn’t even teleport away - leaving herself defenseless even for one singular moment would mean defeat and oblivion. 

What would it matter when Wild is already de-

She couldn’t allow herself to give up. Even as she felt her own strength failing her, even as she felt herself slowing down, she continued on. A part of hew knew it was futile - the Nightmare was two, for a reason she didn’t know and had no time to think about. One of them was attacking, the second paid attention to defense, and they worked in perfect tandem. They laughed and they cackled, even as Luna could feel that they too were straining, not yet used to their new body, a body that was already tired, a body that needed to be reshaped to fit them.

There was still hope Luna would prevail and would drive them away. She had to hope. 

Just then, something happened. She felt it, something coalescing into one, and the Nightmare felt it too, eliciting a pause in their battle. The very air seemed to vibrate in anticipation, the surrounding sounds becoming muffled, and then-

Luna gasped, her eyes wide. Out of seemingly nowhere, a cloud of black smoke appeared - and yet it was not smoke. It quickly formed into a pony-like shape: four legs, a tail, a long neck, and an elongated head with a horn. A red glow surrounded it, and vein-like streaks went through the entire form, jagged in some places and smooth in others, all centering in the chest area where there was, for the lack of a better descriptor, a crack. All of it made the black shape look and feel sickly, and yet it was also strong.

“Impossible!” the Nightmare snarled, turning their attention to the shape. 

The shape growled and charged, arms sprouting out of its body, claws at their end. The Nightmare’s eyes widened as the claws swiped at them, and there was a weak pop sound as if something that hadn’t yet glued in place properly was torn off. Wild’s body immediately collapsed, growing blank, reverting in its colors and shapes to what it was before, if duller now. The Nightmare, now back in two parts, was sent tumbling, their shock apparent.

“Wild?” Luna voiced quietly, afraid that she was wrong, afraid that this battle had summoned something else, something other. 

The shape turned to her, their expression inscrutable as only the red twisted eyes were visible, almost completely round like eye sockets of a skull.

“I am alive,” they said without opening their mouth, and they were Wild, Luna knew that voice, “I will not die today.”

Enraged and yet afraid, the Nightmare charged at him as one, desperate to reclaim the body they wanted, but Wild was there to meet them, radiating strength and determination, fueled by anger and hatred of what they tried and almost succeeded in doing to him.

The arms moved in a peculiar way, and Luna recognized they were quite real, formed properly, not much different compared to the arms of minotaurs. The hands were similar as well but thinner, more delicate even as they ended in viciously sharp claws which didn’t quite fit the rest. He swiped and slashed, dodged and blocked as a trained fighter, desperate yet focused. He moved more fluidly than before, faster, unburdened by any delay between his brain and the rest of his body. 

Luna, no longer a focus of the Nightmare, chose to rest for a moment, to let her body replenish itself as much as it could in this moment. And then she moved, circling around the battle - Wild could handle himself for now. Carefully, she moved to Wild’s body even as he led the Nightmare away from it. As long as the Nightmare didn’t have a body, they wouldn’t have an edge in this battle, and even Wild would be able to defeat them all by himself. 

Seeing the opportunity, Luna summoned Wild’s body, being careful not to bump his head. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she saw his sightless eyes. He appeared dead even as his chest rose and fell with each unnaturally steady breath. It could perhaps be described as calm, but there was no emotion to a body devoid of a soul. His heart was still beating, his brain was still alive, but Wild simply wasn’t there. 

One of the Nightmares noticed Luna, hissed, and threw themselves at her. She barely managed to conjure a spirit shield in time, and the Nightmare harmlessly bounced off it. Wild took the opportunity to pierce the Nightmare through the chest area with... a saber. In one of his hands was now a saber, its shape identical to the training one he used, but it wasn’t a weapon he picked up - it was a weapon he formed out of himself.

Luna, under the cover of the shield, stood over Wild’s body, her heart racing. Wild, unknowingly, had done what few managed to do - to retain themselves outside their own body. He wasn’t even anchored to it - the connection was snapped. He could easily fade into nothingness now that nothing held him to this place of existence, and yet he was there, and he was alive - as alive as a spirit could be. His very soul, as damaged as Luna could see it was, was still intact, was still fighting for its survival. There was a certain beauty to it, Luna had to admit, but her heart ached that he had to experience it in the first place.

One way to fight a spirit was to be a spirit. Luna knew how to temporarily be nothing but her own spirit, to exist outside of any vessel even as she couldn’t go too far away from it. It was a liberating sensation, yet it was also dangerous. This danger was exactly why she couldn’t fight the Nightmare this way - her body would have been vulnerable for as long as she was outside of it, easy to take over by anyone else. This vulnerability would allow the Nightmare to steal her body easier than what they did to Wild - and his own previously-weak connection between soul and body was something to investigate later, to find out why this connection wasn't as solid as it should have been. 

As long as Luna could protect Wild's body, the Nightmare was on the level field with him, and so Luna maintained the shield even as she felt she had little strength remaining. If the fight went on for too long, she knew she wouldn't last. 

A pain-filled screech filled the air as one of the Nightmares was torn to pieces by Wild. The shreds of the spirit, unwound from the whole, didn't fade away, however - instead, something odd was happening. Luna's eyes widened as she realized what was going on - Wild, seemingly unintentionally, was absorbing the spirit matter into his own form. She had never heard of it before, and her brain raced to come up with an explanation even as she watched the results. 

Wild's form became somewhat more defined as more shreds wove themselves with his being, although the damage to his soul remained. He became less smoke-like, less scattered around, and he even appeared faster in his movements. Luna feared this was yet another trick done by the Nightmare to destroy him, but no, it was not. The spirit mass left from the first Nightmare was devoid of their will, their intent, their being. Their entire personality was gone, disappearing into nothing, and Luna found it both horrifying and fascinating that it was happening. She wondered what exactly it meant. 

The fight continued, and it was clear the remaining Nightmare was weaker than Wild, barely able to defend themselves let alone strike back. Wild pushed on, striking with sharp claws and the saber, unrelenting. Finally, it looked like the Nightmare had no strength left, and Wild seized them by the throat. Wild's not-eyes glared hatefully into the featureless face of the Nightmare for a very long yet extremely short while, and then he tore them apart. Phantom screams echoed in a way that sound could not as the Nightmare was destroyed completely and utterly.

The whirlwind of energy settled, and silence fell. Luna and Wild both knew that the Nightmare was gone for good, never to return. Luna felt as if a mountain was lifted off her back - no longer would the Nightmare torment her or anyone else, no more would anyone be fooled into playing host for them.

Luna lifted her shield and sat down, breathing heavily. Her horn was buzzing and itching, feeling a bit too hot from all the magic she had to cast, and sticky sweat covered her from head to hoof. The only thing she wanted was to take a shower, to eat a feast, and to sleep a whole day, and not necessarily in that order. However, she couldn’t do it yet.

“Wild,” she called, and she saw his spirit shudder as he turned to her. His not-eyes, she could tell, weren't looking at her, and although he lacked any expression beyond that, she could feel he was now afraid as his anger and rage faded. Afraid of what was to come next, afraid of what Luna would say and do, “Please, come back.”

Slowly yet deliberately, Wild drifted over to his body. His arms and the saber were all gone, and now he was entirely pony-shaped once again, waving slightly as if in a breeze but more solid than smoke. He just stood there for a long while, studying his own body, looking at it with something on his mind that Luna couldn't catch. Finally, he flew into his body, the black and red of his spiritual form disappearing into the flesh and bone of the physical form. His body shuddered, there was a blink, and now Luna could see Wild in his eyes.

He struggled to sit up, moving as if even this brief period of absence from his body was enough to make him forget how to use one, but he eventually stood up. Luna could see his guilt, his fear, his apprehension written plainly on his face.

“I am not going to hurt you,” Luna assured him, speaking clearly and honestly, “I would never hurt you. I am sorry I... I pushed it all on you, made you run away.”

I was stupid to run away, Wild signed, denial on his face, I can trust you. I know I can trust you.

“I am... happy to know that I am worthy of your trust,” she gave him a smile, feeling undeserving of the words he had just signed, “The Nightmare... they used your doubts, and they used my own stupidity to... bring you here.”

Wild was looking away, thoughts roiling in his head. 

“I destroyed them,” Wild said aloud after stilling his legs from making signs, “I... killed them.”

“You did,” Luna said, and he flinched. She hurried to assure him, “The Nightmare was a scourge. For centuries, they sought out victims to possess or take over. They have harmed many, and you have brought an end to it... something I could not do myself. I wish you did not have to, but it happened anyway, and I am glad you came back alive,” she hesitated for a moment, “May I... give you a hug?”

Wild shifted in one spot, his eyes going to Luna and then returning to the ground, uncertain, various emotions flashing on his face too fast for Luna to follow. And then he nearly lunged himself at her, hugging her, and she hugged him back. He sniffed once, twice, and then broke out in sobs, holding her tight.

“Everything is going to be alright,” Luna told him in a soothing voice as he cried, his body shuddering. The fight had entirely disappeared from him, and now he was just a scared young stallion, and Luna could feel he was not much older than his body would suggest. Still young, and he had experienced more than most would ever go through in ten lifetimes, “I am sorry you had to go through what you had, and I will help you, I promise.”

Since that  moment, the darkness in the ruins was gone. They would remain just that - ruins. Memories and emotions would be attached to them, but no more would there be a malicious presence waiting for the unaware and the foolish, looking to lure them in and take it all.

It was barely noon when Luna and Wild finally emerged from the ruins of the Summer Palace, walking away together from them back to a place Wild could now perhaps call home. 

Either of them had yet to notice a new mark on Wild’s flanks: a perfect black circle.
> Chapter 35: Connections
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna and Wild walked through the Everfree Forest, and the beings and creatures stayed away from them despite their obvious exhaustion. Their instincts screamed at them not to attack the two, and they were wise to listen. They followed the two at a distance, carefully observing, but never too close, never with enough attention to be perceived as a threat. The darkness, even as it dissipated into nothing, continued to cling to the two for as long as it could. Power, too, was evident in and around them, and echoes of the seemingly impossible and decidedly unique lingered. Once the two were out of the Everfree, it seemed as if the entire forest sighed in relief, and the beings and the creatures returned to their usual lives. It had been a long time since unbound spirits visited the Everfree, but the Everfree had a very long memory, and the forest knew it would be best to leave an unbound spirit alone.

Wild felt... strange. Perhaps it was the shock of being alive after dying - almost dying... or whatever it could even be called.  Everything seemed to have a brighter, clearer quality. He could feel more, be it within himself or what surrounded him. He was distinctly aware of his breath and his heartbeat, of how his skin felt on his flesh, how his flesh felt on his bones, and how interconnected it all was. He could almost hear the rush of blood that followed the rhythm of his heart, how the neural signals traveled through his body to his brain, it was an odd feeling. And the outside... he could feel the ground give under his hooves just a little bit with each of his step. He could almost feel how the air brushed against and past him as he walked. The light felt interesting against his fur too, the warmth transferring through it to his skin. He was aware of the pressure, the temperature, and other sensations he couldn’t quite describe, all as if he was thrust into feeling everything that concerned his body almost all at once.

However, he could ignore it for now - there were far more important things to think about, and a lot of them concerned the person walking alongside him - Luna. He felt embarrassed that he gave in during his moment of weakness and hugged her, but it was somehow funny that it was the first thing that came to his mind, and a hysterical laugh threatened to break out of him. Hugging someone was magnitudes less important than coming back from death. He died, he was nothing but his own soul, and he pieced himself back together and returned from where others, as far as he knew, could never return from.

What did that make him? Was he a human or a pony? Was he something else? Did his first death change him, more than just giving him a new body? There were many questions he could ask, but he doubted there were many answers to find. Where would he even search for them? He had a feeling that not many people ever experienced what he had. Something told him it was once a millennium kind of occurrence - if not one in many millennia. 

It appeared as if he was on his own once again, having experienced what he feared no one else would ever understand. Was he doomed to be different from others forever, unable to fit in at all? That very thought was in the back of his mind ever since he appeared in this new world, but now it was amplified and at the forefront of his mind. Undoubtedly, if more people knew about who and what he was, he would never be able to live his life peacefully. 

With a feeling of bitterness, he realized that he had never had a peaceful life. It appeared this fact wouldn’t change, as much as he hated it.

He knew he was different from ponies, he felt he was more different from them, and now the differences morphed into a chasm one couldn’t cross, with him entirely alone on one of the sides.

There was a feeling, a sensation he tried not to pay much attention to. He felt... disconnected. Not from reality as a whole - he felt it more than ever before, in truth. He was simply aware of the rest of the world in a way that he couldn't put in words in any of the three languages that he knew. However, despite this sense of being connected, there was something missing now, something between his body and his soul, and the distinction between the two couldn't be any clearer. He felt like he could just float away and leave his body behind. If he were honest with himself... he did not just feel like it, he knew it would happen if he let it. There was still some sort of connection between his body and his soul, something that allowed him to still be physically present. His body still belonged to him, he knew, but he could easily leave it - and remain alive, for a given definition of it. It was a scary prospect, but the longer he thought of it, the longer it... made sense.

Those strange dreams of when he wandered around the orphanage at night, they weren’t dreams. They were real even if he wasn’t aware of it at the time. He now recognized them for what they were - signs of what was to come, signs that he wouldn’t be attached to his body forever. His soul... it had already departed one body. Why would it be limited to his second body? 

He. Was. Free.

He was free in a way he had never thought he would be.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

While Wild mused about himself, Luna was trying to find a way to talk to him about everything that had happened. Frankly, she didn’t know where to even begin. Too much had happened in one day, and she feared she had damaged her relationship with Wild in a way that couldn’t be easily repaired if at all. It was her fault it all happened in the first place, after all. She was the one who gave in to the temptation of the Nightmare, she was the one who let them in and allowed them to continue to exist. Even with her free from their influence - influence she had once welcomed - they remained, and she knew she should’ve dealt with them - could have dealt with them - before they found their next victim. Unfortunately, she did not confront them until it was too late. 

Despite her grievous mistake, Luna was thankful Wild wasn’t killed, wasn’t torn apart, wasn’t consumed. His soul, as damaged as she could see it was, did not depart as it was torn from his body. Instead, he fought for himself, fought to stay, and he won. The Nightmare was now no more, and Wild was alive. Even better, Luna didn’t die either, although she was very aware of the possibility when she tried her best to fight the Nightmare. 

A part of her whispered to her that her death would repay for all that had happened to others because of her. She chased that part away and locked it tight. Her death would bring more harm than good, she reminded herself. She couldn’t, didn’t want to imagine how grief-stricken her sister would be if she were to die. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to all the foals that looked up to her for guidance and advice, all who needed her help. Her death would irrevocably damage even more than she could possibly imagine, she knew that, and so she chased the thought away, banishing it to the depths of her mind along with all the bitterness, sadness, loneliness, and anger. She couldn’t afford to let any of it to take over her lest she would do yet another costly mistake that would hurt herself and everyone around her.

As she tried to find words to talk to Wild, he surprised her by speaking up first.

“What...” he said slowly, and the two stopped, “What if I agreed to, um... with them?”

Luna had to know it was coming, and so she repressed a sigh. Undoubtedly, the Nightmare gave him a choice - to serve them or to be destroyed and consumed. Luna had not thought about the second option when she willingly let the Nightmare in, buying into their promises. She got what she wanted - the power to bring about the Eternal Night and, with that, the power to fight against her sister.

Her own sister. To fight her to death. She had not question it then, and the horror of it struck her only on one of the more lonely nights after her return. She didn't see anything wrong with killing her sister. What did that say about her? Did this thought belong to her all along or did the Nightmare plant it? Luna didn't want her sister to die, and she would never want to be her killer. However, that was what she thought now, but what had she thought then? She hoped it was the Nightmare that influenced her as they latched on her very soul, but there was simply no way to tell. The Nightmare, if they knew the truth, would never have revealed it, and now the very possibility of learning it was gone forever.

She thought she remembered how wrong it had felt then, but she had pushed that thought away, believing the ends would have justified the means. All she wanted was to be loved, to be admired - and it was then twisted by herself and the Nightmare, and her desires changed - she wanted to be feared, to be in power, to dominate over all who stood against her.

She had been foolish, and her punishment was not only to outlive nearly everyone she cared about but to never even be able to see them grow old. Even as her sister lived, so close yet so far for many centuries, others had disappeared into nothingness, death not sparing them as they aged. If they had children, they grew old and died as well, and their own children followed, and then the children of the children, and on and on it went until those Luna knew were not even a distant memory of their descendants.

When Luna finally returned, it wasn't to triumph but to graves centuries old, and she mourned those she had known even as they lay forgotten by most. She had cried tears unnumbered, knowing that it was her fault they died without her, only knowing of her betrayal and foolishness, never able to ask her why, never able to talk to her. She wished she could speak with them again, to explain herself, to beg for their forgiveness, but they were gone, irretrievable and irreversibly, and no power would be able to return them even if she was selfish enough to do so.  

Luna knew exactly what the Nightmare offered - and what they gave in truth.

“You would have gotten power,” she explained, her voice as steady as she could make it, “You would feel like you could do everything. Like nothing is beyond your grasp, like no one can challenge you. You would have grown physically too, becoming stronger, taller. You would be beyond what you would have ever been able to accomplish by yourself.”

Wild could see a ‘but’ coming. Promises of power never came without their own pitfalls. A brief thought surfaced - what would he do if he had that much power? He feared he didn’t want to know the answer.

“You would have also changed mentally,” Luna continued, “Your reaction would be faster. You would think faster. You would think smarter as well. But that is not the extent of mental changes,” she closed her eyes for a brief moment, pausing, “Your entirely personality would change too.”

Luna stopped then, memories flashing before her eyes. Her bitterness, her anger, her hatred, her fear, her hope, everything was twisted in service of the Nightmare, and she had welcomed it then. One the Nightmare was gone from her, she hadn’t spoken much about it, never discussing it even with her own sister. She only ever told her that she was not herself. It was the truth... but it was also a lie.

“Your worst qualities would be brought to light,” she said, “Anything negative would be heightened. Envy, greed, bitterness, anger, hatred. You would feel as if the entire world was wrong and needed you to change it. You would feel as if... as if everyone who stood in your way was an enemy,” she looked him in the eyes, “Everyone. Friends or family, it didn’t matter.”

Luna had to stop and recollect herself again, feeling as if she would babble and rant, perhaps even break down and cry, and that wasn’t what Wild needed right now. Her burden was only for her to bear, and those who depended on her should never have to deal with it. However, he must listen to what she had to say, to hear her, to know what the Nightmare was so that there would be no temptation in the future. The Nightmare wasn’t the only being promising power in exchange for something, and many would fall for such promises if pushed.

“I have tried to kill my own sister,” Luna confessed, and Wild’s eyes widened in surprise, “I now know I was not exactly myself, but... the Nightmare does not - did not - create what was not there before.”

“Then it is good I killed them,” Wild said, his tone uncertain as he refused to look at Luna. 

“Yes, it is,” Luna nodded, “The Nightmare has a history of turning people against their own families, friends, themselves. Their path is littered with violence, death, and suffering. Now, with them destroyed, they cannot hurt anyone anymore.”

As Luna looked at Wild, she saw the tension disappearing from him, a relief she could almost feel herself.

“I killed... others... because of the same,” he confessed. “Because they did violence and death and suffering. They... violated me,” he said quietly, repressing a shudder, “They violated others. And I killed them for that.”

There was defiance in his eyes now, as if daring Luna to somehow argue against it, to scold him, to tell him that what he did was wrong. Yet there was also fear - fear of her rejecting him, condemning him.

“Good,” Luna nodded, and that surprised Wild even though a part of him knew and hoped she would say it.

“They branded me,” Wild continued, shifting uncomfortably yet forging straight ahead. Even as he hated revealing it, even as the urge to run away surged again, he needed Luna to fully understand, to see why he had to do what he did. There was simply something within him that needed her... approval. With a start, he realized that approval was exactly what he sought from her. 

“The round scar, yes?”

“...yes,” Wild sighed shakily. Perhaps he should be more concerned with the fact that Luna eyed him while he was asleep, but he didn’t find it in himself to care. What was out was out, after all.There were also more important things, and he wasn’t dead, and he wanted... something better, “I want to remove it.”

“It will be removed,” Luna assured him, “And...” now it was her turn to be uncomfortable, “I must apologize for springing it all on you without warning. I meant it when I said I am sorry for it, and I hope you will understand that this apology comes from the depth of my very heart,” she said sincerely, “What I did, it was... insensitive. I didn’t go about it the right way. I put stress on you, and it resulted in...” she made an all-encompassing gesture.

Wild didn’t know whether to say that he forgave her for whatever she thought she did wrong by him or to hold it against her. Mostly, he was very tired and didn’t feel like doing much of anything. He wanted to rest, wanted to sleep, wanted to pretend like this day had never happened. He died yet he lived, he had to fight again. 

“I don’t know if...” Wild frowned as he struggled to find the words, “I want to accept your sorry,” it was not her fault he was broken, “I do that. It is not your fault.”

He was a coward. He would have run away regardless. This harsh lesson, as far as he was concerned, was needed. It was just another part of his life, and he had accepted it. Some would say there would have been an easier, better way - he was not convinced. There were many lessons he had learned, and most of them were harsh, and he thought he would have never learned anything if they were anything but that. When his father was hurt, he learned of the unfairness of the world when he struggled to find a job and struggled to recover. When his father... died, he learned that he had not been enough, that nothing he did was enough. When his mother died, he learned that the world would never be fair, and that it didn’t matter what kind of person you were - life would find a way to make you suffer. When he was... enslaved and abused, he had learned the state of absolute and utter helplessness. As he escaped and worked on his revenge, he had learned patience and ruthlessness, and he finally embraced his inner desire for violence and harm as he aimed it at those who had hurt him. When all was done and he was ready to die, he knew the best way to deal with the struggles of life was to die, as nothing he could do would change the past nor make the future worth looking forward to.

Having been reborn... he didn’t know what to think of all the lessons it offered. Perhaps he would know one day, perhaps not. He knew it would be a struggle either way. He would be a fool to think otherwise.

***

When Luna and Wild returned to the Royal Orphanage, they came back to people worrying - their disappearance was noticed. 

“There was an emergency,” Luna explained, having talked to Wild about what he wished others to know about what happened. Namely, he didn’t want anyone to know the truth, “It has been dealt with.”

When Luna and Wild went their separate ways - the former to write down the experience and look up some obscure books on spirits and the latter to sleep - Luna finally noticed the talent mark on Wild’s flank. Usually, someone gaining a talent mark - or special mark - was a cause for celebration, as it was one of important milestones for a pony on the way to adulthood. However, Luna knew Wild would like anything other than celebrating this day, and she made a mental note to send him a written note later so that he wouldn’t be stressed by others wanting to congratulate him. She would also write to him that he was welcome to talk about his talent mark with her. While the nature of talent marks wasn’t exactly her area of expertise, she could offer some guidance and help to those who were concerned about their marks. Sometimes, talent marks were disappointing or confusing, and that had to be dealt with so that the pony in question wouldn’t feel resentment towards a part of themselves. A talent mark wasn’t everything to a pony’s life, and everyone needed to know it.

Luna sighed. She had had a long day, and she feared there was more yet to come. However, she was perfectly aware that taking care of foals was a full-time and a very consuming job, and she went into it anyway. She couldn’t give up even when an unusual case such as when an extra-dimensional being with loads of trauma, past and recent, needed help. There was no one qualified for something like that, obviously, but that didn’t mean nothing could be done. Now that she knew more, now that she established some trust with Wild, she would be able to work on all of this better even if things became more and more difficult. 

For now, what she believed Wild needed was time. He was tired, and she didn't think anything more from her would be welcome, and so she let him go to his dorm. She didn't think anything bad would happen if he was alone for a while, at least. She didn't know whether he would choose to confide in anyone before their next meeting, but she hoped he would find some sort of relief anyway. She still wondered if it was wise to leave him be for as long as he was, but she believed, and his sister concurred, that Wild simply needed time to get used to the Royal Orphanage. She had hoped to ease him into something more than what he naturally got interested in, but the Changeling Invasion, and now the Nightmare had completely upturned everything, and now nothing was certain. 

Luna reminded herself that she was strong, that she had been taking care of foals for a long time, that she had many successes over the years, before and after her ‘thousand year pause’. Wild was older, carried far more emotional baggage than anyone should ever have to deal with, but he wouldn’t be alone if she had anything to say about it.

She couldn’t give up, not on him, not on anyone, and that was an iron rule she would follow to her death if needed.
> Chapter 36: Fay
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna was high up in the sky, flying at a steady pace towards Canterlot. Having been a pegasus before she became an alicorn, she was far more comfortable in flight than Celestia even after all those centuries, and she took advantage of it as often as she could. Flying in a carriage carried some weight, of course, showing others that she didn't have to fly on her own, that she was a princess and held power, but none of that changed the fact that flying by herself was one of her favorite activities. The way the air brushed past her felt amazing, and the noise of the wind in her ears made it feel like she was going even faster than she truly was. 

However, this time she wasn't flying for the sake of it but to meet a friend of hers for a piece of advice. They had known each other for just a little under three years, which wasn’t particularly long considering Luna’s age, but that didn’t prevent her from feeling fondness for her friend. 

In the first few days after Luna’s return, she had been uncertain what to do. She was glad to return to her sister, but everyone else she had ever cared about was long gone. The few friends she had among the staff and the guards of Canterlot and the Summer Palace had long since passed, forgotten by all except her and perhaps some historians. Various foals she was guiding to adulthood had grown up, grown old, and died in her absence as well. 

The Royal Orphanage was still around, although now it had quite a bit fewer people, all thanks to various reforms and additions over the centuries that improved lives and made it easier for families to stay together and to resolve problems before they had spiraled out of control and the resentment had grown too far. Even now, it wasn’t solved completely, and there would always be those who wanted to escape their families for one reason or another yet who couldn’t live on their own. Luna had intended to dedicate her time to them once again, to provide them with what others could not or refused to.

She had found that many things had changed, and her attitude was not as acceptable as it once was. Celestia was quick to point it out before Luna made a mistake she couldn’t fix, and Luna decided to distance herself from the foals until she knew how to guide them properly. This, however, didn’t stop her from nearly ruining the Nightmare Night celebration in Ponyville that year. That was still an embarrassing moment for her, one she didn’t like to talk about despite how surprisingly well it ended.

Luna had learned of medical fields called psychiatry and psychology. Previously, she had known there was something about the mind that was important, that was separate from the rest of the body in some way. She had fought in battles and experienced battle fatigue - now called PTSD. She had seen others who experienced it as well, those who spiraled into deep depression and those who had retreated to safety, never to wield a weapon again. However, what was puzzling for the time was seeing very similar behaviors in some people who had never seen a battle, let alone fought in a war. There were various odd quirks some ponies had that couldn’t be reasonably explained, and some behaviors were called insanity or madness. Luna had learned since then that almost all terms she was familiar with were either extremely outdated or downright offensive, which was certainly a kick in the chest. 

Her initial effort to learn more was securing a meeting with the Head of Psychology and Psychiatry Ward of the Canterlot Royal Hospital. This very building had once been a simple House of the Sick, yet it had grown and expanded in time since then, the treatment options and care provided evolving with the building. The insides of the building were spotless, feeling and smelling clean, and the nurse at the entrance didn't hesitate to firmly tell Luna that she couldn't proceed any further without properly cleaning her hooves first. 

"I believe they are sufficiently clean," Luna tried to argue.

"With all due respect, your majesty, they are certainly not," the nurse retorted, and then added a bit more information, "Perhaps it wasn't necessary during your time, but we have learned since then that cleanliness is extremely important, and what is an acceptable level of cleanliness in your own palace is not acceptable amongst the sick."

Luna didn't protest much then, although she failed to see the necessity for a long time. It wasn't like anyone was licking the floor, after all, despite the floors in the hospitals actually looking like they could be safely eaten off of. Not like anyone would try it even if allowed - Luna still remembered the difficulties of dealing with diarrhea out in the field, so even to her it was clear why one should be very careful about where the food is eaten.

After Luna's hooves were sufficiently clean and the nurse found no other faults, Luna was finally led to the Head of the Psychology and Psychiatry ward. The office of that person was as clean if not even cleaner, as impossible as it sounded, than the rest of the hospital, as well as meticulously, painstakingly organized, everything labeled not using any kind of manual writing but using a proper labeling machine, a new tool Luna had learned of later. 

The floor of the office was of a kind Luna didn't recognize, not being wood nor stone nor tile nor metal, and instead made of vinyl, something Luna hadn't known about until later. It was white yet not painfully so, and any spot of dirt was clearly visible on it. The material, Luna had later learned, was quite durable and easy to clean, as well as easy to replace if necessary. The walls were a kind of light gray, smooth, the angles of the rectangular room perfectly straight. The ceiling was as white as the floor, smooth enough yet not too smooth as to be reflective, with a square central fixture that emitted just the right kind of light to be both bright and easy on the eyes even if you looked directly into it. 

When it came to the furniture, there were the previously noticed filing cabinets that were not only properly labeled but also color-coded in a non-obtrusive yet clear way, a desk, and a couple of seats, one of which situating behind the desk where the Head of the ward sat. On the desk itself, there was nothing personal like in the rest of the room, and only a holder for clean paper and a few multi-color pens was present. The room was certainly not personal, but then the Head rarely received visitors that weren't as professional as they came. 

“We- I desire to learn the art of psy-chia-try and psy-chology,” Luna declared, stumbling over the new words unfamiliar to her tongue, her voice just a tad too loud, too demanding, “It hath come to my knowledge that these medical fields are vital to providing aid to my subjects.”

Doctor Fay, an unassuming-looking earth pony mare of a somewhat indeterminable age of between twenty and fifty, did not look impressed, and that very fact made Luna bristle. Was she not good enough? Was her desire to help others not good enough? However, she had to be patient, so she said nothing, waiting for the doctor to speak, even as the silence seemed to stretch infinitely, almost mocking Luna.

“In my professional opinion, Princess Luna,” Doctor Fay finally spoke, her cadence slow, her words carefully measured, her tone calm and, in a way Luna couldn’t describe at the time, soothing, “One can hardly help others when one hasn’t yet helped themselves.”

“I require no help,” Luna denied immediately, shoving the part of her that disagreed down below, “I am a princess of Equestria, nothing is beyond my grasp. Thou art mistaken if thou believest that I am helpless.”

There was a beat of silence as Doctor Fay looked at Luna. Something in her gaze reminded her of her own parents when she got into trouble and they had to deal with it and then with her. It didn't quite make her wilt. 

“I don’t think you are helpless,” she said, and the sense of impending doom disappeared as if it was never even there. Luna blinked in silent confusion - those were not the words she expected to hear, “However, I do not need to be a doctor to know that a thousand years of being completely alone has an impact on you.”

“It is behind me now,” Luna stated firmly, not truly believing her own words.

“Is it?”

And that was the question. She knew the answer to it already, of course. It was, by no means, new to her, and yet... well, she knew she was flawed. She knew there was something broken, something that couldn’t be fixed inside her, something that happened because of all... this.

She was an alicorn. She earned it, earned the power. It was hers by right.

She was a princess. She was born into royalty, but she had proven the right to bear the crown. Equestria would not have survived without her.

She was... a person. And she was scared.

The language was different. Her friends were gone. Her sister had changed. The ponies feared her despite not knowing her. The entire world had changed. Her head was in the past, yet the world had moved on, all without her, as if she had never existed, as if she was but a speck of dust. She was, for all intents and purposes, erased, replaced by a myth, a legend, a tale - not a person.

“Princess Luna,” Doctor Fay addressed her, breaking her out of her thoughts, “Apprenticeships are, generally speaking, uncommon today.”

Yet another thing Luna hadn’t really paid attention to. Education had once been private, passing from parent to child, or perhaps from a village to their foals. Schooling was common now, and teaching was mostly done by professionals, which was a luxury few could even afford a thousand years ago, and the professionals today also studied how to teach. And wasn’t that a novel concept for Luna, studying how to teach. Wasn’t knowing a subject enough in order to teach it to others?

Her mind went back to Star Swirl, now commonly known as Star Swirl the Bearded. He was a mind unlike any other, who had learned more about magic in his relatively short lifetime than Celestia had managed to do in thrice as long. However, his skills at magic and the study of magic did not exactly translate into imparting those skills on others. He was absolutely brilliant, Luna knew, but she still remembered how he made Celestia cry because she couldn’t get a spell right. He did not shout, no, but he methodically disassembled everything she did and laid out exactly what she did wrong, and then he, just as calmly, berated her for it.

“This spell is not beyond your grasp, yet you insist on acting foolishly, allowing your casting to be half-baked. Are you half-baked, Celestia?” he had said then.

“I am trying!” she almost yelled, holding back the tears, and yet Starswirl only hummed dismissively. 

“Not hard enough, it seems. Magic needs effort. You are not giving enough of it.”

Back then, Luna felt good that there was something Celestia was bad at, but she also had a sense that it was wrong, somehow. However, she couldn’t describe it nor find the origin of that feeling, so she let it be.

“However, I understand why a school or a university wouldn’t suit you,” Doctor Fay continued, once again breaking Luna out of her thoughts and memories, “They would make allowances because you are a princess. They sometimes bend even for the lesser nobles, and I certainly know they would do anything for you, and that includes things that you do not need,” she paused for a moment, looking away in thought, “I will teach you. There are terms, of course.”

“Very well,” Luna said with a nod, “Let us discuss the terms, then.”

“In exchange for my knowledge and, I suppose, my wisdom, I require but one thing,” the doctor said, “It is honesty.”

Luna wielded the Element of Honesty once, so it was easy for her to agree. However, despite it, she honestly didn’t expect she would have to be honest about herself. Not only that, but it was in ways that, frankly, she only realized afterwards. 

Of all the things she learned, some were quite baffling to her old-time sensibilities. At the time, things she didn’t understand caused her to argue against them, not learn about them, not accept them. After all, she had lived for a long time, and she had forgotten more things than most ever learned... wasn't that true?

“I cannot excuse laziness,” Luna protested, “It is certainly not difficult for anyone to clean their own rooms and organize their own belongings.”

Luna didn’t talk about how her parents punished her for the ever-present clutter in her room. She said nothing about the shame she felt when her cleaning efforts didn’t stick for more than a week at best. She voiced no relief about when the pressure of her parents to keep everything nice and tidy disappeared as they grew more distant and, after some years, died. She knew she shouldn’t have felt that way, but there was little she could do about it, and so she simply never spoke of any of it.

“Why do you believe it is laziness?” Doctor Fay asked, her voice as mild and as pleasant as ever. Sometimes, Luna wanted to hate it, wanted to hate how Fay never shouted at her, never sneered at her, never berated her. And yet... she remained a demanding teacher without any of it. The slightest frown from her had more of an effect than any scathing words of disappointment Luna had ever heard from anyone else.

“Others do not have such difficulties,” Luna replied even as she knew it wasn’t the right answer, “They have their limbs, they have their magic. They are not sick. They should be able to do it easily.”

The slight downturn of Fay’s lips along with a deeper frown on her face meant that Luna was very, very wrong, and only her strength of will prevented her from wincing. She felt like she once more stood in front of her mathematics tutor and couldn't recite something from memory fast enough. 

“Luna,” she said. All the honorifics and titles were dropped as was tradition between teacher and student since before Luna was born, “Can you remind me what psychiatry is?”

“Psychiatry is a branch of medicine that dealth with the diagnosis, treatment, and prevention of mental and emotional disorders,” Luna said, her voice steady, “What doth this definition have to do with laziness?”

This time, Doctor Fay didn’t correct her on her usage of older language despite her insistence that it creates unnecessary distance between Luna and everyone else, especially people she intends to help. Luna never quite voiced the fact that clinging to the old way of speech allowed her to retain something she was familiar with and something she saw no sense in changing. 

“What you may call laziness can have multiple explanations,” Doctor Fay explained, “Some people are, indeed, lazy. However, labeling anyone lazy is counterproductive. Our task is to help, not to judge, not to berate others.”

Luna nodded slowly. She knew that even if she found it difficult to understand. After all, how could one improve without having their actions judged? Even as she thought this question, she remembered the feeling of utter shame at every point she was judged, and then there was resentment. Was she not good enough? What more did they want?

“People with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder cannot help who they are,” the doctor continued, “The difficulties they face are not their fault. Life can be made easier for them instead of forcing them to live lives they weren’t made to live,” she pulled out a drawer in her desk, grabbed a folder, and placed it on the desk, “ADHD has been studied for centuries, and these are the most important studies that go into what it is and how to help people who have it. There are various methods, and each of them is explored to find out how effective or ineffective it is,” she paused, “Most importantly, issues people with this disorder face are not their own moral failings. They are simply different and require different things to live fulfilling lives. I invite you to read those studies thoroughly, and then come back to me. We will then see what you think about laziness.”

Luna nodded, knowing that learning was over for today. Something Doctor Fay said resonated with her, and it repeated in her head even as she walked out of her office and went on her way back to the Canterlot Castle.

“Issues people with this disorder face are not their own moral failings.”

Luna, for the longest time, was told that it was her failure when she was disorganized, when she forgot appointments, when she wasn’t ready with what her teachers asked of her. If only she studied harder, if she could only focus on what was asked of her, if only she was better...

“They are simply different and require different things to live fulfilling lives.”

Was she not happier without that pressure to meet her parents’ expectations? Was she not happier when she went back to her bedroom and saw her organized clutter where everything was where it needed to be, not just lying in places to look aesthetically pleasing? 

Was she not feeling better when she was beholden only to herself?

She knew then that it would be in her best interests to read everything Doctor Fay gave her.

***

Time passed, and at one point around half a year into her apprenticeship, Luna understood.

“You are treating me,” she said to Doctor Fay, half an accusation and half a statement. 

“I am doing my best to help you, yes,” the doctor nodded in confirmation, “I do have to apologize for the deception. However, I saw that you would not accept my help if I offered it to you directly.”

“I...” Luna stopped. She was about to say that she didn’t need help. And yet... was she not happier, more content? Her time with Doctor Fay had improved her, made her better, made her life better. She learned not only how to understand various conditions and everything around them, but how to help herself as well, how to see those conditions in herself, and how to understand that she did indeed need help just like anyone else facing similar issues, “That is true. I... thank you, Fay.”

“It is my pleasure,” Doctor Fay smiled, “It has been my joy to see you grow and improve. You’re not the same person who approached me half a year ago anymore.”

“I... am not,” Luna said, then sighed, “I have learned many ways in which I was wrong. I am not ready to help others. As you said, I have yet to learn how to help myself.”

“And you are learning. You are improving. I’m very proud of your progress, and I see a bright future for you in the sphere of psychology and psychiatry,” Fay assured her, “In truth, you’ve the most dedicated student I’ve seen despite, or likely thanks to our countless arguments.”

“T-thank you,” Luna blushed slightly, feeling awkward about the praise. She hadn’t known why then, but later she realized it was because praise was few and far between when she was younger. 

If she were entirely honest - and not only with others but with herself - she would have realized that the pace at which she learned was far greater than anyone else’s. It usually took at least an entire year to get to where Luna was just six months in, and her studies progressed even faster afterwards. It was both tiring and exhilarating, and Luna focused all her efforts on it that weren't explicitly required elsewhere. Of course, it all came with the consequence of snubbing some nobles who wanted to ingrain themselves with her, but she honestly couldn't have cared less.

Doctor Fay privately thought that were ponies to have multiple talent marks, Luna would have a second one for psychology. There was an intuitive sort of understanding she had for both psychiatry and psychology, even if she needed to be pushed here and there to understand and accept various concepts that went against what she was taught over a thousand years ago. It was sometimes frustrating, barely better than talking to the foundation of Canterlot in the hopes that her voice would make the entire city crumble down the mountain side, yet it was also very fulfilling. Doctor Fay had taught some classes over the years, but never anything prolonged in a one on one way, and she could now see the appeal. Fortunately, despite the arguments, Luna was very willing to learn new things, aware of the fact that the world had changed massively since her times.

More time passed, and Luna gained more experience with both psychiatry and psychology by being an assistant to qualified doctors. Naturally, that required a disguise - she wore clothes enchanted to hide her wings, she had to speak a different accent, keep her mane and tail in check to prevent them from appearing more than they should be, as well as change the colors and her talent mark. Not only that, but she managed to squeeze more time into it with the help of a rather complex spell. It created a copy of her that was tangible and entirely real - up to a point. Without a doubt, ponies that specialized in magical theory would be able to tell at a glance that it was a magical construct and not a real person, but if any of them were ever present nearby, they never spoke about that. Fortunately, the copy was real enough to fool everyone else, and so she managed to get double the experience for the same amount of time, existing as both Moonlight and Starlight, two promising students: one in the field of psychiatry, the other in psychology. Moonlight was a mare with pale yellow coat and white mane while Starlight was a stallion with deep blue coat and purple-and-white mane, both of them unicorns. Luna preferred for Moonlight to be the copy - she was not entirely comfortable in a male body even if it was essentially a tangible illusion. It was a feeling she came to learn was called gender dysphoria. 

Once it was time for her to rest between days of hard work, the copy merged back with her, returning with the memories and the experience she needed. Sometimes, because of pulling essentially double time, she felt like her head was crammed to the full at the end of the day, and it wasn't rare for this sensation to bloom into a rather annoying headache just a step away from being truly nasty. However, she deemed learning it all worth the pain and discomfort even if Doctor Fay didn’t entirely approve of the scheme. Fortunately, Luna was a princess, and not many things could be denied to her, which she took advantage of when the reason was good enough.

A little under ten months before Luna met Wild, Doctor Fay told her that she was ready to be around foals and provide help even if she was not allowed to diagnose them or treat them herself. Instead, she was to direct them towards licensed psychiatrists and psychologists, which was what she did until she got her license.

Luna was joyful at the news, and even the lingering fatigue from the clone spell was worth the happiness she felt as she looked over the foals, her charges, those she would guide towards betterment. She didn't believe she would ever want to be a mother as she didn't see herself dedicating her efforts to just one person, but those foals were as close to children as she could get, and she was happy with that. 

Back in the present, Luna thought about the times past with fondness, and her eternal gratitude belonged to Doctor Fay for giving her the opportunity to learn psychology and psychiatry, an honor that Doctor Fay could refuse, would even be in her right to refuse despite all the possible consequences of denying a ruling princess. However, Doctor Fay put her faith in Luna, and the alicorn would not hesitate to return the favor.

Luna was now close to Canterlot, eyeing a suitable landing spot to bring her the closest to the meeting spot. It was certainly time for Luna to ask for advice - while she might be centuries old, she was still far from an expert in the field of the mind, and it was time she consulted with her mentor.

She knew Fay’s schedule quite well, so it wasn’t a stretch to make it in time for late day tea. Doctor Fay preferred the quieter outskirts of Canterlot, away from the hustle and bustle of the central streets. In fact, the little tea shop they agreed to meet at was known for catering to ponies who appreciated the quiet and the calm most of all. Instead of one big hall where all tables would be, there were a number of smaller rooms. Each room had a window, and each window had various curtains of different density and thickness to satisfy whatever level of light a customer preferred. The amount of noise that could enter the room from the outside could also be adjusted by turning a knob that regulated a spell on the windows. When it came to furniture, a customer could ask for almost anything. Fay, Luna knew, preferred a large pillow and a low table. Luna, in turn, liked a couch, raised from the floor, stiffer than regular pillows, and a bigger table where she could put more things on than just the tea. Luna didn’t visit too often, but when she did, she got more work done than almost anywhere else. 

“Good afternoon, Fay,” Luna greeted her mentor when she entered the chosen room. Just like Fay’s regular office, it was very quiet, yet there was some ambient noise that prevented it from feeling uncomfortably like a tomb.

“Good afternoon, Luna,” Fay warmly greeted her student in turn. The two settled down and sipped their tea for a time, basking in the quiet and in the presence of each other. Fay, Luna had learned, wasn’t much for small talk, so she decided to go ahead with the main topic.

“I have a... very difficult case,” Luna said with a sigh, “Frankly, I feel like I fucked up big time.”

Fay’s eyebrows rose. Luna didn’t swear often, and resorting to modern concise swears meant there was something particularly distressing.

“I won’t betray their confidentiality, but I just... I can’t even begin to describe the... the situation.”

Fay’s concern continued to grow as Luna did not use contractions all that often in her speech either. However, she waited for Luna to tell her what she needed to tell.

“I can’t even say much of anything without revealing more than I agreed with them to,” Luna rubbed her forehead, “It is all so intertwined... let’s just say that this case, I feel like no one can ever be prepared for something like this. I am certainly not ready for this.”

She sighed again, picking her next words. She offered herself tiny congratulations for not revealing Wild’s gender even if it wasn’t all that important in the grand scheme of things.

“There is someone I wish to help,” she finally said after having gathered her thoughts, “I offered them help just before the Changeling Invasion, and they told me they would give me the answer in two days. The second day was when the Invasion happened, and they ended up in the center of it. There was a long recovery period afterwards as well. And I... learned more about them in all this time than before, and one thing is...” she huffed, “The more I learn about them, the more I... fuck, Fay, their life has been awful! I don’t have the words to describe it, it’s just...” she sighed somewhat shakily, blinking a few times rapidly. It was not time to cry, she had to be put together in order to be of any help, “And then there was... this day. This entire day was a complete and utter disaster.”

Luna went on to describe the Nightmare and how they had taken Wild, although she had to skip over some details.

“I cannot talk about those things,” she said, “They are not mine to tell.”

Nothing forbade doctors from consulting other doctors when it came to their patients, as long as some standards of confidentiality were followed. In fact, consulting was strongly encouraged. Luna, to her great shame, had almost entirely forgotten about it, so used to working all by herself. It was a difficult trait to shake off, and she wondered... was it her fault or was it the influence of the Nightmare? She didn’t know. Besides, she believed she was smart enough to remember such things, and yet she had failed there. 

Luna selfishly wished for a vacation. She wished she could go to some distant, quiet place. Perhaps there would be a tiny water stream nearby. Maybe it would be in the mountains as well, but not too high, and certainly not with a view of Canterlot. There would be just her and the nature around her. There would be a nice and small log cabin, and the nights would be cold enough for a fireplace to be used. She would lay down in front of the fire, listen to it crackle, and simply rest.

Unfortunately, her desire to rest was far less important than her duties to her subjects, especially to the foals that needed her guidance. Deep inside, she knew it was her attempt to atone for what she had done, and that it was no way to live. She ignored it, pushing forward instead. 

Luna continued her tale, voicing her worries about how her relationship with Wild would progress after the Nightmare was destroyed. They both, thankfully, came out of it alive, but Wild was hurt tremendously, and Luna didn’t say exactly what happened but she let Fay know it was extremely serious. Ponies could be quite superstitious about spirits, and Luna didn’t think it was her place to talk about Wild’s situation, especially since she didn’t even know how to properly describe it to herself, let alone to anyone else.

The biggest issue, however, was how Luna pushed to help, basically blurting out what she knew of Wild to him when he was least ready for it. She should have known it was not the right way, and yet she went ahead with it anyway, and that resulted in getting Wild hurt in ways she probably didn’t understand. She shuddered at the memory of the not-sound that was made when he was violently torn from his own body. 

Fay listened patiently until Luna finished her tale. She set down her cup of tea and gathered her thoughts.

“The way you approached them about their secrets was not a good way to do it,” she said.

“I know,” Luna winced, “And I regret I didn’t wait, didn’t find a better way, and I fear I have irrevocably damaged them. And they need help, Fay. I know, I know you can’t help those who don’t want the help, but... they have suffered, tremendously, and it... it pains my heart to see that. Is there nothing I can do? They’re so young, and yet they’ve experienced more than they should ever had to. I...” she deflated, “I just don’t know...”

“I suppose I should begin with a simple statement - you should not blame yourself for the Nightmare,” Fay said, cutting straight to the heart of Luna’s current worry, “You have made a mistake in regards to the person you care about, but it is not on you that they got hurt by the Nightmare.”

“They may not see it that way,” Luna shook her head, “They do not trust easily, I know that much. And... with the circumstances being what they are, I am not sure they can trust anyone else yet. I have proven, at least until today, that I take their well-being seriously, and that I do not pry. But I did pry, didn’t I?”

“I believe it would have been better if you sat on your knowledge longer and approached them with more caution,” Fay said, “I do not know what secrets of theirs you managed to find out through simple observation, but if they are as important as you say they are, you can never be too cautious. Your patient is, from what I understand, a very private person, as many people with personal trauma tend to be. Frankly, you should have sought advice sooner.”

“I know I should have, but...” she said shamefully, “I just...”

“I understand,” Fay said softly, “You want to prove that you can handle it, that your patients can rely on you for help. However, just as they need to be sure they can rely on you, I hope you are aware that you can rely on me.”

It was perhaps not an ideal situation that Fay and Luna were friends. Fay knew Luna did need a therapist of her own, someone to help her through her issues. Fay had done what she could, but Luna could be quite stubborn and often ignored her own needs in favor of the needs of others. Ideally, someone else would be there to help Luna, but Fay knew no one else who would be able to place her title aside and treat her like any other patient. Far too many colleagues of hers were still in awe by the fact that Fay met with Luna regularly. She, naturally, regretted to tell them that they are friends. At least none of them approached her to try to get to Luna through her.

Unfortunately, in order to get her license, Luna had to reveal the ruse with her fake identities. Even if she had not, they would not help her much - many of the things Luna needed to deal with stemmed from her position in the country, a position that was like no other, and so it would have to come up in one way or the other.

Fay did not envy Luna for her position. More than ever, the saying ‘it is lonely at the top’ rang true.

“Well,” Fay sighed, “Let us come up with a plan to properly address it all, then. Together.”
> Chapter 37: Return to... Normal?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild was blinking at the ceiling of his dorm. The sun was shining into his bedroom, heralding the new day. He simply knew it was a new day - he had slept for more than twelve hours. He felt comfortable in his bed, somehow managing to wake up in just that perfect position from which he simply didn’t want to move. There was no tiredness in his body, no residual weakness - it was fully rested in a way he couldn’t quite describe. His mind was clear, and he thought something about it was better as well, although, once again, he couldn’t describe what it exactly was. 

He didn’t remember dreaming about anything at all. He expected nightmares, he expected something, but there was nothing, just a long and yet instantaneous stretch of time dedicated to rest and nothing else. He was thankful it happened like it did - he had always welcomed dreamless sleep, and now it was more welcome than ever. 

Wild got out of his bed, each movement deliberate. He stood up straight and then performed his morning stretches, helping his body wake up further, shrugging off the remains of sleep. The very sensation of stretching felt amazing, and a deep lungful of air was refreshing like nothing else. He liked his slightly dry lips, somehow surprised by the fact that he was thirsty.

The dorm was exactly the way he left it on the day of the Changeling Invasion save for a few things. Namely, now there were dirt marks left on the floor from when he returned, and his bed was in disarray and slightly dirty as well. He hadn’t bothered to shower when he came back, surprisingly and thankfully without being accosted by anyone on the way, and he simply laid down on his bed and went to sleep in what felt like an instance.

Everything in his dorm was how he wanted it to be even if not exactly how he would like it to be. It was still... impersonal. At first, he was fine with it, but now it felt wrong. Before he returned to it, there was a part of him that expected the dorm to be given to someone else, and he would then have a different one. In retrospect, it was obvious the thought had no basis in reality, but he couldn’t help himself. Before he died, he was homeless, and having a place afterwards didn’t feel real until recently. Now... perhaps he wanted a place that was truly his, although he didn't know if his dorm would be it long-term.

As he walked to the bathroom to take care of his morning needs, he was struck by how comfortable the dorm was in a spiritual sense. Or perhaps a sense of mind, he couldn’t exactly find the right description for it. 

In a certain way, his dorm was his. He was allowed privacy in there. He remembered his early childhood when privacy was not a concept he understood, and his parents did not care much about it either. He had learned to forgive them for it - they had been raised in a different time and in a different culture. It was no excuse, but it was an explanation, and they made an effort to accommodate his sense of privacy once he blew up and yelled at his mother for entering his room without knocking one too many times. It wasn’t like he was even doing much of anything that would meet his parents’ disapproval at the time yet, but the very fact that someone could enter his place without his permission bothered him. He was scolded for shouting, of course, but his parents were willing to learn, and they respected his privacy in the future, always waiting for his explicit permission to enter. Perhaps surprisingly, they even respected it when he said ‘no’. He counted himself very lucky that them knocking was asking for permission and not just giving him a few moments to collect himself before they entered regardless of his wishes. His room was his. 

This dorm, he once more told himself, was also his... at least for as long as he stayed at the orphanage. He didn’t know what the future held for him. Perhaps he would own a house or an apartment. Perhaps he would rent a house or an apartment. He thought about a possibility he had already lived through as a human - owning nothing and renting nothing, living in the streets, always afraid, always uncertain. On the street, nothing belonged to him. Every comfortable sleep nook could be taken away at any moment even in the middle of the night. There was danger, always, everywhere. He remembered waking up to pepper spray someone thought would be funny to use on him. That was, unfortunately, not the most unpleasant of ways to be woken up, he had learned later.

In the bathroom, he relieved himself and then jumped into the shower. Finally, he washed away all the dirt and grime from the day before, although he had to scrub vigorously to get rid of some tree sap. It was then when he noticed it.

The black circle on his left flank. He checked the right flank - a black circle was there as well.

A talent mark. He knew what it was, although a part of him expected he would never have one. Was he not a human in some way still? Humans did not have talent marks. No sort of spontaneous tattoo that he knew of, at least. 

He thought it might be another brand, but this thought quickly disappeared, and a certainty came upon him - no, it was not a brand. It was a part of him. It was connected to what happened to... to how he lost his body and then regained it. To how he destroyed the Nightmare, and how...

Did he not consume whatever spirit mass or soul mass they were comprised of?

He rushed to the mirror. He remembered Luna’s words about what would happen had he accepted the Nightmare’s offer. Physical differences would be the most obvious. However, when he looked at himself through the mirror, nothing jumped at him. He was as he always was. Same height as far as he could see and feel, same colors, same muscles, same everything. He blinked - were his eyes brighter or was it his imagination? Was his vision sharper somehow or was he overthinking it, looking for more details just because he was focused on it? Were his pupils now taller and narrower and no longer perfectly round or was it a trick of the light? He moved his head closer to the mirror, looking at his own features with care, turning his head this and that way. One thing was clear - his mane was longer. Right now, it was long enough for its tips to be visible in front of his eyes if he combed the mane flat. Maybe another month and the mane would actively get into his eyes. Would it be a good idea to get it cut? Last time, he was balding heavily, and he shaved it all off as often as he could. Now, however... perhaps it wouldn’t be bad if he grew it out more. It looked good.

He shook his head slightly - he wasn’t looking at himself with the intent of considering making himself appear handsome or beautiful. Although, he supposed, it would not be bad. Maybe it would even be a good thing. He hadn’t cared much about his appearance beyond being clean and decently comfortable in a long while, and it was now time for his looks to improve. Why, though? He had no one to look handsome for. Though, he had to admit that some ponies looked... aesthetically pleasing. That was perhaps the best way to describe it, although he wasn’t certain. There was just something... more. Something he couldn’t describe properly. It was similar to...

His blood ran cold. He realized it, and how he wished he didn’t, how he wished he was wrong, but no... perhaps he should have expected it. Perhaps it would have always happened, considering that everyone around him was nude.

His mind was, somehow, having thoughts that came dangerously close to sexual.

He jumped back into the shower and turned it cold. He couldn’t think about it. He didn’t want to think about it. Just no. 

A memory came to him, unbidden.

“Dad,” he remembered himself saying, somewhat awkwardly. He hadn’t known why it was his dad that he went to with this, but he did find out later that it was, perhaps, instinctual, “I have... I think...” he gestured somewhat uselessly, trying to force his thoughts into proper words, “Everyone is talking about girls. And... I don’t feel anything about that. But I feel stuff about boys. Just a little, I promise!”

“Ah, son, I think I know what you’re trying to say,” his father smiled at him, “I suppose it’s time. You are growing up, after all. Well then, let me educate you...”

The next hour or so was awkward, but Wild then learned about sexual and romantic attraction, as well as things that were connected to those attractions.

“A lot of people would really like for me not to tell you, but there are people who are attracted to boys but not girls,” his father said, “Or to both. I am one of those people. Back in the USSR, I had a boyfriend when I was just a few years older than you. We had to do things together in secret, of course, but it was worth it.”

His father was bisexual? Wild, at the time, thought it weird. If he was bisexual, then why did he marry a woman? His confusion was evident on his face then, and so his father continued his explanation.

“I can’t say it was love, exactly,” he admitted, “We fooled around, sure. Held hands, kissed, and more. But it wasn’t exactly what I have with your mom. Can’t really explain you what’s going on there, but I suppose I just don’t like men that way. I don’t know why, but, frankly, it doesn’t matter.”

Wild learned that he was gay. It was less of a shock than he thought it had to be. 

“Some people are gay, some are bisexual, some don’t like anyone at all, and most are straight,” his father shrugged, “I don’t get why it has to be a whole mess with people saying who can and can’t marry whom, but it’s not up to me. My advice to you - know who you are, and know when and how to tell others of it, and when not to. The world isn’t kind to the gays. I am lucky I fell in love with a woman, I suppose. Though, know that I will be by your side. Whomever you like, it’s all the same to me, just make sure whomever you get involved with knows what he’s getting into, alright? And if it comes down to the dirty, there are a couple tricks to make things go smoothly. I’m sure you don’t want to hear me talk about it, so I’ll see if there are any books around on that topic.”

Wild would forever be grateful that his father went about it the way he did. It was a lot less awkward than it could be, and Wild didn’t have to hide who he was from his family. 

Unfortunately, any thought of sex was now met with a wall of extremely unpleasant memories. He held his head under the shower for a long time, hoping the rush of water would wash away the invisible stains he felt on himself, wishing for the sound to drown out the degrading words he heard inside his head, prayed for the sensation of water on his skin to remove the feeling of harsh hands grabbing him, nudging him, pushing, pulling-

He breathed hard, counting each breath, turning the water the coldest it could go. One breath, two breath, and it was so cold. Three breath, four breath, he was shaking and shivering. Five breath, six breath, there was nothing but him, the lungs filling with air, and the cold water running through his fur.

He didn’t know how much he spent like it but, eventually, he turned the water off, emerged from the shower shaking, and roughly dried himself off. The memories were still there, they were waiting for him, but he could hold them at bay.

The circle. The circle on his flank. Two of them, one on each flank, that was what he needed to think about.

Was he inside the circle, locked away from the rest by the thick black line? Was he outside the circle, prevent from accessing something within? Was he the circle, protecting something or keeping something away? 

The color black was the color of darkness, the color of nothingness. It was the color of death, and he thought it suited him. He died not once but twice, and he came back both times. Black, the color of death, and a circle, the symbol of cycles. Life and death, perpetually together, perpetually in motion, one after the other. It fit... but it wasn’t quite what he thought it was. There was more to it.

What sort of symbolism was it? He should have looked more into talent marks. He knew what they did - they showed what a pony had a talent in, hence their name. However, usually, it was far clearer. A paint brush signified a painter, a hammer a carpenter, everything just made sense. Then what did a black circle mean? 

He brushed his fur away and looked closer, craning his neck, bending to bring his face closer to the flank, to the circle on it. The fur was turned black, and even the skin underneath was black. It was not a fuzzy circle, no, it was very well defined, a stark contrast against his blue fur. The circle, for all intents and purposes, was perfect as well, although it was stretching along with how his skin stretched. Neither the skin nor the fur felt any differently - the only difference was the color. It was certainly not paint - he couldn’t scrub it away. He was sure that even if he shaved all the fur off, the mark would still be there. Of course, that much was obvious because the skin under the black fur was also black, but he just had to think. 

Whatever meaning this circle had, it would likely become clear in the future, hopefully. Right now, he realized he really wanted to eat, his stomach was actually growling. It was a given, considering for just how long he slept.

He exited the bathroom and noticed an envelope lying under the entrance door. He frowned, picked it up, and saw that it was addressed to him from Luna. Trying not to worry about what it could be about, he opened it and unfolded a short letter.

Dear Wild,

Because the day before was very eventful,

Wild snorted at the understatement and then continued reading.

we didn’t end up discussing some things. By now, you have undoubtedly noticed your talent mark. I hope you are not alarmed despite the circumstances that caused it to appear. Usually, a talent mark is a cause for celebration, but I understand if that is not how you feel about it.

In truth, he didn’t know what he felt about it. How he got the mark, it was... well, he knew when to be honest with himself - it was traumatic. He was surprised he wasn’t yet hit by the fact that he died - or almost died. Would it hit him later or would he just move past it because he had already died once before? 

It felt useless to cry about it, and his face remained dry. He had already cried as he hugged Luna in the immediate aftermath. But was it enough? It felt like he should have been shouting, wailing, bawling, screaming, and yet he wasn’t. 

He decided to put it all off for later... whenever that would be. There was the rest of the letter to go through.

If you are willing, I am open to talking to you about everything regarding talent marks that I know. I am not an expert, however, and I recommend you consult the books such as “The Meaning of Talent” by Clear Type and “Your Talent and You” by Morning Inspiration. Should you wish to, I will be able to find someone who specializes in talent marks to talk with you in order to help you with your thoughts about yours.

It was... very thoughtful of her. He had already thought about looking something up about talent marks at the library, and now he had a direction. It would also prove to be a nice distraction from... everything else. However, he didn’t know if he wanted to speak to anyone else about his talent mark, considering how he got it. He didn’t expect he would be warmly received if he revealed the truth about it. Luna thought he did a good thing - at least that is what she said, and he hoped she meant it - but he didn’t think others would understand. He could almost feel how he would be judged, how his actions and words would be dissected and used against him. No, everything that came to this was too deeply tied to things he was ashamed of, things he didn’t want to think about. It would be for the best for him not to speak about it with anyone aside from Luna. She already knew a lot about him - there was little else that he could reveal that would change anything. 

There was just a few more lines in the letter, so he read them.

If there is any questions, you are welcome to ask them of me. I don’t know whether you want to be alone at the moment or in company of your friends, and presuming one way or the other would be rude, but I hope you will not hesitate to reach out to me. It is my duty to help you, and I embrace that duty wholeheartedly.

Sincerely,

Princess Luna

Wild put the letter back in the envelope and then stashed it all away, making a note in his mind about the books. Before he would talk to anyone, he would read those two books. He convinced himself he wasn’t evading anything by doing that.

In any case, he was very hungry right now, and he focused on that.

***

It had been a long time since he ate at the cafeteria last. In fact, he remembered that was when the Changeling Invasion kicked off. It already felt like a lifetime ago. Now, at least, he was in no cocoon. His mind was clear. His brain needed some fuel, and that meant food. His body could not function without it, although he wondered whether his spirit would. The feeling of being able to just exit his body and fly - or whatever way spirits used to move - anywhere and elsewhere didn’t disappear. 

When he entered the cafeteria, it was like a wave went through the breakfast crowd. Someone recognized him - and he was fairly certain he remembered their face as well. Were they a part of the group that he led to escape during the Invasion? Suddenly, he felt like it wasn’t a good idea coming to the cafeteria. As more people noticed him and recognized him, he felt a shiver go down his spine as they all looked at him. His ears folded flat against his head and he considered bolting from his spot and run all the way back to his dorm, lock himself up, and sneak out afterwards when no one was around.

“Everyone, stop staring, it’s rude,” someone said, and he felt like an enormous amount of pressure was lifted off him. The person who said it turned out to be one of the oldest ponies around, although Wild only vaguely remembered seeing them around before. They turned to him and said, “Sorry about them, you’re a bit of a hero around here. And,” they turned back to everyone else, “You will be afforded the right to not be disturbed during a meal. Breakfast is important, is it not?”

One by one, the curious stares disappeared, although the attention on him didn’t lessen by much. In fact, it took him some effort to keep the thoughts of others out of his own head. He was immensely grateful for the technique Luna taught him, allowing him to direct all those thoughts around him instead of trying to outright block them or, the worst option, letting them through to him.

“Look, Wild, if anyone bothers you, call me, I’ll help you take care of it,” the pony told him casually, “Name’s Bell. I’m sometimes in charge of the discipline around here so that no one gets rowdy. There’s also Dusty Hooves and Blueberry, they sit in my place when I’m not around, they’ll help you too.”

Wild nodded his thanks and headed to grab something to eat. He didn’t exactly intend to go for help, but he appreciated the thought. He could handle some stares. He could handle the eyes on him. He could handle the attention. He had to.

Once he gathered what he wanted to eat, he started looking around for a place to sit down at. He remembered he wanted a specific one, and it took some digging in his mind to find out that he wanted to be near a radio and next to the stack of newspaper. He did want to know what was going around in the world. He could afford to be ignorant no longer, that much was clear. 

He sat down and listened to the radio for a moment. There was a weather schedule - and wasn’t that still odd how there was a schedule and not a forecast? What was scheduled was a definite weather pattern, one that could be timed down to around within five minutes. There was some fluctuation, but you could easily schedule your entire day around the weather schedule. The only untamed part of Equestria that regulated itself was the Everfree Forest, and its weather made weather scheduling around it a bit harder. 

Then there was the scheduled winter - it would come in a set amount of days. Fifty days before then, there would be the Running of the Leaves. It was a competition, a race that was an established tradition whose purpose was to shake the autumn leaves off the trees with the pounding of hoofsteps during the race. That was, at least, how the leaves were handled in and around Ponyville and other rural areas - for denser towns and cities, strong winds were used to blow the leaves off the trees. Wild didn’t exactly believe the power of the wind and the shaking from the runners were in any way equal in strength, but he wasn’t going to question it much because, well, magic. He had also seen enough things that were far crazier than that, after all.

He read through the newspapers as well, and it seemed life was on its usual way, although there was always a column dedicated to the Changeling Invasion. There were raging debates about what to do with the changelings themselves, and no law was yet enacted to give them any legal status within Equestria. Wild thought politics were not his immediate or even long-term concern, so he discarded the papers.

“Oh hey,” he heard the familiar voice of Swingblade. He sat down noisily nearby, and Precision wasn’t far behind, “Glad to see you up and about,” his eyes widened as he spotted the talent mark, “Oh damn, you’ve found your talent? Neat! When did it happen? What is it? Why’s your mark a circle?”

Wild was inwardly shrinking from the questions, his mind racing to give some sort of an answer that would stop this attention.

“Swingblade,” Precision lightly cuffed him on the back of the head, “If he wanted to talk about it, he would, wouldn’t he? Stop bothering someone who’s eating.”

“Hey!” Swingblade scowled at her, then looked back at Wild. He opened his mouth, then closed it. After a short while, it appeared he found something he could actually say, “Anyway, now’s that you’re back, you’re gonna get back in the club, right?”

Even Wild was not oblivious to the obvious change of topic, but he wasn’t about to point it out. He simply nodded, and then signed that he was looking forward to it. In truth, he... felt somewhat apathetic about it at the moment. After the Changeling Invasion, after his relatively long period of recovery, after almost dying again... he wanted something else. What it was, he didn’t know, but there was a sense of tiredness he had deep inside.

Life would go on, he knew, but everything that had happened in the span of just one month was... he didn’t think it was overwhelming, considering that he wasn’t breaking down - or at least he thought he wasn’t - but he still needed a pause of some sort, even if he didn’t know what pausing really is. 

He would figure it out, he hoped. For now, there was the meal he was eating, even if it didn’t really taste like anything for him. He knew the flavors, he knew how they felt, but they just weren’t doing anything for him.

His mind felt clear, but there was some sort of emptiness to it which wasn’t just the emptiness he felt where his connection between his body and soul was. That connection was now... gone, but also not, and it was different, and...

He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about anything. 

He simply didn’t know what to do.
> Chapter 38: A Day
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild died, yet not. He survived - in a way. Torn from his body, almost disappearing into nothingness, but he pulled himself together, defeated the Nightmare, and took his body back. The memory of that popped up in his mind often now, and he didn’t know why. It didn’t make him cry, didn’t make him even shudder. It was simply a matter of fact. It was what earned him the black circle on his flank.

And so he lived, yet he didn’t. The first day after he gained the mark, he looked up the books Luna recommended. Over the next few days, he read them, and they didn’t give him all that much. They talked about how a talent mark didn’t define a pony despite being a major part of a pony’s life. They talked about how having a talent mark in one thing didn’t mean a pony was doomed to be always mediocre at best in other things. They talked about how every mark has a place, every mark is valid, and every mark is welcome. That raised a question - what about talent marks for... unsavory things, like murder? That question was, fortunately, answered - there was not a single mark know in the whole history of pony kind that stood for any unsavory things. One could get good at killing or other things, but there was never a talent mark that stood for it. 

The symbolism of the marks hugely depended on the surrounding culture. If, for example, a hammer was never associated with carpentry, someone with a talent mark for carpentry wouldn’t have it as a hammer. More obscure marks like geometric shapes or esoteric symbols also hugely depended on the culture. In truth, it was all speculation - no one knew the real origin of the talent marks nor how precisely they functioned. However, it was guaranteed that a pony with a talent mark in a certain thing would be intuitively good at it, in a way that only years of learning how to do it would give anyone else. Someone who had a talent in building houses, for example, would intuitively know what kind of house would fit in a place - though, it depended on whether their talent was in engineering, art design, or other ways. An engineer would know how to properly lay the pipes and route wiring, an artist would know just the right design that would fit with everything around it perfectly. 

Wild had learned a lot about talent marks, but it still didn’t answer what his own meant, precisely. A circle could symbolize many things, and he looked up what ponies thought of a circle. He gravitated towards spiritual meanings right away. He wanted to scoff at that - he was never a spiritual kind of person - but there was an itch, some sort of a deep instinct pulling him there, and he was somehow convinced to trust it. 

A circle was, unsurprisingly, continuous. It had no beginning and didn’t end. There were no corners, no angles, and although there was an edge - two edges, considering that his mark was an outline of a circle - he felt like it wasn’t exactly important. In the end, a circle represented a cycle, and quite often it was of life and death.

Wild felt that it fit. Perhaps dying twice - and living after both times, even if he no longer really knew how to define what death even was - was what triggered his mark’s appearance. Would he be destined to die again and again, only to come back after each time? As he thought about it in the privacy of his dorm, he couldn’t help but giggle in a disconcerting way - he was now more than Jesus Christ, who died once, returned, and then disappeared. Could he perhaps walk on water now? Turn water into wine? Should he start a religion of his own? Would a black circle be its symbol instead of a cross?

Once this small bit of hysteria had passed, his thoughts continued on. It was clear that a cycle of life and death fit, somehow, but he didn’t think he would die again, at least not if he was careful. He didn’t long to repeat the experience of being torn from his body, although he didn’t feel like there was even a connection to cut.

On the second day after receiving his talent mark, he lay in bed and allowed himself to float up. And there he was, separate from his body, which remained living, lying there, breathing steadily, looking peaceful yet also empty. There was no resistance when he went out of his body, no sort of alarming sensation. He simply rose from his body like smoke and formed into... whatever he was now. A spirit, a ghost, a soul? He certainly had no bodily sensations.

It felt like a lucid dream, in a way. He was aware of looking, but he had no eyes, so he wasn’t quite seeing. He was aware of sounds, but he had no ears with which to listen, and so he wasn’t quite listening. He was aware of the texture and the material around him, but he had no body, no limbs, nothing to really touch anything with. 

It felt oddly silent too. He could hear himself breathing, but he wasn’t breathing - his body was. All the noises of his body that he had never quite been aware of before had disappeared, and without them, it was quieter in a way he couldn’t describe. Obviously it wasn’t silent, he hadn’t gone deaf - he could hear outside things just fine, but there was nothing inner anymore. 

He easily floated away from his body, feeling nothing tensing up in any way. He wasn’t tethered, wasn’t anchored, he just was. In the mirror, he looked at himself, and he was met with what he expected.

His soul was black, smoky, and somehow pony-shaped. There was an odd red glow to it, and there were cracks shining with it all over. He had a pair of glowing red holes where his eyes would be were he in his body. They didn’t blink and neither did their size or direction limit his awareness and not-quite-vision. He made a move to open his mouth, and his head stretched in a similar motion. If he focused, he could make his teeth seen, a stark white against the black, but it took some kind of effort to keep them there. Without it, they disappeared, leaving only the odd black smoke that comprised his soul.

A black soul with red cracks like unhealed wounds. It felt fitting, somehow. Why was it shaped like a pony, however? At this very thought, it shifted into something more vague, something undefined, although his two eye-like holes remained. It didn’t shift into a humanoid shape but neither did it return to the pony shape until he stopped putting effort into this thought, at which point he reverted to it. 

Did he no longer think of himself as human? Perhaps it was true, from a certain point of view. He had gotten used to his body, had gotten used to how it moved and behaved and what needs it had. He didn’t think he preferred his pony body over his human one, but that was a bit of a lie. He looked far more handsome, far more pleasant, even softer in his pony body. Perhaps it was his deeply hidden inner child that would’ve been delighted at meeting talking ponies. The child-him would have hugged them, feeling their soft fur, and would have talked all day long with them about magic and about unicorns and about you can control the weather? That’s so neat! and so many things that his adult self pushed away. 

He was no longer a child. And he was an angry child too - he would have pushed the ponies away, he just knew it. Besides... he didn’t deserve the kindness. The child-him had long been dead, gone far before his human self ceased to exist. Dead and buried.

Wild didn’t like looking at his soul anymore. The thoughts it made arise inside him... he didn’t want it. With just a slight nudge of effort, he slid back into his body and opened his eyes. It felt far more natural, and he enjoyed breathing, enjoyed feeling, enjoyed the... well, perhaps he didn’t enjoy the slight dryness of his mouth. He needed to drink some water, and then relieve himself. Or maybe do it the other way around. Either way, his body had its needs, and he needed to take care of them if he wanted to be anything other than a black soul with bloody wounds.

The meaning of the circle was clearer to him now. A soul was eternal - life and death didn’t mean much to it, just a part of the infinite cycle. The color black was perhaps for his soul, although the red cracks were missing. Perhaps a different version of him would’ve cried at having a black soul - he, on the other hand, wasn’t surprised. He knew he had done a good thing by killing those that he did, but the ways in which he did it... well, he had always been violent. This violence, he knew without a doubt, was a stain on his soul. A part of him protested - surely his soul wouldn’t be black because of it? He was no rapist. He was no dictator. The number of his kills didn’t even reach double digits, let alone millions that some people had killed directly and indirectly. Was what he did enough to earn this stain, the color of black that was the void? 

There were meanings of a circle, of course, those that could be true but which he didn’t accept, wasn’t ready to accept. A black circle could represent the ending of a cycle, heralding the beginning of a new one. It could represent a transformation, an emergence of a higher self. Yet he found it resonating more with the negative parts, parts that he would have never overlooked - a black circle could represent pain and grief. He knew there was much pain, and perhaps a lot of that pain could be defined as spiritual even if it came to him in the form of more physical hurts over the years. And grief... there was much he grieved, in the privacy of his mind. He grieved who and what he could be had things had simply been better. He grieved his parents, taken far before their time. He grieved even for the world he hated, the world that killed him, the world that had taken everything and everyone from him.

That was when he decided to return the books about symbolism back to the library and forget about it. His talent mark was connected to life and death, to his soul, and that was all he decided he needed to know. 

On the third day after receiving his talent mark, he returned to the hospital wing, a folding chess board in a bag slung across his chest. He borrowed it from one of the common playrooms, which he had never visited before. Perhaps he would visit them as a child, and some things looked like fun, but he knew he would feel awkward about it, so he didn’t. 

“Hello, Wild,” Nurse Fairheart greeted him, “Do you need any assistance?”

Wild shook his head, then signed a question about whether Lina was there and was taking visitors.

“She’s outside right now, I’ll ask her if she’d like to see you.”

Wild patiently waited as Nurse Fairheart went outside. This day was supposed to be just slightly cloudy and not very windy, so it was a decent day to be outside. Wild wanted to go outside himself, sit in the intermittent sun for a while, but that felt a bit too lonely. Soon, the nurse returned, telling him that he was free to visit Lina.

“Hi!” Lina greeted him immediately as soon as he was close enough, a crooked smile on her face, “Good to see you again! Didn’t think you’d visit after you were out of here.”

“I... decided to visit,” he replied awkwardly. In truth, he wasn’t ready to face anyone or anything else at the moment. Coming to the relative familiarity of the hospital wing was a relief, in some odd way. Visiting Lina, in particular, felt like a right thing to do, and it added to the sense of familiarity. Perhaps, for a moment, he could pretend like the Nightmare didn’t grab a hold of him long enough to bring him to them and attempt to kill him and consume his soul. 

“Oh, and you got a talent mark since you left!” Lina thought at him, her voice joyful, “Congratulations! What’s it for?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he replied, his tone firm. Then, he added, “I am... figuring some things out.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” Lina shrugged, “So, how’s it going? Hope you’ve been free of any migraines. I sure know I wouldn’t handle them well.”

“I am well enough, thank you,” Wild nodded. In fact, so far, he hadn’t had a single headache, let alone anything debilitating. As far as he was concerned, it was a good thing, “Would you like to play chess with me?”

“Oh yeah, bring it on!” Lina grinned as widely as she could, “I will get into a chess club once I’m out of here. I mean, sure, I could go now, but it will be embarrassing if I shit myself there.”

Wild just shifted uncomfortably, deciding not to address the last statement. instead, he set up the board. As far as he was able to ascertain, chess rules and figures were essentially the same as human chess barring some minor differences like the exact shapes of the figures. 

“Have you played chess much?” Lina asked as they each made their first moves. Wild decided to use the black figures. Felt appropriate, considering the color of his talent mark - the color of his soul. His move was always the second one, reacting to what happened. Revenge, fighting back, it was all him.

“No,” he replied honestly, “It has been... a few years.”

In truth, he hadn’t played chess much since he was around the age of ten, perhaps eleven. His father played chess occasionally, but it wasn’t something that passed down from him to his son. However, that wasn’t the point now - Wild simply wanted to provide Lina with some company, kill some time himself, and perhaps take his mind off of... other things. Chess would challenge him, take his attention, his focus.

“Alright, I’m gonna be easy on you then.”

“No,” Wild replied immediately, “I must learn. Do as you would always do.”

“If you’re sure,” Lina shrugged.

In fact, it was what Wild believed he needed. Being challenged but not in any dangerous way. He needed to accept failure. He had already accepted the ways he had failed previously, but even then resentment lingered. Perhaps chess wasn’t exactly the right tool to deal with it, but... he had once been quite competitive as a child and hated losing. It was a flaw of his he retained and was aware of even when the intensity of it decreased over time, and he hadn’t had many opportunities to experience failure that didn’t involve bodily harm since he was a kid. 

“I’ve heard you’re good with swords,” Lina thought out after a while, “I can’t wait to move again myself. Though, I am more of a sports person. I love hoofball. Or just kicking balls, whatever. It’s fun.”

“I am... good with swords, yes,” Wild answered, “But I will be better.”

“I hope you’ll be better with chess too,” Lina teased, “You’re about to make a really stupid move. Take a closer look.”

Some time ago, any sort of criticism would rankle at him. He had learned to be better than that. Besides, Lina wasn’t doing it in any malicious way, so he let her tone slide, and there was no resentment, no hurt. 

“Can you tell me what’s it like to do sword stuff?” Lina asked some moves afterwards, “Is it like dancing but, you know, violent?”

“I don’t know, I have never danced,” Wild shrugged, “But it is... it makes me feel good. It is just... good,” he finished somewhat lamely, then shrugged, “I can’t explain it in words well,” he paused for a moment, then, self-conscious, added, “I am still learning the language.”

“Oh? What country are you from?”

The country he was from didn’t exist in this world. He cursed at himself for admitting to something like this - he was now used to the idea of Luna knowing more than anyone should, but that didn’t mean he could let his guard down. He wanted to kick himself - he also admitted to having played chess a few years ago. If Lina knew anything about his supposed backstory, she would have to be stupid to miss these inconsistencies. However, fortunately, there was something he could say.

“I... don’t want to talk about it,” Wild replied, shuffling a bit, nervous.

“...Fair enough,” Lina shrugged, “Oh, by the way, check.”

Wild fairly quickly lost the game after that, but he was relieved that Lina was seemingly willing to let the issue go. She could be a bit too straightforward, especially about herself, but it appeared she was willing to back down on things if told to do so directly. Wild could appreciate it, and so he stayed to be defeated in chess a few more times.

On the fifth day after receiving his talent mark, he made himself go to the Martial Arts Club. He was welcomed back warmly, which made him try not to fidget under the attention. At least it was a good kind of attention, even if it didn’t make him all that more comfortable. He would much rather prefer to... what, exactly? Be alone and unimportant? He chased this thought away. It was true that others saw him as a hero for what he did during the Invasion, and he had some time to get used to the idea of it, but... plainly speaking, he didn’t like it. Any decent person in his position would have tried to help others escape. But, perhaps, not just anyone would stand back and intend to sacrifice themselves for others. Wild did just that and paid for it. He didn’t know whether he was motivated by a selfish desire to die for a good reason or a selfless desire to help others.

When he fought in a duel now, there was something different about it. His steps were more sure, his sword moves more precise. He could almost see what his opponents would do before they did it. It wasn’t reading their body language, he was sure of it. As he fought, he realized that it was difficult to concentrate on letting thoughts go past him instead of through him. He ended up catching thoughts and intentions, and he realized it made him frighteningly effective at predicting how to move and where to strike to bring his opponents down. He didn’t like relying on it, didn’t want to rely on it, so he did his best to be a rock in the water. Water passed by, not disturbing him. Unfortunately, it required some amount of concentration, and it wasn’t something he could spare in the middle of a duel. So, he grit his teeth and continued doing his best with what he had, resigning himself to more meditation to get his ability under proper control.

At the end of the club session, he went for a jog as usual. He should’ve felt amazing after it all, and yet... there was some sort of hollow feeling that kept him from it. It was as if he just went through the motions, simply moving his body according to how it was needed. Whatever enjoyment he should have gotten from the training simply wasn’t there. As he ended his jog, it made him feel frustrated. He should have been happy about training again. It was good for him. And yet it seemed as if everything was muffled somehow, lessening his enjoyment into nothingness.

Artful was there watching the club from the side. Wild got a distinct impression that he had been there mostly for him, although he had a notepad and was drawing some sketches. 

“I’ve to see how warriors move to properly draw them,” he explained it when Wild approached him, showing him the sketches. They consisted of a single pony each in a middle of one move or the other, “You’re really good at it, um, so yeah, it’s perfect for this kind of thing.”

Wild shrugged. He didn’t really do art, but he could see the point.

“By the way... You’ve been a bit out of it during the whole thing. You alright?”

The warm concern made Wild feel a bit tingly yet also awkward. He shrugged once again. Whatever this feeling of numbness was, he would deal with it. Wouldn’t be the first time, wouldn’t be the last time. 

“Ah, have you ever tried drawing or painting?” Artful asked, seemingly changing the topic. Wild shook his head, “It’s fun to do, though it requires time to learn. But, uh... would you like to join me in the Arts Club? M-maybe you’ll end up liking it. It’s actually starting pretty soon today, so we can go right away. If you want, that is.”

Wild thought about it. On one hand, he didn’t really want to do it, considering that the peak of art he had ever done was drawing stick figures. When he was young and rage comics were all the, well, rage, he could also draw a passable trollface. He made some stupid comic once or twice, never really getting anywhere. He even forgot what they were about and, if he was honest with himself, they just weren’t important. Now, he believed it was a waste of his own life, but then his life had been a series of bad events one after the other, so what did it really matter?

He decided to agree to Artful’s suggestion. Maybe it would help improve the way he felt. 

“Hello, welcome!” the Art Club head, an older earth pony mare, greeted him cheerfully. Artful told him her name was Colorful. It was she, in fact, from whom Artful got the name idea for himself, “Are you here to paint, to look at people painting, or to be painted?”

Wild shrugged in uncertainty, but then signed that he came to look around. Privately, he thought he wouldn’t be very good at art, and it wasn’t really where his passions lay - if he had passions in the first place. He had, at one point, wanted to be a singer. Unfortunately, he didn’t consider his voice to be anything better than mildly unpleasant, and his difficulties with speaking sealed the deal. 

“I’ll show him around,” Artful said. Thankfully, Colorful knew sign language as well, so it wasn’t a problem for her to understand Wild.

“Alright, you’re welcome to stay as long as you don’t disturb anyone,” Colorful told Wild, “I’ll make time for you if you’ve any questions, okay?”

Wild nodded, and then followed Artful. Since he had a talent mark, Artful didn’t exactly need to learn like others, so he mostly just painted either from ideas in his head or from ideas presented in the club. In comparison to the Martial Arts Club, this one was far more chaotic, everyone doing their own thing, yet it was also harmonious in a certain way. 

“My latest piece is just the Royal Orphanage as seen from the front,” Artful told him as he set up his space. It wasn’t meticulously organized but neither was it aimlessly chaotic, “I’ve done it before, but that was during early summer. I want to do all seasons eventually, I think. Ah, would you like to draw something too? I can help you out with pretty much everything.”

Wild signed that he would be fine just watching. He finally admitted that he didn’t think he’d make a good artist. He was good at swordsmanship - and violence in general, although he didn’t sign that - so he doubted art would be within his grasp.

“I think you are already an artist, in a way,” Artful said, then blushed when Wild raised a questioning eyebrow, “Well, um, I mean... Martial arts are art. Sure, it’s not painting or sculpting or music or anything that’s, you know, traditionally art. But, um, there’s a beauty to swordsmanship too. The moves, the subtlety of reading each other as opponents in a duel, the swiftness that a fight could be, it’s all...”

During the pause, Wild sensed some thought coming from Artful, something partially directed at Wild. He allowed the thought to pass even as it wanted to cling to him. It was not his right to read it, although, whatever it was, it caused a blush to appear on Artful’s face as he slightly averted his eyes from Wild.

“It’s nice,” he settled on saying. Wild was weirdly certain there was something else, something a bit different to it than just being nice, but he let that slide, “There’s obviously the, uh, brutality, I suppose, but there’s also grace. The natural curves a-and fluidity of the fighters combined with rigid and straight lines of the weapons, there’s just something beautiful to it.”

Wild nodded slightly, seeing his point. However, he didn’t think he agreed that it was beautiful - even though a part of him very much did agree. Martial arts were, first and foremost, violence. The goal of any martial art, as far as Wild knew, was to hurt someone else. He didn’t think there was anything particularly beautiful about it. Grunts, moans, yells, and screams of pain weren’t music. Bruises, cuts, gashes, broken bones, none of it was sculpture or painting. Wars weren’t fiction that one could enjoy reading about. 

However, Wild didn’t want to turn this nice conversation into an argument about what was and wasn’t art. He suspected Artful would be very upset at what Wild could say about violence, and... Wild realized he didn’t want to upset Artful. The young stallion was nice and, perhaps, innocent, unburdened by experiences that weighed heavily on Wild. Besides, there was something about Artful’s body that was appealing.

His mind skidded to a stop at that thought as he rushed to banish it. He didn’t want to think about it. He hoped his eyes didn’t linger on the curves, hoped his face wasn’t blushing. 

He. Didn’t. Want. It.

His body, unfortunately, told him otherwise.

His mind, in truth, was also against it.

But the trauma, the impenetrable wall he built between himself and what caused it, had to stand strong lest he would crumble. 

He shifted his thoughts away from the connection between how a body looked and how nice a body could look to him. Even as his mind was somewhat stubborn in its insistence to stay on Artful, he could at least think about his personality instead of, well, any other thing.

Artful was, first and foremost, thoughtful in his actions and his words. Wild didn’t fail to notice that he looked at his new talent mark but didn’t speak about it, letting Wild control the conversation about it. Artful had never touched him or reached out to touch him, and Wild was reasonably sure that Artful understood the reason. Artful was a... conversationalist, as much as one could be a conversationalist when talking to someone who didn’t respond much. Artful was eager to talk about what he liked and enjoyed, and he could listen just as well. 

Wild, if he was honest with himself, liked being around Artful, and that didn’t apply to anyone else. Swingblade was a bit immature and could be thoughtless, Precision just wasn’t compatible with him in some way he couldn’t quite describe, and Luna... well, he couldn’t say he disliked being around her, but there was always some sort of tension between him and her, all for quite obvious reasons. For now, he was relieved that she was away somewhere, letting him have some space for himself. 

So, for now, he would enjoy his time with Artful, as much as he could enjoy anything at the moment. Perhaps whatever he felt would pass by before long... he hoped.
> Chapter 39: Not Evil
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Numbers three and six, in Equestrian culture, are associated with good fortune, with the latter more so than the former. Three leaders of the three pony tribes, three aides for the three leaders, they made six Founders of Equestria. Elements of Harmony were six as well, and now there were six Wielders of the Elements. The most common friend groups consisted of six close friends, and the most common romantic relationships featured three partners. In cities, the most common height of any building was three floors, and if there was a need for more floors, more often than not the total floor count was in the multiples of three. 

Luna was aware of the symbolism and its power, and so it was on the sixth day since Wild got his talent mark when she decided to send him a note asking him to visit her. She did her best to word it as a request, not any sort of an order, making it clear that Wild could very well refuse it and face no negative consequences from anyone. She was somewhat aware that even simple requests from a princess were often treated as orders, so there was little else she could do about it, only hoping that Wild, due to his relative familiarity with her, would choose what worked for him and not for her. 

Despite luck being on her side, she couldn’t help but feel anxious, anticipation thick in the air around her as she sat there in waiting, fidgeting, never quite able to take the perfect position on a seat that suddenly wasn't as comfortable as it should have been. She had formed a plan with Doctor Fay and hoped to ask Wild about letting Fay in as well. Luna realized that she was way over her head and couldn’t possibly offer all the help Wild needed, not by herself, so the work would be made tremendously easier with Fay. However, she knew Wild would most likely not agree to it despite her best efforts. Nevertheless, she repeated her arguments in her head over and over again, hoping that they would be enough to convince him. 

Fortunately for her, Wild agreed to visit her in the end, some time after dinner. He opened the door slowly, peeked in, and then walked in, each step measured not to show nervousness yet displaying it clearly for her to see. He closed the door behind him softly and turned to face her, his face a mask of neutrality, his body rigid with tension he failed to control. His apprehension couldn't have been clearer, but at least he showed up, which was a point towards the meeting going well enough. Luna knew she would do her best, and even if it wasn't enough, she would have at least tried. 

She mentally readied herself, casting her doubts and fears and anxieties away. Wild was there, she was there, and the only way forward was through.

“Good day, Wild,” she greeted him, her voice steady and calm and welcoming, revealing nothing of her own nervousness. As a princess, she had received much training in hiding what she truly felt in the face of various situations where showing her inner thoughts would prove to be a wrong move, “Take a seat, if you please.”

His steps were, once more, carefully controlled as he moved forward, his eyes a steely gray, his thoughts firmly locked behind impressive mental shields. Luna, as a sign of common decency, practiced the thought-deflecting technique that she taught Wild as well, but her own awareness of the thoughts around her was still greater, still able to determine the very surface of the people around her.

Luna resisted the urge to inhale too deeply and simply continued to breathe as normal. As long as she didn't reveal her own nervousness, Wild would see no reason to become more anxious himself, which would be better for both of them. Her outward calm would also hopefully prevent him from seeing this meeting as an interrogation. Luna had no intention of questioning him excessively, and yet she could only help him if he were honest with her, so a balance had to be struck. 

She almost snorted at the thought of this meeting resembling treaty talks with other nations. As random as this thought was, Luna could admit she could see the similarities. Both of them wanted something from each other, and both wanted the meeting to end to their benefit. Whether it would be to one's benefit and the other's loss or to mutual benefit, that much depended on how Luna acted. 

The seat Luna chose for Wild to have was comfortably padded, containing the newly-made and quite expensive memory foam. Her own sleep had certainly improved after she got a pillow made of it, as well as a mattress containing it, and adding the comfort charms on top of it all provided a heavenly experience unlike any other. Magic, after all, could only do so much - what was underneath it was still important. 

Wild's eyes widened a fracture as he suddenly stopped, then he wiggled a bit and settled in, some of the rigidity and tension going away. Luna noted to make sure the producers of memory foam received a generous donation in the future.  

Her next step in her strategy for this meeting was not sitting behind a desk herself. The desk would have separated them as well as elevated her above him, and by eliminating it she hoped it would help Wild feel himself more equal to Luna. For herself, she hoped this lack of distance and separation would make her look more approachable. 

Despite her efforts, his posture remained rigid and stiff to a degree, radiating wariness, a hint of nervousness, and plenty of uncertainty. The black circle of his talent mark stood out starkly against his blue fur, attracting her attention even as she did her best not to stare at it, knowing it would certainly make Wild uncomfortable if she did. His eyes looked into hers, and they appeared to be glowing intensely in a way that wasn’t exactly physical and, likely, not in a way that Wild could consciously control yet. Luna suspected that, if she reached out, she would feel the lack of proper tether between his soul and body. That was certainly one of the things she wanted to talk to him about, now that she knew what to say after spending her time looking up everything that could help her understand what happened then. 

“How have you been?” she asked casually. It was better to approach slow, and this general kind of question should hopefully help with that.

Wild made an aborted sign before his face twisted for a moment. He licked his lips, his eyes moving away from hers. 

“I am fine,” he replied. It was clear that he hadn’t been practicing his speech much if at all since the last time Luna saw him, although his voice was steadier and just a bit louder. It was still rather quiet, rough in that peculiar way a voice not often used sounded. In a way, it clashed with his appearance, as if his voice didn’t quite belong with his body, “I am... doing swordsmanship. I went to Art Club. It was... nice.”

Luna was glad Wild chose even those little bits of information to share with her. Someone who held no trust in her would have stopped after declaring themselves fine. However, even as he said those words, Luna got a feeling that there was more to it. Whether he didn’t want how to say it or didn’t want to talk about it, that she didn’t know and didn't wish to speculate on.

“It’s good to hear your voice again,” Luna smiled at him encouragingly, “I hope it wasn’t an issue that I wasn’t around. I intended to give you some space for yourself after everything you have been through. I know you are a private person, and I hope you will tell me if I ever overstep your boundaries.”

She couldn't stop berating herself for what happened even when she knew the fault did not entirely lie with her. It was for the best that she had given him space. However, she knew that continuing giving it to him would only make it look like she abandoned him, which she would never do. He needed her help, and she had never abandoned those she cared about.

Except she had abandoned her sister-

She squashed this thought with enough mental force to destroy a weaker mind.

Wild thought for a short while before speaking again.

“My boundaries,” he said slowly, as if tasting the words, “I... never wanted to, to talk about... myself,” he shrugged in a way that didn’t exactly mean anything more than fidgeting, a movement for the sake of moving, “I didn’t think anyone would learn about... who I am. Not you, not anyone.”

He stopped there, still looking away from her, subtle emotions shifting as he thought. 

“What will you do to me?” he asked, looking at her again, “Because you know I am not a pony. I am... a stranger.”

Luna had thought for a long time about it, and she saw where his words could lead. She had to make sure they didn't lead where he could be hurt. 

“The idea of someone coming over from another world is not as outrageous as it may seem,” Luna started, “From time to time, creatures came from other worlds, and we are generally aware that other worlds exist.”

Wild’s eyes widened, a look of surprise in them. There were questions in his mind, no doubt, but none of them sprung forth to be spoken.

“But you are the first sapient being who crossed over as far as we are aware,” Luna continued, “If anyone in the scientific community learned of it, they would certainly like to speak to you about it. However, it is your choice whether to reveal your origins or not. I do not believe anyone other than myself, at this moment, would be so lucky as to guess it. Perhaps my sister will if she spends more time around you, but it is otherwise very unlikely.”

There was visible relief in Wild at her words, although his wariness yet remained, as if waiting for a 'but'. Luna couldn't fault him for it.

“To answer your question, I do not intend to do anything to you,” Luna said, “You are your own person. Your circumstances are interesting, but I do not have the right to push to learn more about them than you are willing to reveal. And you do have a right to live your own life in pursuit of happiness. Unless you break our laws, and unless it is relevant to your origins, they will not have to come up. 

“Personally, I would like to help you heal and thrive, and your past is relevant there. But it is your choice whether you want to talk about it. Help is only effective when it is wanted. Neither I nor anyone else can force you to accept help.”

“I want help,” Wild said, then averted his eyes, shrinking back bit. Luna got the impression that he didn't mean his words to burst out of him like they had just done, “But... can I... can help be done to me?”

“Do you believe you are beyond help?” Luna asked for clarification.

At that, Wild didn’t know what to say, inwardly shrinking some more. Many thoughts swirled inside his mind, memories that made him who he was, his thoughts and his desires and his fears and his anger and hatred-

Of course, nothing stood out as much as the one, exactly one, the very core of him, that part of him that he hated yet couldn't get rid of. It was him, and without it he wouldn't be himself, and the exact reason why he hated himself. Could he bring it up? Could he tell Luna about it? 

Well... it wasn’t like he hadn’t admitted to having done bad things before, an understatement that it was. What was one more thing at this point? He would surrender to her judgement. Perhaps it was far too grandiose, but he had entered her world, and it was only just for her to know who and what he was in order to decide whether he could be allowed to live or not.

“I like making pain,” Wild blurted all in one go before he could convince himself not to bring it up. There was an immediate sense of release and relief flooding his mind, “When others are hurt, and I do that, I like it. Not, not in a...” he stuttered as he found the word, “Not in a sex way. Not like that. But, but...” he went silent then, looking down on the ground, shame rolling over him in a wave now that the relief dried up and disappeared. Then, in a voice so quiet as to be barely audible, he said, “But it is wrong anyway.”

There was a silence that seemed to stretch for a long while despite lasting for no longer than a couple of seconds. Wild felt like a sword was hanging above him, like his head was on a chopping block and there was just one action separating him from death, and the action was not in his hands to do.

“So, you enjoy causing pain,” Luna said, her tone neutral, and Wild could do nothing but nod, the entirety of him still as he awaited what she would say next, “I must admit, I do not know much about sadism, but I can certainly say that being a sadist, in itself, is neither good nor bad.”

Wild looked at her, puzzled. That was not something he expected to hear. How could it not be bad? He caused pain and he liked it. He wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

“No one can help how they feel,” Luna said gently, “Just like you cannot help feeling pleasure at someone’s pain, you likewise cannot control, for example, how the food you eat tastes.”

That was an analogy he hadn’t heard before, and he perked up slightly at it, because it made sense. How many times had he tried to control how he felt, only to always fail without a single exception? Was it not exactly like wanting an apple to taste like an orange? 

“We cannot control how we feel,” Luna continued, “We can only control what we do about it. Your feelings, your thoughts, they are not something you should ever be judged by. Your actions is what is important. Can you accept this?”

He was struck speechless then. Perhaps, intellectually, he knew that actions are what matters, not what one thought or felt. However, being vaguely aware of it wasn’t the same as fully recognizing it or accepting it. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. 

“Are there any conditions that you need to meet in order to enjoy the pain you cause?” Luna asked, making Wild frown at the seeming change of conversation.

“I... yes,” he nodded, then swallowed, “I don’t en-joy making- causing pain to people I like,” he said, and it was true, but only partially, so he added, “Unless... unless they agree to it. Like in a sword duel,” he licked his lips, feeling them dry up as he struggled to put this part of him in words, “I must be the one to cause pain to like it. No one else,” he paused for a moment, thinking some more, “And I... like it the most, when I... when I hurt someone who hurt me.”

“Alright. So, allow me to sum it up, and please correct me if I’m wrong,” Luna said, “You like causing pain only to people who cause pain to you that you didn’t agree to, and you also like causing pain to people who agree to you causing pain to them.”

Wild nodded. It was, surprisingly for him, entirely correct. 

“Then I do not believe there is a problem.”

It struck him in a way that resonated inside him, disbelief rising alongside bone-deep utter relief at this simple statement. Were he religious, he would perhaps compare it to feeling lighter after a confession, but there was no judgment. Luna didn’t demand he change himself, Luna didn’t order him to pay penance for who he was, Luna didn’t call him evil or retarded or a freak or any other words he had gotten so used to hearing whenever someone who knew him saw him. 

“Wild,” Luna called to him, “You are not evil. You are not broken. You do not need help with this part of you. You are simply different from others, and that is not bad. Many people enjoy hurting others in one way or another, and that doesn’t make them evil nor does it make them immoral. Sadists can be and often are very empathetic and loving people.”

Wild swallowed, feeling his throat constrict slightly, and edges of tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. He could be a loving person. He... had never heard it said to him before, and now he truly had no words.

“Can you repeat this after me, please?” Luna said, “I am not evil.”

“I...” he choked, “I am not evil.”

“Good,” her voice was gentle, “Please say ‘I am not to blame for what I cannot control.’”

“I... I am not to blame for, for what I cannot control.”

Another wave of relief hit him, and he sagged in his seat, feeling as if something monumental stopped pressing down on him. Doubt still remained, but the veil of negativity was lifted, and he felt like it was easier to breathe in a way he couldn’t describe. 

However, there was one other thing. If he was not evil, if he was not to blame for the pleasure he took in pain, then... 

“Why is my soul black?” he decided to ask.

“What do you mean?” Luna seemed confused.

“The... when I am out of my body,” he explained, “I am black, and there is red too,” he chose not to mention the cracks.

“Ah,” Luna nodded in understanding, “Well... I must admit, I do not know. I have seen ghosts before, and they are often translucent, their colors are of people that they are if only noticeably duller. There have been stories of free spirits, who are, as far as I am aware, different from ghosts, but I am afraid I do not know anything more.”

“What about... violent ghosts?”

“They are no different from the others,” Luna said, “There is only a sense of... their emotions, I suppose. It is often rage and anger, and these emotions are often very strong around them. However, all ghosts radiate their emotions, so I truly cannot rightly say. I suppose, in your previous life, you didn’t have the colors you do as a... free spirit?”

Wild shook his head. If his form represented the colors of him, he would be pale, with dark hair, and gray eyes, not entirely black with red eyes and the red glow and the... cracks. 

“I promise you I will try to find the answer to your question,” Luna told him, “But, in truth, we know very little about souls. Ghosts are relatively rare, and most of them are generally invisible, only impressions of a person in the surroundings. There would be perhaps a whisper, a sensation, but rarely anything more. You are not a ghost, I am certain of that. And, if I may ask...” Luna hesitated there.

“I died,” Wild admitted freely. At this point, he might as well just say it out loud. Luna knew enough about him to guess it anyway, “And I have now a new body. I didn’t take it away from a person!” he rushed to assure, “I... I just got it,” he shrugged, “I did not look like this before. My, my scars... are with me anyway. The same but... for my new body.”

“Wild,” Luna said, and something in her voice made him look at her directly again, “May I give you a hug?”

He agreed, readily, yearning for the sensation of being held close. The hug was nice and soft and yet firm in a way that hugging a pillow could never feel like, and he couldn’t help himself as he cried. He had certainly bared his soul to Luna on that day, revealed a part of him he had always hated so much, and what he received in turn was... Validation. Lack of judgment. Acceptance.

In truth, it was his innermost desire, and for the first time in a long while, he felt at ease. 

He could do it. He could make a new life for himself. He could be good. Just because he liked causing pain didn’t mean he was a bad person. Perhaps, a part of him would always be ready to rise up and call him evil, but, for now...

He could allow himself to hope.
> Chapter 40: Old Memory, New Perspective
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild left very shortly after the talk, saying something about having to think about things. Luna nodded and gave him a smile, telling him to take care of himself. Of course, it was for the best that she didn't bring up anything else - Wild was shaken by her words, and it would do no good to push him any further. She could see the struggle within him, and it pained her to see that something as plain as acceptance of an inseparable part of him was so foreign to him. What he thought of himself, what he revealed to her, it painted a picture of self-loathing that he carried within him for a long time, and she knew this talk would not bring it to the end. There was also the hug he allowed her to give him, and Luna was glad to know he was more comfortable with affectionate touch. She didn’t know what species Wild was before, but she knew that any social species relied on physical contact as both communication and a form of comfort. To see that Wild was denied that through no fault of his own, it made her heart ache for him. 

Ponies were considered the most affectionate sapient species around the known world, and for a good reason. Hugs, bumps, brushes, taps, there was an entire language of touch, one that the absolute majority of ponies learned as they grew. There was a concept that many cultures had that was called skinship - a relationship built on and nurtured by skin-to-skin contact. Ponies pioneered the term and taught it to others at every age, and Luna suspected Wild had not been exposed to something like it before. Fortunately, being that the Royal Orphanage relatively often housed those who did not appreciate being touched just yet, everyone was taught to be respectful of those who refused social touches. Luna shuddered to think how much stress Wild would be subjected to if he was exposed to pony society in a less controlled manner, especially since his own case was extreme, far from reality any pony was likely to ever experience within the borders of Equestria. 

Luna wrote down her observations to go over them again later, and then retired for the day. 

***

Wild couldn’t help but repeat the conversation he had had with Luna over and over again in his head even as the day ended and he was in bed, ready - or, at least, wishing - to go to sleep. The outside was quiet, and this allowed his thoughts to roam free when he had nothing else to focus on.

He knew something monumental had happened. Never before had he really talked to anyone about his... sadism. He considered it a dirty, unpleasant word, one he shunned, one he didn’t want to be associated with him. He enjoyed causing pain, yes, but... he had never been cruel to animals. Stomping on bugs, squashing spiders, pulling cats’ tails, throwing rocks at birds, he had never done any of that, and so he couldn’t even think about calling himself a sadist. He had been angry often, yes. He had exploded more times than he could count on people who didn’t really deserve it, and even more times on those who he believed did deserve it. He had fought often, yes, but he didn’t go out of his way to cause pain, not without provocation. He didn’t pull at anyone’s hair when sitting behind them in a classroom, never kicked anyone’s chair, never pushed anyone just because... he had done many things, he knew, but he had never purposefully went to hurt random people or animals. 

He was not a sadist. He couldn’t be.

And yet he was. Sadism was a part of him, inseparable, ever-present since as long as he could remember.

“I must admit, I do not know much about sadism, but I can certainly say that being a sadist, in itself, is neither good nor bad.”

For the longest time, he thought being a sadist was a stain on his soul. In truth, he didn’t think that much differently even now. If being a sadist wasn’t bad, then why was his soul black?

“I must admit, I do not know.”

Luna, someone who lived for over a thousand years, didn’t know why his soul was black, so who was he to decide what it meant? 

Most importantly, Luna didn’t call him evil. She didn’t recoil from him when he admitted that his very self was the color of darkness edged and crossed all over with blood. She didn’t throw him out, claiming it was for the best that he, from then on, would have to stay away from the ponykind, that she would protect them from someone as vile as him.

Instead, he was... validated. He felt seen. Heard. While he doubted anyone else would accept him, he could deal with it. What was between him and Luna would stay that way. Patient confidentiality, wasn’t it? He didn’t know if their talk was therapy. It... felt like therapy would feel like, once he got all the negative connotations away from it. He remembered that he wouldn’t be locked up, wouldn’t be taken away anywhere unless he was an active danger to others or himself. Apparently, that didn’t mean that his entire existence was an active danger.

He felt slightly giddy at it. For the first time in who even knew how long, he felt as if there was something for him to live through, although he didn’t know whether that made sense or not. He was driven by revenge before he died. After his death, he wasn’t driven at all, merely allowing the currents of events to take him on a ride. His future was limited to the next day at best, and he didn’t exactly have to think much about anything. Food, water, shelter, entertainment, education, healthcare, all those things were freely given to him, and he took advantage of them all, and they allowed him to... stabilize. To relax, even, as limited as it was due to his own state of mind.

As he lay on his bed, the sun gone and the moon shining from up above, memories came to him, memories he tried not to think about ever since he died. However, he believed now it was time to approach them again, to relive them in spirit if not in body. Those memories, the last of his days as a human, were filled with a singular purpose - to strike back against those who wronged him, and then he would rest. It was both the peak of his sadism and the peak of his despair.

He remembered how thin he was. His eyes were always deep-set, shadowed by his eyebrows, and now even more so with dark circles around them. Sleep was rare and it brought no relief, only a void between one day and the next. His body ached, having never received appropriate care since before. However, lack of food, lack of shelter, lack of everything that could’ve allowed him to recover, all of it was replaced by the burning need of revenge. It drove him forward when his stomach tied itself into knots in hunger. It fueled him when he would have otherwise fallen over from exhaustion. 

Those who captured him, held him down, restrained him as they violated his body, they would soon pay for everything they’ve done to him and others. He had managed to escape, clawing his way to freedom even as he struggled to remain aware as the drugs ravaged his mind, the same drugs that kept him down when he wasn’t in the room. He didn’t know what they were, but he knew their purpose was to prevent him from thinking straight, from trying to form a plan when he was locked up, outside the room, outside of the view of the camera. 

He didn’t know what guided him, what let him escape from wherever he was being held. He only found out later that it had once been a farm, now overgrown, shielded from the rest by bushes, weeds, and scattered trees. He scratched himself quite badly as he made his way through it all, never stopping, not until he was a long way away from that place. 

He wandered the unfamiliar surroundings, shivering from the cold, aching from the bruises. These were the sensations he remembered, and the rest was a blur, which was perhaps a blessing. He remembered how his hands shook, how his entire body would tremble, how something inside him would crave whatever drug he was forced to take, how he would sweat and feel as if his heart would burst out of his chest.

He struggled to survive, sleeping whenever and wherever he could, stealing food in order to stave off starvation just for a little while longer, just so that his brain wasn’t in a constant deep fog. He had almost forgotten what luxuries such as having a flushing toilet or a shower were. He had been lucky to find a revolver as well, carelessly left in some bushes by a road. Last he had heard, it could have been related to some murder investigation going on at the time, and he thought there was something gang-related about it all. At the time, however, he didn’t care - the revolver became his safety. Just four bullets, nothing extra, all in a sturdy package, ready to use. If his aim was true, he could take out three people before turning the weapon on himself. 

He remembered the faces of the three who had broken him. Three bullets, one for each. It was as if fate itself was standing behind his revenge, lending him assistance. It only made him more bitter - where was this luck before? Where was this fate when he was younger? Where was it all even before he was born? He didn’t want a revolver, he wanted his life back. He didn't want to enjoy pain, he wanted to be a regular person. He didn't want this desire for revenge, he wanted his parents to be with him and love him and soothe him whenever he felt bad. He wanted to wake up from his life, he wanted it to be a dream, and he wanted it to fade from memory like one. 

Unfortunately, fate had other ideas about him, and he could do nothing but follow what was laid before him. He had what he had, and he would make do with what he had. 

He was on a hunt. As destitute as he was, he was still driven, still doing his best to survive as long as it took. Nothing would stop him now, that much he could promise, and this promise he intended to fulfill. 

~*~

The Cameraman was an unassuming man in his late twenties. He was studying media production before Wild tracked him down to his home. The Cameraman had never partaken in the action himself, but he was always there, always watching, always recording. The lock in his front door was unimpressive, unlocked in barely five seconds with a simple handmade wave rack. Wild was grateful he learned how to pick locks, it proved more useful by the day.

The Cameraman lived completely alone, so Wild didn’t have to worry about being interrupted. He had thought about how he would use the very same camera the action was filmed on to film the Cameraman’s brutal death. He had fantasized about it for a long time, and he found his hands shaking slightly as he came closer to it, the anticipation thickening. However, he recognized that it would be best for him not to leave any good evidence behind. 

Wild awoke him by viciously stabbing him through his hand, then his leg. As the Cameraman screamed, attempting to push off Wild, he stabbed again and again, feeling the flesh part under the blows, the red of the blood quickly welling up, staining the body and the knife. Even as he felt his blows weakening, nothing could stop the joy he felt with every stab, with every second the scream of pain went on. It was revenge, pure and simple, and he was finally delivering it with his own hands, smearing them with blood, feeling the droplets splatter him.

The victim’s thrashing became weaker and weaker, and Wild took pleasure in seeing genuine horror in the Cameraman’s face. While their roles weren’t exactly switched, Wild still enjoyed the sense of having power over the Cameraman, being in full control of the situation. It brought him a deep sense of satisfaction to see just how afraid the Cameraman was of him, to see that the Cameraman could experience emotions, and that Wild could make him hurt.

Despite the numerous stab wounds, despite the bed already soaked in his blood, the Cameraman was not dead yet. He was whimpering, curling up in a fetal position, no energy left even for begging for his life. It was a pathetic sight, and rage boiled inside Wild, knowing full well that his own whimpers never brought anything but more pain. He jumped on the bed, then aimed a powerful kick, then another, and then yet another, and he kept kicking everywhere, not even looking because it didn't matter, because all that mattered was the pain he was causing. 

His boots were too large for him, and he could feel them becoming slick with blood, and he knew his feet would ache later. However, his own pain did not matter, not now when he held the power, when he was on top, when he was in control. He kicked and kicked, aiming for the groin and the face, and then stomped as hard as he could, anywhere he could, breathing hard and fast, his weakened body already stressed. 

The Cameraman was yet alive, somehow, wheezing and conscious, his breath a rattle of pierced lungs that somehow still worked. Soon, Wild knew, he would die of blood loss if he didn't choke on blood first. However, he didn’t intend to let the Cameraman live this long. He pulled out the revolver, and the Cameraman’s eyes widened at it, a word coming out of his mouth in a gurgle. Wild didn’t listen, didn’t hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears. His arms were surprisingly steady as he cocked the hammer and aimed the revolver right at the Cameraman’s head, right between his eyes. Wild pulled the trigger, and the deafening bang made him wince, yet it didn't matter. The Cameraman immediately slumped, lifeless, his unseeing stare still filled with the horror of pain and death as blood soaked the ruffled pillow under his head.

Wild took a few seconds to drink in the sight, to feel the elation of the kill, to know the joy of pain delivered on the one who stood aside when Wild was violated. Afterwards, he quickly looted various electronics around the house, as well as some food and bottled water. He didn’t do a particularly thorough job of making it look like a robbery, but it was good enough, and so he disappeared into the night. The expensive electronics were broken and dumped in a random hole elsewhere - he had no need of them. He couldn’t exactly easily sell them nor could he plant them somewhere to be found. Whatever recordings of what happened to Wild and others existed, he knew the Cameraman wasn’t stupid enough to store them inside his home.  

By the time the investigation into the Cameraman’s death was on its way, Wild was already planning his second kill. Just like with the Cameraman, he didn’t know his name, and only knew him as the Streamer. He had something that passed as a cheerful and engaging personality, and perhaps it could even be enjoyed if not for what was being streamed. 

“And here is the slut for today!” he would say right before the action began. Wild hated his voice, hated the words he said, hated everything about him. Oftentimes, he was just running commentary, commentary that Wild hated with an all-consuming rage, as hopeless and as helpless as it was back then. Even when the Streamer joined in on the action, he never once lost his disposition, and for that, Wild hated him even more.

The Streamer was rather well-off, owning a good sized house in an upper middle class neighborhood. Wild didn’t know whether the money came from the donations to his streams or because his family was rich, but he didn’t care. What was important is that he tracked him down. Unfortunately, there was a problem - his house had an alarm, cameras, and a lock that would probably not be as easy to pick. Wild knew he was decent at picking locks, but he didn’t have the experience to crack the harder locks. It wasn’t like he had a habit of breaking into homes, so he never needed to know more than how to get into a shop closed for the night. They didn’t tend to have anything more than a ‘please don’t enter’ kind of lock, after all.

Instead of going for a risky break-in, Wild planned a trap instead.. He collected nails, pieces of sharp glass, and generously scattered them on the road not too far away from the Streamer’s home. He knew the Streamer’s schedule by that point - he would often drive around on Saturday nights, predictably enough that Wild could know exactly when to make his move.

It worked as expected, one of the wheels luckily going flat, forcing the Streamer to stop and get out of his car to inspect the damage. As the Streamer bent down and muttered about the wheel, Wild almost soundlessly rushed in, his heart beating hard and fast. He hit the Streamer with the force of a battering ram, making him fall right on the road, and Wild immediately started swinging a hammer at him, aiming for the kneecaps first. A sickening crack and a yelp signified his success, and so he struck elsewhere, everywhere, not bothering to aim at all as he was overcome with desire for pain that could not be denied. The Streamer screamed, a song to Wild's ears, as he attempted to shield himself from Wild’s vicious strikes, trying to get up and get away yet failing. It was immensely satisfying to see someone always maliciously cheerful being filled with pain and horror, and so Wild struck more viciously, a twisted snarl-grin on his face. With every thwack of flesh, with every crack of bone, he gained strength, gained vigor, when there was a sudden bang that made him jump. The Streamer managed to pull out some kind of small pistol, but he, thankfully, missed the shot. Wild’s hammer immediately struck at the hand holding the pistol, breaking the fingers, which prompted another shot that went wide. Soon enough, the Streamer could struggle no more, barely conscious. 

“P-please,” he managed to croak, “I, I can give y-you money, please, don’t kill me!”

Wild paused for a moment as if he considered it. Then he let out a sound one couldn't immediately recognize - something like a series of barks, as vicious as a rabid dog. It was laughter, and he enjoyed it even as it scraped his throat raw, even as it turned into a coughing fit.

Finally, finally the Streamer was down, begging, his whole personality reduced to nothing, and no more could he comment with glee, no more could he be in a position of power over Wild. And Wild, of course, didn't care at all about the money, he wasn’t long for this world anyway. Right now, he only cared about the pain he caused, and he laughed at how fearful, how pathetic the Streamer was, completely at odds with how he usually presented himself. Wild aimed and struck a nasty kick against the man’s groin, then another, and then another, and then he gripped his hammer tightly and brought it down. He heard something pop, something crack, and a choked scream tore from the Streamer's mouth.

Wild then stepped away, breathing heavily. Blood mixed with something else was now staining the Streamer's pants, and he now only moaned in pain, not in pleasure, and never would he feel pleasure again. However, Wild was not done - even if it would be immensely satisfying to leave the Streamer to experience pain for the rest of his days, Wild did not intend to let him have more than the next few minutes. He picked up the fallen pistol and aimed at the Streamer, who struggled to push the words out yet the pain overwhelmed him, rendering him unable to speak.

Good, Wild thought, You will die in worse pain than mine.

Even with the efforts of speaking resulting in nothing, the Streamer was clearly trying to beg for his life, just like Wild had once tried to beg for his. 

BANG

The Streamer screamed, his broken hands going to the hole in his stomach.

BANG BANG BANG

He gurgled and wheezed now, one of his lungs riddled with holes. Surprisingly, not yet dead, still clinging to life, still conscious. Wild was not surprised - he knew what someone could endure before death. He had been a curious child, and the internet was a place a child should not explore without adult guidance. Since then, he also got some firsthand experience in just how much a human body could tolerate before it finally died. It was perhaps humorous in a morbid way that he still had all his limbs and all his digits intact. That considered, what he experienced was not the worst.

That didn't mean Wild would forgive and forget nor would it stop him from his revenge. He wished he could inflict all the pain he had suffered, but he had limited time. With a disappointed shrug, he threw the Streamer's pistol away, now empty, lamenting that there weren't more bullets - it would have been more satisfying if he could put some more holes through him, but alas, that was not to be. 

Finally, with a deliberate movement, almost one of reverence, he pulled out his revolver. A shot to the head finished him off, and this time Wild didn’t flinch from the loud bang of his revolver. He then quickly patted the cooling corpse down for any money - unsurprisingly, there was some cash on hand, fortunately not stained by blood yet - and quickly ran away, knowing that someone would have definitely called the police by then. He didn’t want to stage any sort of ordinary crime scene nor did he cared enough to do it. What was done was done, and he would have to be satisfied with that.

The third and the final person was the Organizer. He was the main ‘star’ of the entire show. Cruel, arrogant, confident. Able to mask his monstrosity behind a veneer of respectability and charisma. Before Wild learned his cruelty firsthand, he had heard of him being accused by multiple women of unwanted sexual advances. Naturally, none of those incidents and accusations stuck - his father was a police chief. At the time, Wild didn’t believe he was guilty, swallowed as Wild was by an idea spread around that a lot of people lied about having been victims of sexual violence or generally inappropriate behavior. The Organizer, he thought, was a community leader. Oftentimes, he could be seen distributing food and water to those in need.

Wild remembered how they first met - the Organizer invited him into his house.

“It’s disgusting that our city lets this happen,” he said so convincingly then, “No one, especially as young as you are, deserves to be out on the streets without support. Come, I’ll cook you something, not just some canned beans but the real good stuff. That’s the least you deserve for having to endure this.”

Wild bought it hook, line, and sinker. He followed the Organizer without a second thought, focusing only on the promise of food, possibly shelter, and likely some decent company. Wild hadn’t been broken then, still clinging to his old name, still having hope that everything would be fine, still thinking that he had a future. Perhaps he would be able to get a job to support himself for long enough to rent something, anything, and maybe he would eventually get enough money to go to college, get some good education, and then finally pull himself up, achieve the American Dream his parents struggled with and couldn’t manage to get to. 

“Take off your shoes, please,” the Organizer told him as he led Wild into his house, “Put on those slippers right there. There’s a closet, I’ll show you where to put your backpack. Must be hard carrying everything all day on yourself, huh?”

The Organizer opened the door, but it didn’t lead to a closet - instead, there were stairs leading to the basement. Wild frowned, confused, and then he was shoved hard from behind. He stumbled, and then he was kicked, and he rolled down the stairs, hitting them painfully, and hitting his head on one of them hard enough to be thrown unconscious.

What followed were the worst days of Wild’s life. First were the days of deprivation. Barely enough water, not nearly enough food, and a constant bright light glaring at him from the ceiling, and loud noise intermittently sounding from a well-hidden and well-protected speaker. At some point, he simply collapsed into unconsciousness, and it was then when he was taken away from that basement and into the old farmhouse where the real nightmare began.

After he was stripped of all that he had physically, his dignity was torn, his will broken, and everything that made him a person was struck again and again and again until all he could do was try to imagine himself elsewhere, try to think that it would be over, that he would die, that this was all a bad dream, that this would end well for him. 

He had gotten his shelter. He had gotten food and water. But, in turn, he had lost the shreds of freedom that remained. He was used and abused in ways he hadn’t experienced before. Despair, loneliness, horror, desire to die, all of it mixed inside of him until he couldn’t feel a thing, until he could only wish days would go by faster, until days were going by faster, as if parts of them were erased from his mind, as if he merely slept dreamlessly through it all.

Wild reminded himself that he escaped, that he was free. There was only one thing left to do before he freed himself from his suffering, and that was revenge.

Wild came for the Organizer in the morning. He placed an empty cardboard box on the porch, rang the bell, stepped away from the line of sight, and waited, hidden. The door opened, and the Organizer looked at the package in surprise. He bent down to pick it up, and at that point Wild swiftly stepped in. The Organizer shuddered in surprise, straightening, shock clear on his face. 

In one hand, Wild held his revolver, close to his body, aimed at him. In the other, he held a cheap smartphone with a text-to-speech program opened, some lines already written and ready.

“Raise your hands, go back inside with your back to me. Do not scream, do not do anything else or you will die,” the program said in a dispassionate voice.

“Easy there,” the Organizer raised his hands and obeyed.

“Do not do anything else or you will die,” Wild made the program repeat.

“Alright,” the Organizer slowly nodded, “I can give you my stuff, there is no need to shoot me, okay?”

“Silence,” the program said, “Walk.”

Wild closed the door behind him, making sure that the Organizer remained facing away and at a decent distance from him. That man was relatively muscular and quite strong, and Wild wasn’t going to take any chances.

It was clear Wild did well by wearing a face mask and glasses. With what was going on in the world back then, no one looked at him twice in his apparel, and not even the Organizer recognized him. Not yet.

“What is behind the door on the right?” the program voiced. The very same door that led to the basement.

“Storage. I don’t really have anything there, old furniture and the like,” the Organizer answered, his voice tighter. 

“Open the door.”

The Organizer seemed to hesitate.

“Open the door. Do not do anything else or you will die.”

He obeyed. Wild felt a dark sense of satisfaction at ordering the Organizer around. However, gloating would come later. He rolled his shoulders a bit, feeling the backpack shift slightly. He would indeed take it off soon - it was certainly hard carrying it around all day.

The two descended, and Wild ordered the Organizer to turn on the lights. The basement was bare, having just some shelves with junk, a door to the deprivation chamber, and some sort of pipe bolted to the ceiling and the floor. Wild knew very well that the basement was soundproof. He tossed the Organizer a pair of steel cuffs.

“Cuff both your hands behind you, the chain must be on the other side of the pipe,” he ordered through the smartphone. 

“Hey hey hey, listen, no need for that, okay?” the Organizer’s fear was a balm on Wild’s shattered soul.

“Lock yourself as told. I do not need you running away to call the cops as I take your stuff. I will give you the key once I am done. Now move or I will shoot you.”

The Organizer, hesitantly, obeyed. Wild ordered him to test the cuffs once all was done, and everything was done just right. Wild took off his backpack and placed it on the floor, still a good distance away from the Organizer. Thankfully, the basement was spacious enough that there was no chance the Organizer could reach him, and the cuffs were sturdy enough he wouldn’t be able to easily break them. 

Wild pulled out a hammer, the very same hammer he used to strike the Streamer with. A nasty, twisted grin spread on his face behind the medical mask. He swiftly turned around and the hammer hit the Organizer’s face with a satisfying crack. 

“Ah shit!” he swore, spitting parts of his teeth out, “Fuck! Shit! The fuck was that for?”

At that, Wild went low and struck his right leg at the kneecap. The Organizer went down with a cry of pain. 

“F-fuck! Shit!” he yelled, “Ah fuck! Why did you do that?”

Finally, Wild didn’t hide his satisfaction as he took off his sunglasses and the mask. The Organizer’s eyes went wide, recognition obvious and evident. 

“Ah shit, it’s you,” he said, “Fuck, didn’t expect your skinny ass to survive. Fuck, we should’ve searched better, shit...”

Wild tapped on the smartphone, his hands shaking as he made the message.

“I survived. The others are dead. Now it is your turn.”

“I should’ve realized that, shit...” the Organizer swore, but then a nasty expression appeared on his face as he sneered at Wild, “But, you know, you are still our bitch. Nothing you can do to me will wash out the taste of my cock from y-”

Wild viciously struck him, snarling, and he felt deep satisfaction as he heard another crack and a scream of pain from the Organizer. His jaw was now clearly broken.

“Fffuuuuck!” the Organizer groaned, “You f-f-fucking bitch...”

Over the course of the rest of the day, Wild let his sadism go, unwound and free. A hammer, a knife, a saw, all saw their uses. He broke bones, cut skin, sawed off fingers. Every scream a pleasant symphony, every twitch and shudder a beautiful dance. In that moment, he was the closest to euphoria, putting every bit of pain, hatred, anger, rage into his actions, returning them all to the one who had violated him the most. The Organizer swore and threatened, then whimpered, and, by the end, he was begging. 

“Phleasss kill me!” he cried, “Phleasss! You won! Phleasss!”

Hearing that, hearing the Organizer beg, hearing the Organizer so pathetic, so down beneath what he himself once thought he would never be because he had held all the power, was extremely pleasing. Wild, however, didn’t plan on giving him a clean, painless death. The last thing came out of the backpack - a can full of gasoline. 

He splashed the Organizer with it first, ignoring his pleas, ignoring his horror, ignoring his insistence that Wild couldn’t do it.

“You see, w-we bof enjhoy phain,” he rushed to speak, words tumbling out of his bloodied mouth past his broken teeth and cut lips, “Iph y-you dfo this, you’ll b’come juss like me.”

Wild stopped then and set the can down. He typed three sentences on the smartphone.

“I am not like you and never will be. I will always be better than you in every way. You will die painfully and I will enjoy it.”

Once he doused everything in the entire house with gasoline, he went back to the Organizer. Slowly, carefully, he lit a match, letting the Organizer watch as it burned for a moment, drinking in the horror on his face. Then he threw it. Quickly, the fire rose, enveloping the Organizer, and screams unlike any other filled the air. Wild, as much as he could enjoy pain, shuddered anyway, feeling that he might have stepped over a line. He shook his head - no, for a man like the Organizer, even this was barely enough.

It was then when he ran upstairs from the basement, stripped the rest of his belongings off his body except his backpack and his revolver. The cartridge that he ended up not spending on the Organizer was tossed aside, leaving the last one, the one for himself. Even if the Organizer somehow survived, he would live the rest of his days in absolute agony, unable to harm anyone, unable to even look at himself in the mirror, and Wild would be very much content with that.

The Organizer deserved death and living in pain in equal measures, so Wild let the chance decide it. 

As he tossed another match behind him and watched the insides of the house lighting up, he put the revolver in the backpack, slung it across his bare shoulders, and made his way out. His next destination was a lake - he often found himself there. Despite it being out in the open, it was a safe place to rest, and it was fitting that his final rest would be there as well.

~*~

Back in the present, back in his bed at the Equestrian Royal Orphanage, Wild drifted off to peaceful sleep, the memory accepted. His revenge was done, his pleasure in it accepted. He would forever bear the consequences of what he did then and what was done to him before, but he could let a part of this lie. He enjoyed the pain he caused, the harm he inflicted on monsters.

I am not evil, he repeated inside his head. He reminded himself of the fact that he wasn’t punished for what he was about to do to the changeling ‘princess’ when he held her at literal knife’s edge. He reminded himself that Luna said it was good that he destroyed the Nightmare. 

I am not evil, he repeated again. Sadism was a part of him. Luna, he knew, would not begrudge him the pleasure he had taken in his revenge. He had rules, those that couldn’t be broken if he wished to experience pleasure from the pain he caused and not guilt and shame.

There was no guilt over the brutal killing of monsters.

There was no shame in enjoying getting the world rid of them.

I am not evil, they were, and they are dead, and I enjoyed killing them, he told himself. Luna would accept this. Luna would not judge him for this. 

His sleep was peaceful and undisturbed.
> Chapter 41: Desires
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Wild wake up, he had found himself in an awkward position - for the first time in a very long while, he had morning wood. It felt unfamiliar, even uncomfortable to a certain point. He scrambled out of his bed, doing his best to ignore the sensations resulting from sudden movement, and rushed to the bathroom. A cold shower, the coldest he had taken in a while, helped soothe him and return to what he considered normal. 

Wild didn’t want to deal with this. In truth, he didn’t know how to deal with it. Before his very worst days, it was simple - rub one out and move on. He had found some people cute and handsome, but he didn’t want to risk the possibility of outing himself as gay and making his life much worse, and so he had never as much as held hands with anyone. After his worst days... the feeling of having been defiled had never truly ceased. 

On some level, he knew that what happened wasn’t his fault. What was done to him happened because the people who did it were evil, reveling in the suffering of others to a degree even he couldn’t understand. There was nothing he could’ve done to prevent it, no way he could have acted that would have helped him avoid it. He was vulnerable and he was taken advantage of - hardly a story worth noting, considering how often it happened all over the world in a great many different ways. 

However, he couldn’t help remembering the pain when he thought about sex, couldn’t help feeling the lingering fear and helplessness, couldn’t help being ashamed for letting it happen to him, for not fighting back harder. He didn't know what he could have done, but there had to have been something... or so he told himself. 

As he thought about it while standing under the chilly shower, the warm feeling between his legs disappeared. It was almost comforting, although now that the feeling was gone, he was already missing it in a way he couldn’t quite describe. He knew he hadn’t been able to achieve an erection, purposefully or not, ever since his worst days. However, he didn’t feel like celebrating the sudden return of this ability. 

Why now? Why did it have to return? He had almost managed to forget... or perhaps he was just fooling himself. There was no forgetting this. There was no denying his own body. However, he still wished he could simply turn it all off, lock it all in the depths of his mind and throw away the key. However, there was no key that he could use, no lock that could withstand what he wanted to ask of it. 

He made his way through his morning routine without much difficulty afterwards, managing to distract himself well enough. Brushing his teeth, thoroughly and thoughtfully, check. Washing his mane and tail with some gentle shampoo, check. Drying himself off until only a light and even welcome feeling of wetness remained, check. Brushing his mane and tail afterwards, check. As he looked at himself through the mirror, he ignored that part of him that told him he was looking good.

He was surprised to find a letter under the door, from Luna once again. He read it and almost smacked himself on the head - so that was what he had forgotten! The seasonal medical examination, the one that had been going on for four days already, on its fifth right now, and with four more days remaining after that. It reminded him that he would be able to get rid of his scars, and that was enough for him to write that he would like to go through the entire thing as soon as possible. He would deposit his response in the cafeteria letter box or post box or whatever it was called, he certainly didn’t care about that detail. He had seen it before, he remembered some ponies put their letters there, but he had never really thought about it, as self-absorbed as he was. 

Once more, Wild was reminded of just how little he knew in regards to the Royal Orphanage specifically and Equestria as a whole. He had been taught that, while ignorance wasn’t something inherently bad, it was on him to not be ignorant and to learn. This entire new world was in front of him, and yet he knew so little about it, perhaps hoping that it would never matter.

Wild thought, uncomfortably, that the very concept of the future had become foreign to him. Once again, he found himself stuck in the mindset of ‘survive today, think of tomorrow only when it is already today’. He didn’t believe it would be easy for him to break out of it... and, maybe, a part of him did not wish to get rid of this simplicity. Nevertheless, he had to break out of it because he needed it. Everything concerning him was now different, and he needed to adapt to it lest he suffer the consequences for being rigid when it was best to be flexible.

With his reply to the letter already written, he could no longer weasel out of the medical exam. He knew it would be good for him, and the possibility of getting rid of his scars was also quite enticing. This was a chance he would not miss.

After he made his way to the cafeteria and deposited his letter, his stomach grumbled, a sensation of being empty felt quite clearly. At the very least, food was no longer something he had to think about much, so it wasn’t long before he got his tray of food and sat down not far from the radio and the newspapers. Nothing jumped at him in regards to the news, so he allowed himself to simply focus on the food. Whatever melancholy he felt just a day before seemed distant now, and the food almost seemed to taste better. This day, it was a vegetable bowl with what he thought was tofu scramble. Or was the term tempeh? He wasn’t really sure, but he wasn’t complaining. Some apple and pear slices were quite nice on the tongue as well, and he opted for some sort of a smoothie that tasted chocolate-like. He took his time to eat all of it thoroughly, not merely mechanically chewing in order to get his food down and move on.

It was no surprise when Artful joined him halfway through the meal. Wild offered a greeting - seemed like a nice thing to do, especially now that they knew each other somewhat. Wild felt like doing nothing would be rude, especially since Artful had been so nice to him, even making paintings, which Wild didn't really know how to feel about. As he went through the greeting in the sign language, he was distracted by just how nice Artful’s fur looked, how shiny and pristine, and how seemingly artfully - no pun intended there - his mane had been arranged. In short, Artful was nice-looking. Wild’s eyes widened as he realized where his thoughts were going, and then he did his best to appear as if nothing at all had happened. Fortunately, it appeared Artful noticed nothing, and so the two ate in silence - from the side of the artist, in content friendly silence, and awkward from Wild’s side.

Wild was certain thinking about how nice-looking some ponies were would not be good for him. Besides, weren’t the oldest of them just about fourteen? Wild was more than half a decade older than that. Any sort of relationship that went beyond friends would be entirely inappropriate, although Wild had to admit that the biggest distance was in experience, not age. If anything, those around fourteen in pony years - however many that was in Earth years - seemed no less mature than he was. However, who was he to judge? He was not a regular person. He simply didn’t know what it meant to be any age. 

He returned to his food and focused on it properly. The last of the apple slices were firm and juicy, certainly much better than some other kinds that tended to be mushy.  The chocolate-like smoothie was delicious, and Wild idly wondered what it was made of. From what he had learned so far, ponies did not use any animal products in their food. When he stopped consuming them himself, he struggled to find any replacement for things like ice-cream and chocolate, so he had to simply abandon them. 

Wild thought about the milk he had seen and tasted so far, and most of it was made from nuts. He had never had a chance to taste such milk as a human since it was outside the price range of what he could afford to eat - not to mention the rarity of such a thing even appearing in the first place. This plant milk was certainly delicious, he had yet to find a kind that he didn't like. 

He licked his lips after the smoothie was finished and realized he had never kissed anyone before. How did ponies kiss anyway? Human heads were a lot different compared to pony heads, after all. The lips were a bit bulkier, the mouth - or was it maw? - wider. 

Wild stopped himself right there. Kissing didn’t exactly evoke any unpleasant images, but it still left him feeling vaguely... off. He just couldn’t really define the feeling aside from it maybe being connected to discomfort. He did remember he dreamed of kissing various boys before, but that had never resulted in anything, so he... in truth, he didn’t know what to think about it, what to feel. 

He was so very much touch-starved. He would do anything to just get hugged.

He silenced that thought and pushed away this sudden rush of desperation. He couldn’t afford to think about it even as he longed for a friendly, perhaps affectionate, perhaps loving touch.

Wild did not run away from the cafeteria, but there was certainly a hurry to his steps once he was done eating and cleaning up after himself. The edges of his eyes prickled and he knew he was very close to crying.

He hated crying, yet crying always brought him some relief.

He was so lonely. 

He hated feeling alone. He hated being alone. 

Yet he was alone.

Wild locked himself up in his dorm and rushed to his bedroom. He jumped onto his bed and hugged one of the pillows tightly, and then he finally let in the flood. He sobbed and sobbed, tears flowing freely.

It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. 

He was a sadist, but being a sadist wasn’t wrong, yet so many bad things happened to him, so many good things didn’t happen to him, so what was going on? Nothing made any sense. 

His life was a mistake but he couldn’t die. 

Everything he had gone through had been... for what? Why did any of it happen? Why was he still alive? 

He didn’t know anything. He had no direction, no goal, no plans, no future.

“Please...” he sobbed into the pillow he was hugging, unsure of whom he was begging and for what, “P-please...”

He had once begged for death, but now he wanted to live. He wanted to live, yet he didn’t know how to live.

Everything that he was, everything that he had done, it was all a failure. He was a failure. 

He used one of his front hooves to pound on his bed in frustration and anger and complete and utter helplessness, everything around him a blur behind his tears.

What was he to do? 

He broke down all because he thought about kissing, all because he found someone nice to look at, all because his body was not cooperating, because he wanted the touch yet he hated being touched, he wanted to be close yet there was an infinitely wide chasm between him and anyone else, and...

He was exhausted. His heart felt spent, a sort of tingling sensation all around his chest that was both comfortable yet unwanted. His body ceased shuddering from his cries, leaving him sniffing, blinking his teary, stinging eyes. 

***

He didn’t remember when he fell asleep, but he awoke in a better state of mind. His eyes were a bit crusty, a headache was growing, but otherwise he was fine. It was just three hours since breakfast - he still had about an hour before the Martial Arts Club meeting, after which he would go to the Arts Club. 

He got up, drank some water, washed his face, and groomed himself until he was presentable, most of the visible sings of his breakdown disappearing. He didn’t know why he cared - which was a lie, he knew he wanted to look good. However, whatever desires his body had were not important to him, so he ignored them for as long as he could. He didn’t want to care about his appearance or about how others looked or about, well, anything.

He had to admit, he was a mess. Even if he listened to his body, even if he found someone for himself, in whatever way that would satisfy him, it wasn’t like it would work out. Equestria, from all that he knew, did not have widespread bigotry regarding sexual and gender identities, so he didn’t really have to worry about outing himself and reaping negative consequences for it. He would not have to look behind his shoulder, expecting to be beaten up. He would not have to be ashamed of himself, of being different, of simply liking someone of the same gender. That was all well and good, of course, but there was still the fear of being open about who he was because his fear was no longer rational. There was always the possibility that something bad would happen to him because of who he was. Or, simply, something bad would happen to him because of nothing. The Changeling Invasion and the Nightmare were proof enough of that. He attracted trouble, and it would find him wherever he went no matter who he was. Besides, who would even want a mess like him? He longed for touch yet couldn’t accept it on a good day - the two hugs from Luna did not count no matter what he might wish for otherwise. Kissing? He didn’t think he’d be able to go there. He didn’t even know if he would like kisses. He had never kissed or been kissed, so what would he know anyway? And then, of course, there was sex. He did not want to open that can of worms, but it appeared it was inevitable.

Deep inside, somewhere that he could hardly admit even existed, there was longing for the pleasure of sex, yet all he could remember was pain, and this pain was full of fear, full of hate, full of despair. Whatever he wished for, it simply would not become reality unless he forgot what happened to him, and he knew he wouldn't. He could, perhaps, dream of having sex with someone he liked, with someone he gave consent to, but he feared this ability was taken away from him, irrecoverable. After all, when was the last time he fantasized? When was the last time he allowed himself his own touch?

Wild reminded himself that he was a mess. No one would want him as a friend, no one would want him as a friend with benefits, and no one would take him as a lover. It was for the best anyway - he shuddered to think that any moment of intimacy could be easily interrupted by his unwelcome memories or sudden breakdowns. He got enough of them as it was.

Wild decided that he didn’t want to think about it any longer. Perhaps he could visit Lina again. She was a girl, she was much younger than him in every way, and so he would never have any interest in her. He had found that talking with women was far easier for him. He was never... distracted, which couldn’t be said for a lot of the boys he had once known. 

“Have you seen her boobs, dude?” one of them once told him, “I’d like to bury my head in those, damn.”

Wild never got the appeal of that. So, when a young female teacher came to his school and started teaching Math, he dutifully learned - as much as he could, anyway - while pretty much every other boy seemed to drool at the very sight of her. Wild had to admit, she looked... nice. In a completely non-sexual way - it was simply clear that she took care of her health, and it showed. As a teenager with some unpleasant-looking acne spots at the time, he was envious of her clear, unblemished skin. His hair was never behaving, and so he desired to have her own perfectly combed and straight hair. He had never had any other thought regarding her as far as he could remember. 

Not that any of it mattered. Memories of school were now blurry, and he could hardly remember half the names of his own classmates. Not much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity. He hadn't spent even half a year in the clutches of people who had violated him, but it was an entire lifetime, a chasm the width of infinity between then and now. 

Fortunately, he didn't have to delve deeper into his memories once he made his way to the hospital wing. There, he was greeted by Nurse Fairheart. A part of him wondered what young stallions thought of her. She was... he couldn't quite tell the ages of ponies past perhaps mid-twenties, so he couldn't exactly place her. She could be as young as eighteen or as old as forty. He had little idea how ponies aged, after all, and there were two examples of ponies multiple centuries old that didn't look or sound any older than his parents ever did, as much as he could compare pony looks to human looks.

“Good day, Wild,” Fairheart greeted him, “Are you here to visit Lina?”

Wild nodded.

“Unfortunately, she isn’t taking visitors at the moment,” the nurse looked apologetically. Wild shifted, unsure of what to say, when she rescued him with her next words, “I’ll pass your words on if you want.”

Wild hesitated for a moment, then signed that he wanted to wish her well and possibly play chess or checkers sometimes.

“Alright, I’ll tell her that,” the nurse smiled at him. He nodded, then left.

That was quite unfortunate that Lina wasn’t available. Wild was curious why she couldn’t see him, but then it wasn’t really his business, was it? Lina had respected his own privacy so far, so he would respect hers in turn. It wasn’t like it was difficult, after all.

He ended up going outside to rest in the sun. The weather was nice and warm despite the fact that it was autumn, and Wild settled down by the lake. There were some ducks floating around, a couple of foals throwing seeds at them once in a while, giggling as the ducks crowded together and quacked. It was a nice and peaceful scene, and Wild wished Artful was there to capture it. Wild might not really be an artist, but he could appreciate a good view, and he did like paintings.

It had been such a long time since he was anything other than a young man driven by deep-seated rage and lust for revenge. He had almost forgotten what he liked to do before that. He liked music, though his favorite music featured no vocals. Quite ironic, considering that he could barely vocalize on a good day, but perhaps fitting. Aside from this perhaps somewhat humorous coincidence, he liked such music because, when properly made, it didn’t need a singer to bring it to life. It was a shame such songs were relatively rare. 

He, like many other beings, enjoyed looking at art and other things that are generally considered aesthetically pleasant. He remembered he had saved some nice photos on his old computer. He wondered where it was now - likely trashed, considering its age. He remembered one of the default backgrounds he had on his computer: it was a nice vibrant green hill, a gradient of blue for a sky, and a smattering of various white clouds. It was simple yet so peaceful, so he never changed it. 

The foals that fed the ducks left, replaced by a trio of two stallions and a mare, all of them probably a bit below Wild in age. Though, Wild didn’t quite know just how old he was physically. His voice was different, though he couldn’t exactly tell if it sounded all that younger. After all, everything about him was different, and he heard enough pony speech to know that ponies did not sound like humans. It was, obviously, something to do with the shape of their heads. Maybe there was something about the speech organ - the voice box, was it? Wild didn’t know - he had never really studied anatomy. He could tell what limbs were, what there was in his skull, knew there was blood, lymph or whatever, gray matter, skin, all those various random things that he had managed to learn from his Biology classes. 

Wild was broken out of his random thoughts by what the three ponies did. The stallion kissed the mare, and then the two of them giggled. Then the stallion kissed the other stallion, and another giggle followed. It looked like some sort of a game, kisses all over aside from on the lips. And it seemed like the other stallion and the mare never shared a kiss.

Wild turned away from that, embarrassed from having witnessed it, yet there was also such longing inside of him for the same kind of easy affection. The three did it out in the open, unashamed, not even looking around for others before they started doing their little kissing game. Wild didn’t exactly want to see it, but a part of him was glad he saw this. 

He lay on his back and gazed into the infinite blue that was the sky. If he could forget who he was and what happened to him, if he could be just a random person who was not touched by the darkness of his world, he could perhaps imagine such a life for him. Easy friendships, easy affection, physical or not, and a generally easy life. Perhaps he would hug those he liked more often, kiss them, cuddle with them, everything.

It was a nice dream that he was certain was not to be.
> Chapter 42: Health Checkup
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Far too soon and yet, in a way, not quite soon enough, it was time for Wild to go through the health checkup. It was taking place in the hospital wing, unsurprisingly, and he had to steel himself as he made his way there. He had never been too nervous around doctors, but there was still something about it that made the thoughts in his head quieten and his senses to sharpen, and something in his mind was nearly as tight as a wound spring. He didn't know where this sensation came from exactly, but he had some suspicion. To be evaluated was not something he really wished to experience even if no one was going to assign him any actual value, monetary or not, and yet he couldn't shake the unwelcome comparison between it and how he was once evaluated by people who used him. The similarities were certainly a reach, Wild knew, but he was also perfectly aware that his mind wasn't exactly well and he couldn't help feeling the way he felt. Of course, he also didn't exactly wish to know what was might or might not be wrong in his body. He had long since figured out why some people thought that ignorance meant bliss. He felt fine, and to find out that he was not fine... he didn't know what he would do with it.

Wild reminded himself that an annual health checkup was important, that he had missed too many as it was. If he were to retain his physical abilities and improve them further, if he were to keep himself healthy, he needed to get through the check up, he needed to hear what the doctors had to say. He knew precisely nothing when it came to medicine or healthcare aside from how to apply bandages, where to apply force to hurt, and what things were deadly. However, knowing how to hurt or how to be hurt did not help him achieve any decent knowledge of how to fix any of it. And, in truth, he had to admit that this checkup was necessary - for a long time, his long-term issues in his human body went unaddressed. 

He breathed in, held it for a moment, then breathed out. He was going to be fine. His body was, for all intents and purposes, relatively new - even he couldn’t have messed it up all that badly in the time since he got it, considering that he was getting regular meals, regular exercise, and regular sleep, even if more often than it was good for him his sleep was not as restful as he would wish.

There were the two events in his knew life that might have done something, however. The Changeling Invasion, thankfully, did not result in any serious bodily harm, certainly in nothing that would result in long-term issues with his health... or so he hoped. Surely he would have been told about it if he suffered anything physically while he was recuperating in the hospital wing? He had to assume that nothing was wrong beyond what he was told. 

The Nightmare... it was all about his spirit, not his body. All the little cuts and bruises that his body had suffered on that day had already healed, gone as if they had never been there. He had a sneaking suspicion, one that he didn't think was founded on anything but a feeling, that they healed too well and too quickly. However, his human body didn’t really heal all that well, in his experience, and even a small, surface-level cut could remain visible for at least as long as a month, and he always assumed it was because of everything that had happened to him at the end of his life. 

Wild also reminded himself that the checkup was also for him to find out how to get rid of his scars. That thought, by itself, was enough for him to finally open the doors to the hospital wing and force his legs to move, bringing him past the entrance. Anxiety remained simmering somewhere in his mind, but he had made his choice.

Now that he was in the hospital wing proper, he was hit by an unexpected sense of... normality, perhaps. He blinked in confusion, not sensing the common atmosphere of awkward stillness or low-hanging nervousness he was so used to seeing in clinics. His memory of the latest checkup was fuzzy at best, considering how long ago it was, but he remembered kids sitting on benches along relatively narrow hallways, all relatively quietly waiting for their turn with this or that doctor. What he saw now was... different. For once, the hallway was noticeably wider - when he was there last, he hadn’t really noticed it. This, by itself, reduced the feeling of oppressive sterility and lifelessness. Most importantly, however, was that most of the foals weren’t actually waiting in the hallway itself but in a rather large room before it - the reception room, which had undergone a change since he was there last. Tables, seating, and simple play mats were scattered around in a semi-chaotic ways, and the foals were... enjoying themselves. They weren’t quietly murmuring between each other, no, and neither was there any sort of anxiety lingering in the air. A tabletop game was going on, involving a small group of foals. Younger ones were on one of the play mats, building something out of wooden pieces. A couple of ponies were play-fighting or something of that sort, giggling as they wrestled.

And so Wild just stood there, gazing at his surroundings with clear bafflement. That was not... that wasn’t how it all was supposed to be... was it? There was too much... fun.  

“Good day, Wild,” he was greeted, and the gears in his head started turning again. He turned to the speaker, and they were nurse Fairheart, “Let me go over with you in regards to what you should expect in this, alright?”

Wild simply nodded. That, he could do. He had heard of it before, told by Luna, but he could hear it all again. And so he listened as nurse Fairheart told him about what doctors were there, in what order he would visit them, and when exactly it would be his turn. He didn’t have to remember his place in the queue or anything of that sort, which made a certain part of him sigh in relief. Instead, he would simply be called when it was time.

“Are there any accommodations you need?” the nurse asked, then gave him a list, “This is what is offered. We were told there is a requirement you have, but I’d like you to mark it and anything else you might have an issue with.”

The list was longer than he expected, listing a bunch of things like phobias and what could be done to accommodate for them. Nothing in particular really applied to him, so the only thing he marked was that he preferred to avoid touch. He sighed a long sigh, doing his best not to let out a shaky one. Why did he have to be this way, why did he have to be so broken? He let this thought linger for a moment, then banished it to the back of his mind. He would address it... someday.

There was another thing. The issue of... sex-related questions. He lingered there for a moment, but decided not to mark it. It was enough that Luna knew about it, he didn’t want anyone else to know. A part of him knew no one would give him grief over it - or so he hoped, at least - but... he simply didn’t want this sort of thing to spread. He would not have anyone look at him either in disgust or in pity. This, he would simply carry to his grave. He needed to carry it to his grave. Even if, as history had shown so far, he apparently couldn’t die.  

Another thing attracted his attention, and it was a... fidget toy for nervousness. He hesitated there as well, but decided to mark it anyway. He had noticed one foal sitting there talking with their friend while squeezing something between their hooves. No one looked twice at them because of it, so Wild could afford to get it as well. As long as it didn’t squeak or anything like that, he would be fine.

And lastly... there was a thing related to panic attacks. He left it unmarked - he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t panic, that he would be stronger than that. There was no need to embarrass himself any further. Finally, he handed the list back.

“What kind of fidget toy would you like?” the nurse asked him as she laid out a few. There were spinners, twisters, poppers, squeezers, a whole bunch of things that Wild didn’t expect to see, “You may take one or multiple.”

After some deliberation, he picked a transparent ball made of something like silicone, inside which were a bunch of colored blobs. When he squeezed, those blobs expanded accordingly. It was, perhaps, childish, but he could work with that. He picked a second one - a spinner. He remembered they were quite popular once in the human world, and he always wanted one for himself even when he was a part of the crowd that hated them for, now that he recognized, no good reason.

“There is drinking water over near the window, the bathroom is over there,” nurse Fairheart gestured helpfully, “Do you need anything else?” he shook his head, “Alright, you’ll be called when the doctors are ready to see you.”

Wild, almost mechanically, made his way over to one of the seats away from others and sat down heavily. He squeezed the ball using his magic, and that was... surprisingly soothing. He could do that. He then used another magical hand to hold the spinner and spin it. Looking at how it went, smoothly and silently, it was also... nice.

He could get through it. It would be embarrassing if he didn’t, especially now that he had some distractions. He could do it. He had to do it. Now he wished he had also brought a book, but he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to focus on it.

He was fine. He had to be. He just needed to wait a bit, then go through with it all, and he would be out.  

***

The very first thing Wild had to do was something quite minor -  providing a urine sample. Thankfully, there was nothing oddly different about it - he simply had to go to the toilet room, get an empty clean glass jar, urinate in it, then label it with his own name as well as his primary colors. Wild learned that ponies didn’t rely on names alone when it came to signing things or providing any sort of identification - in addition to the name, the colors of fur and mane were used. There was a bunch of markers of all sorts of colors, and Wild visually compared his colors to them until he found good-enough matches and drew a few stripes on the label corresponding to the required colors.  

The next part was something he didn’t particularly like - giving blood for blood analysis. He was never exactly afraid of blood or needles, but there was just something unpleasant about it all.  

“Good day, Wild,” a nurse told him, “Please take a seat. Before we begin, I’m going to ask you a couple of questions.”

Wild nodded.

“Alright, have you ever fainted for no apparent reason?” they asked, and he shook his head, “Have you ever had unexplained dizziness?” another shake of his head, “Are you afraid of blood?” he shook his head again, “The blood sample is usually taken from the jugular vein - it is a vein on your neck. Are you opposed to that?”

Wild swallowed - that was not something he expected. He expected the blood to be drawn from his leg or whatever a pony had for a tip of the finger, but not from the neck.  

“There is a different option - drawing blood from near the hoof,” the nurse supplied, and Wild didn’t hesitate to sign that he would very much prefer that, “Very well. Please take a seat over there,” they gestured at what looked like an armchair.  

Wild sat down, and it was surprisingly comfortable. Even then, there was tension in his body, one he couldn’t get rid of.

“Place whichever hoof you prefer for blood to be drawn from on a leg rest.”

It wasn’t long before the skin just above his hoof was prickled and blood welled up, which was immediately gathered by the nurse. It wasn’t particularly painful - hardly more so than a mosquito bite. A drop of some sort of solution was applied to it, and there was a bit of a numbing, cooling sensation.

“Alright, we’re done here,” the nurse told him, and he felt immediate relief. That was not as bad as he feared, and it was certainly faster than he thought it would be, “Feel free to take a snack on your way out.”

Wild ended up grabbing some sort of vanilla-ice-cream-flavored nutrient bar. It tasted quite good, and some more of the tension in his body disappeared. He reminded himself that a health checkup was important, that it was good for him. 

For the next long while, he went through doctor after doctor. With every visit, his anxiety decreased - he was treated well, and everything was going far more smoothly than he expected.

“Your eyes are in excellent condition, and the scan didn’t highlight any markers that they would degrade with regular use” the eye doctor - ophthalmologist - told him, “You can  certainly look forward to a long life without ever needing glasses or any kind of corrective action.”

Wild was glad about that, though he had never even thought about it - no one in his family ever wore glasses, to his knowledge. He had never had trouble with reading small text either close in front of him like in a book or far from him like on a street sign. Glasses, he knew, were a weakness - some people couldn’t see much more aside from blurry shapes without them, and he was glad he didn't have to wear them.

The visit to the otorhinolaryngologist - the one who checked ear, nose, and throat - turned out to be almost a disaster.  

“Open your mouth, please.”

I said, open your fucking mouth!

Wild had to pause just for a single long moment to remind himself that he was not there anymore, that he was free, that he had killed the one who had once given him that order. He could not have survived - Wild had ensured that. He needed to let go of this, to forget this, to move past this... as impossible as the task seemed.

Wild didn’t know whether he showed any visible reaction to this request. He could only hope that there was nothing that put his discomfort and the single moment of a memory on display. He breathed in, breathed out, and then opened his mouth, all the while telling himself that everything was fine, that the doctor would not hurt him, that there was nothing to fear there. The doctors had to have gone through a vetting process before getting this sort of access to children, after all. He told himself that he almost panicked because of nothing, because of his brain just deciding to bring up something out of absolutely nowhere.

Sometimes, he hated his mind, hated how it could jump from one thing to the other, hated how it seemed to hurt him more than help him. He breathed in, breathed out, and felt his racing heart slow down. He had to go through this all, and the faster he did it, the better it would be. And for that to happen, he needed to be calm.

Thankfully, the doctor didn’t insert any of those metal flat spoons for holding the tongue down, merely asking for Wild to use his mouth to breathe. That was easy enough to do, and soon enough Wild was proclaimed perfectly healthy, and he was out of that room as well. He had to pause in the corridor for a bit, simply breathing through his nose. He was fine, he would get through it. That was all that was required of him.  

He wished he had someone to watch his back while he went through it all, but there was no one close enough he would trust with this, no one close enough that would understand his anxiety. When he was a kid, his parents were never far, and now, he had no one. He wished Luna was there, but then she was a princess, and he was an adult. It would simply be weird for him to need her or anyone. He was an adult, he could get through it on his own.

At least he had the fidget toys. Feeling the squeeze of the ball and seeing the spin of the spinner provided enough of a distraction for him to carry on. It wouldn't be too long, he reminded himself. It was just one day out of an entire year, he told himself. If he could weather harsh survival out on the streets, he could weather one day of checking his health in comfort. 

Thankfully, the next visit was uneventful - talking to an allergist did not result in anything unwelcome happening in his mind, and soon enough Wild was out - he didn’t have any allergies, at least not any that a medical scan was able to detect. If he did have an allergy, it was to something rare, and he could live with that. This visit marked a pause in his anxiety, and he was glad for it.

A visit to an oncologist turned out to be just as uneventful, fortunately. Wild had only ever heard of tumors and cancer from outside his immediate circle of the people he knew, and he was glad that he wouldn’t be one of the young people who would suffer through any of this.  

The visit to a dermatovenerologist - the doctor specializing in skin and also sexually transmitted diseases - was another visit filled with discomfort.

“Have you ever had sex?” was one of the questions. Wild shook his head at that, pushing away the unwelcome memories. He now had a different body, he told himself, so whatever happened to the old one didn’t - shouldn’t - count. Thankfully, the doctor didn’t display any skepticism about the answer, so if they had any suspicions that Wild lied, they kept them to themselves.  

Then Wild was visually inspected, which was also mildly uncomfortable, but he did his best not to allow a single twitch. He could do it. He would do it. He would be strong. It was just a visual examination performed by a doctor, all for his own good, and Wild needed to accept it. He barely restrained himself from showing any outward sign of stress when the doctor asked him to spread his legs a bit so they could look where Wild didn’t really want anyone to look. Wild told himself it was necessary, although doubt started creeping in. He knew he could just leave. He could simply walk out of the room and refuse anything else. Luna told him that, nurse Fairheart told him that. He was free to choose not to undergo any of this.

However, he made himself go through with it anyway. He had displayed enough weakness in front of others already, he couldn’t allow himself to add anything more to that. Thankfully, the visual examination was over, and a medical scan was performed using magic afterwards, which didn’t take long at all.

“It appears you are as healthy as one can be,” the doctor told him, “However, I would recommend applying a moisturizer once winter comes.”

Wild noted that somewhere in his mind and finally exited the room. He breathed in deeply, his anxiety slowly fading away, replaced with relief that he was out of that room, out from under the eyes of the doctor. What he had just experienced wasn’t... ideal. He could still make do with it, definitely, but now he wanted the checkup to be done with.  

He suddenly remembered - he wanted his scars removed. That was all about the skin, wasn’t it? He needed to go back, and yet... he didn’t want to. He had just escaped. Besides, it would be simply awkward to come back in. However, he couldn’t just walk away - he needed to get rid of his scars. Steeling himself, he walked back in, thankful that there was a pause between each foal that went to a doctor. Before Wild could convince himself to turn around, he got the doctor’s attention and signed his question about the scars.

“Your scar tissue is surface-level, so it should be easy to treat,” the doctor told him, and Wild was glad the doctor didn’t even look funny at him for barging back in, “You will need a descarring ointment.”

A short while passed as the doctor wrote some words down on a piece of paper.

“A descarring ointment, yes, twice a day, morning and evening, for as long as it takes for the scars to disappear,” the doctor said, “It would be ideal if you shaved the fur surrounding them for easier access, should shorten the time before effects are visible as well as lessen the amount of ointment needed. Has the allergist found any issues?” they asked, and Wild shook his head in response, signing that he had no allergies, “Very good. Some ponies get terrible rashes because of the ointment. I would still recommend you apply a tiny amount first, wait twenty-four hours, and then check if there is any redness, itchiness, or pain. If there is none, you may use it.”

Wild nodded in understanding.  

“Bring this to nurse Fairheart, she’ll have the ointment,” the doctor gave him the piece of paper, which had a string through one of its corners so that Wild could wear it on his neck. Perhaps he would get something with pockets in the future, although he didn’t really have anything to carry on him. Perhaps it would change once he was out of the Orphanage and living on his own.  

After taking the piece of paper, he left the room for the final time this day, breathing a sigh of relief. That was done with, and he didn’t think the rest of the checkup would be anywhere near as stressful as this.

He could do it. If he told himself that often enough, he would maybe come to genuinely believe it.  

***

After what seemed like countless consultations and visual examinations, it was all finally over. He was, as far as everyone was able to ascertain, perfectly healthy. Mental health, however, was evaluated separately from the physical health, and Wild was apparently signed up with Luna, and there was a meeting scheduled in a few days. Partially, he resented having the need, even the desire to be treated mentally. He held himself together just fine for a long time, didn’t he? However, if he were actually honest with himself, it was an undeniable fact that he was not alright. Admitting that to himself remained difficult but, thankfully, not impossible. He knew he needed help, and it was good that he actually sought it out instead of bottling everything up. Besides, he believed Luna was trustworthy, and she now knew enough about him that there was little he could do to hide anything more from her. At the very least it was his choice - as much as it could be his choice - to be treated by her and her alone.

Wild got back to his dorm room and simply lay down to rest, mentally if not physically. He was even allowed to take the fidget toys, and he was even given a bag so that he could easily carry them around with him if needed. He hated ever asking for this, but now that he could continue squeezing the stress ball and spin the spinner, there was something like a deep sense of contentment settling within him. He squeezed and he spun, and there was just something unexplainably good about that. However, he resolved not to use them much where people might see them. It wouldn’t do to broadcast his weaknesses and deficiencies to everyone who had functioning eyes.

A sense of melancholy drifted over him like a rain cloud. Not as violent as a storm, no, but like a cold drizzle. Now that he had gone through the health checkup... what would he do next? There was this appointment with Luna - and many more to come, he knew - and... then what?

Wild still had no idea what his future would be. He had tried to think of it multiple times, yet nothing truly came to mind. He could do little about the ever-present anxiety over his own future, stuck as he was where he was. Too broken to lead a normal life, not broken enough to allow others to take care of him. He was resolved to keep himself strong, and yet what did this strength matter when he needed to think?

Wild had survived through sheer force of will before, but now there was not an end goal in sight. His quest for revenge was over and done with, and everything that he had once been remained in a world no longer his. In this new world, he had no one and nothing, his memories his only true companion.  

Wild realized that his thoughts were going in circles, and he groaned in irritation. Why couldn’t he just figure things out? He had time for it, at the very least. He didn’t have to think about where to sleep, what to eat, where...

And that was when it hit him - he didn’t have to think about survival. On some level, since coming to the Royal Orphanage he knew that, but to acknowledge it...  

With his survival needs more or less fulfilled, what else was he to do? Where else was he to look? Did he need to prepare for what he considered an inevitability - another attack on him? There were the changelings, then the Nightmare - and he still didn’t quite know how to truly process that his soul was free - so there must be something else coming for him. Maybe not even him specifically, but he would be simply swept in the wave of events as collateral.  

Wild wished he could talk about that with someone... but whom?
> Chapter 43: Unfairness
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild was lying in bed, wide awake. No matter which position he took, no matter how he organized the sheets and the pillows, sleep refused to come to him. His room was the perfect temperature, his body was clean and fresh after a shower, and he could feel physical tiredness, yet something was simply not right.

The descarring ointment he applied as instructed didn’t feel like anything at all past the first few minutes. There was no burning, no itching, no pain, nothing. It was safe to say that the ointment wasn’t the source of his discomfort.

In truth, what worried him enough to prevent him from sleeping had nothing to do with his body but with his mind. He remembered how he pulled himself together as a spirit, how he thought there was so much to do and so many things to live for, and yet... all these possibilities, they were, if he were honest to himself, a bit too much. He was at the crossroads with many directions in front of him, yet taking a single step towards any of them seemed impossible, as if his hooves were frozen in place and he couldn't move no matter how much he wanted to.

Wild flew out of his body, deciding that he couldn’t focus on the physical if he was to solve the mental. Subtle tension present in his body until now was gone and, from what Wild could see, it immediately went to sleep. Looking at his own body not through his own eyes was an odd experience, so he turned away and focused inwards. His own thoughts became sharper, clearer, and the absence of any true sensation was freeing in a way he couldn’t describe.

He flew through the window, heading outside. This night, a rain was scheduled, and he hoped to fall asleep to its sounds, although now it was clear no such thing would happen until he figured certain things out. As he floated there in the air, droplets of water went straight through him as if he wasn't there, and he didn’t feel any of them. The air was nice and fresh, the smell of moist earth and fallen leaves permeating it. It was dark, yet Wild didn’t need physical eyes to perceive his surroundings, as odd as they were when seen through his not-eyes. He took a moment to note just how fascinated a scientist would be if this possibility was theirs and not his. For Wild, this state, while interesting, was not something he intended to really marvel at. Not because he lacked curiosity but, perhaps, because there was some... fear. He decided to put it away and address it later - or never.  

Not feeling wet under the rain, not having to blink his eyes to see clearly, not tasting the raindrops on his tongue, it was... a different sort of experience. No distracting physical sensations, only his mere spiritual presence. In fact, there was a sense that had gone away completely - the awareness of his body. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew how it was supposed to be, and to not feel the weight of his body, to not feel his own skin, it was... he couldn’t describe it if he tried. He thought that perhaps it should have been maddening, distressing, but a part of him also knew that it was how it was supposed to be. After all, why would he feel bodily sensations when he didn’t have a body at all?

There he was, not even standing, not sitting, not lying down, but just being. He felt the phantom sensation of breathing in, then he breathed out without air traveling through his lungs. The wind went past him without resistance, without even brushing past him - there was no touch whatsoever.

There was a pony shape in the dark clouds. He looked closer and saw that it was a pegasus, an adult pegasus, and they were walking all around the cloud before rearing up, and...

BANG

A lightning flashed and it thundered, not quite as loudly as Wild expected. For just a single moment, everything sharpened, shadows stretching with clearly defined edges for an instant before everything was dark again.  

More lightning strikes followed from elsewhere, growing more and more distant until there was a noticeable delay between when the light flashed and when the thunder sounded, now just a distant rumble instead of a sharp bang.  

The droning noise of the rain returned, and Wild sunk into a meditation. There was only him, his very being, the only thing that was of him that he was aware of. With a pang, he thought about how much he missed his parents. They guided him the best they could, he knew, and despite their efforts going to waste, he couldn’t forget all that they had done for him. He was a problematic child, yet they didn’t throw him away, didn’t abandon him, and there would forever be a sense of gratitude for that.

However, his parents weren’t there anymore. The closest people to him were gone, unrecoverable. He, however, remained, and he would have to live with what life gave to him. It was true that he no longer wanted to die - the escape into nothingness was no longer guaranteed, and now that he knew souls existed... he feared that there would yet be another life, perhaps even an afterlife - in truth, what could happen next was so far out of his knowledge it wasn't even funny. He didn’t know where souls went after death, he didn’t know where they came from, and this lack of knowledge made him... tense. Perhaps it would be best if he didn't tempt fate with another ill-thought attempt at ridding of his own life.  

The appointment with Luna that he would have to go to was both a blessing and a curse. So far, things had gone... as smoothly as they could be expected to, perhaps. He had told her some things about himself, and she accepted them. She didn’t look at him in disgust, and that was important. He could trust her with more now, he felt, although he wasn’t sure what he would tell her next. Undoubtedly, she would want to know more about his own past, and yet he couldn’t stop feeling anxious about his own future. The past, the present, and the future were all intertwined, after all, and it was unclear how to untangle the knot he had found himself in.  

However, Luna would remain ever-distant because of who she was. She was a princess, a ruler of a country first and foremost. Wild didn’t believe he would ever be her priority, not like he was to his parents. However, he couldn’t drop his own problems on others either - it would be unfair to them. He had known Precision and Swingblade the longest out of all the ponies he had met, but he could see both of them weren’t yet mature enough - and, hopefully, would never have to be - in order to handle who and what he was. He very much doubted they would ever want to hear about it. Swift Strike was out of consideration as well - he was a good trainer, but Wild had no other relationship with him and, likely, never would. Artful was nice, but Wild felt ill at the thought of exposing his own trauma to someone like him. It would hurt Artful tremendously, he just knew that.

He realized that who he wanted, who he needed, were his parents. They would at least listen, he knew, and they would help him in every way that they could. Perhaps they, likewise, would accept that he was a sadist. As long as he didn’t hurt innocent people, it had to be fine. Safer, of course, would be to never tell them. Either way, the point was moot - they were dead.

Wild knew that what he needed was proper guidance from someone who cared, from someone who placed him first. Yet whom could he demand such a thing from?  

He was an adult now. When he was a kid, the prospect of having to find a job, of having to find a way to live all by himself was distant, somewhere in the far future. He had never gotten around to discussing what he wanted to do when he grew up. Of course, as a kid, he had some dreams - to be a knight. That, he knew, was... perhaps not impossible - Equestria was ruled by princesses, after all - but it was still a childish dream stemming from the shining yet decidedly fake images of fair knights that lived by codes of honor, sworn to protect the innocent. He didn’t think he could live that way even if it was somehow possible.  

He remembered he was the one his family turned to when there were computer problems. However, he couldn’t make a living out of that - his knowledge of computers was limited by how to clean them, how to replace parts like a processor, memory, storage, or a video card, and how to assemble them. Aside from that, he had yet to see anything resembling a computer in Equestria. If any existed, they likely took entire rooms just like the computers of the past had once been back on Earth.  

Wild knew he was... perhaps not bad at survival. After all, he only faced death because he made it happen, not because something outside of his control killed him. However, who would ever want to learn how to survive in a city when one had nothing? It was not a situation he could see ponies ever facing. He tried to picture Swingblade huddling under a bridge, hoping that the cops wouldn’t notice him from the road, and he couldn’t. He tried to see Precision digging through the trash in order to find a half-eaten pack of chips to stave off the hunger for just a bit longer, and he couldn’t. He tried to picture Lina... well, there was only one way she would end up being in his situation - dead.  

Wild didn’t want to face homelessness again, yet it appeared this would be his only option once he inevitably aged out of the Royal Orphanage. He had yet to see any adults there aside from the staff and the caretakers, so there had to be some sort of a cutoff age. In truth, he should have been kicked out already, considering that he was an adult in all but body, and even then he didn’t see much difference between how he looked and how the adult stallions he had seen so far looked. He shouldn’t have been among all those kids in the first place, it was only by mistake that he was placed with them.

At least now he had magic. At least he could stay awake while his body was asleep. With just these two abilities alone, he would be able to survive far easier than before. Telekinesis was extremely useful by itself, and he knew he could do teleportation, although he had yet to attempt to do it again consciously. Being able to separate from his body meant he could watch over it while it rested, to never be suddenly woken up ever again. Of course, there was also his ability to read certain thoughts, and that would have been a tremendous boon. He would have... he would have known to avoid people who would harm him. He would have never been... defiled, dehumanized, made into a thing.  

He would, perhaps, grow to be thankful of these abilities he now had, but he was resentful towards them - where were they when he was going hungry out on the street? Where were they when he was beaten and bloodied? Where were they when he had to endure rape time and time again? He would have done so much, he would have avoided so much, all if only he had had what he now had.  

Black rage rose up in Wild, a scorching  all-consuming fire. Why did it all had to happen to him? He now knew it would have been possible for things to have gone differently, so why didn’t they? Why did he have to go through any of it and why did he have to survive? He had tried, oh he had tried to die, but life would not let him go. Not once but twice had he lived, had faced the end and yet came out of it alive both times, against all odds and reason.

It was unfair. The Changeling Invasion ruined the illusion of peace, and he hated the changelings responsible for that, hated them with a passion, and he wanted them hurt for what they have taken away from him. He had thought that he could have forgotten his past, let it lay buried, that he could perhaps be a living ghost, existing yet not living, experiencing neither happiness nor sorrow, and yet...

Wild was now awake and aware of all that was happening. He had tried to bury his past, but it was still there, it could not be ignored. The Changeling Invasion reminded him that his life was not in his control, and the Nightmare solidified that fact.  

He wasn’t an innocent, he knew. He had killed, he had hurt, violently, tremendously - he had tortured. Perhaps that was what he deserved. Perhaps every bad thing that had ever happened to him was because of him, of who and what he was.  

Despite it all, he desired to live in peace. That was all he ever truly wanted, that was the only thing he desired. And yet, why was it so impossible for him to be at peace? Why did he have to go through everything that he did? He thought his death would be the end of it all, but no, he had to go on, had to be reborn, had to endure an attack, had to go against evil spirits, had to remember everything that made him who he was, and he hated it.  

If he still had fists, they would be painfully clenched. If he were in his body there and then, his eyes would have been squeezed shut, holding the tears at bay, and his body would have been as stiff as a stone statute.

Nothing was fair, nothing was going how he wanted, everything was wrong. He hated it, he hated it, he despised it.

Was it too much for him to ask to just... be alone, by himself, undisturbed by anyone or anything? This world with colorful ponies and beautiful nature everywhere gave him a promise, a false promise he clung to without knowing it was false, without knowing it could be false. The Changeling Invasion had shown him that he was not safe. The Nightmare had shown him that his very soul could be ripped away. Ripped away and then put back together, and he did it. He could have let go and yet he refused, believing that he could perhaps live a life that he knew he didn’t deserve.

Was he destined for this forever, to have something so tantalizing within his sight yet never be able to reach it, always reminded of this inability? Was it his penance of some kind? Even as a part of him argued that it was what he deserved, another roared at it, spewing hateful words of denial.  

He did not ask for it. He had not wanted to live on. He did not want to suffer so much for the sake of some beings’ lust for power or outright mindless evil. That changeling princess, whoever she was, why did she attack the defenseless, why did she try to rip his mind apart? Even if he perhaps deserved the pain, no one else around him did. Was it his presence that caused it? Was it he who was at fault for everything going so wrong?

He hated it and he could do nothing about it.  

For a long while, he simply felt this hatred, his burning rage at the unfairness of the world, of everything. What wouldn’t he give to take the place of Precision or Swingblade or Artful or even Lina. They had a future. They had friends. They could have what he wanted. They could live a life, not merely existence. He would, in a blink, without hesitation, trade all his abilities just to be a regular person.  

However, his pleas would remain unheard and his wishes would not be fulfilled. Even if he screamed them into the night, all they could do was disappear into the all-consuming noise of the rain.  

A series of lightning strikes flashed again, one after the other in an organized queue courtesy of the weather scheduling efforts of the pegasi. Wild’s tumultuous thoughts could have perhaps been reflected by a natural thunder back on Earth, but the organized efficiency of the weather in Equestria was an entirely different thing, and so Wild found himself winding down from his rage as if the water falling from the sky washed it away.

The past, he knew, could not be changed. Thinking of what could have been was useless. Crying about not having what he could have had was a waste. Everything that he was, he was stuck with.

Wild didn’t know what it was like to truly make decisions for himself, and he was perhaps finally coming around to understanding it. Survival wasn’t about making choices. Even revenge, to a degree, wasn’t about making choices. Death and the way he achieved it was not a decision that truly belonged to him either.  

In the end, it was all about what he felt he needed to do. It was not about choice at all. Survival was a need. Revenge was a need. Death was, too, a need. When one needs something, there is no choice but to get it.

Wild, as he stood there disembodied, realized it. Perhaps, at some level, he had always known it, but now, when he had time to think, when there was nothing but his own mind, nothing but his very soul, he could see what he had been blind to before, purposefully or not. He had looked inwards, and he had seen the truth as it was.  

The prospect of making an actual choice, of operating on something other than need, was both exciting in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time yet also very anxious in a way that he was very familiar with. However, there was one thing he wanted very much to know - how to make a choice. What did it even mean to make a choice when one had a choice? Could anyone teach him or did he have to learn it by himself somehow?

Wild released a phantom sigh, imagining how a cloud of vapor would emerge from his mouth with it. Was it even cold enough for this? He couldn’t tell.  

This night, perhaps, resulted in a resolution - Wild needed to make a choice - not only that, but multiple choices, over and over again, for as long as he continued to live. Life, after all, was full of choices, new ones emerging every single day. Wild could no longer allow himself to simply follow the events and react to them when they affected him, even if the choices he needed to make next were a direct result of the events outside of his control.

However, he could delay that for just a little longer. He retreated from the outside, returning to his body, and finally fell asleep completely.

Until he woke up, he wouldn’t have to choose anything, and he would take relief in that for as long as he could without shame or guilt.
> Chapter 44: Choices
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild woke up, blinked the grogginess from his eyes, and almost groaned as he realized that, this day, it was time for him to force himself to make choices. Anxiety skyrocketed within him, and he already felt jittery and tense despite barely a minute having passed. However, to some relief, there was still some time before he would need to do anything drastic, time that he could use to stave off difficult decisions for just a little while longer. He knew it would be useless in the end, but knowing it didn’t meant acknowledging it.

He slowly got up from his bed and took his time stretching to remove the last vestiges of sleep from his body. It was odd, he was certain he had only slept for perhaps five hours at best, but his body and mind both felt perfectly rested. He chalked it all up to the weirdness that concerned his ability to be separate from his body and left it at that, not knowing what else to consider. Had he the knowledge, he could perhaps spend some time thinking about it, drawing up theories, discussing it all within himself. All of that would provide some more time to use to delay doing what he desired to do yet didn’t want to do.  

Wild, done with his stretched to the point when doing them further would only cause irritation, finally went out of his bedroom. Despite the paintings he got from Artful, his dorm still remained rather impersonal and empty in a way that made him feel a pang of loneliness. He was met by no one and nothing of note. There were no welcoming words from his family and neither were there any things that could possibly interest him. He had been ignoring for a long time, but he desired something more. This dorm was perhaps his home for now, yet there was something missing. However, he didn’t think it would make sense to add any personal touch to it beyond what he had already done, considering that he didn’t expect to live there for much longer anyway. Wild was an adult, he didn’t belong there, and it would undoubtedly be soon when he would have to leave in search for a place to call truly his own for as long as he could.

Wild dreamed of getting his own house, a place that he owned, a place where he belonged. He wouldn’t need anything large, he’d even settle for a house that is just large enough to include a bed, a bathroom, and a kitchen corner. In the past, he had dreamed of more, but now he would settle for whatever he could get as long as it truly did belong to him. His parents’ house didn’t belong to his family, he remembered, and it was gone as soon as Wild was unable to pay rent. His things thrown out, the entire interior remodeled, and nothing remained of his family there.  

Wild sighed deeply - he knew he was just delaying having to actually do something about his situation. Thinking about it wouldn’t do anything, this much would be obvious even to a child. Thinking didn’t bring money, didn’t buy land, didn’t get materials for the house, didn’t pay for food. He knew he had to do something about it, but...

He wondered what was wrong with him. Many others went about their days just fine, yet he was stuck in this self-imposed limbo of anxiety. However, one thing that he didn’t need to think about was going to the bathroom. Such a visit soon after he woke up was just part of his regular routine, one that he did his best to keep to even in his worst days. As long as he had a sink and a relatively private place to be in, he would get himself clean.  

Going through the motions was easy and familiar, especially now after he spent quite a bit of time at the Royal Orphanage. He would be eternally thankful for this, considering that it wasn’t like trying to get his entire body clean using only a public bathroom sink and toilet paper. He had the luxury of a private bathroom that belonged only to him, and he didn’t even have to share it with his own family. He hadn’t known what it was like before, but now it felt... good. He had his privacy and his own space. As much as it could be his own, considering that it was loaned to him on a time limit.

If he spent a bit longer on the toilet than he usually did, ruminating over his situation to the point of nausea, he ignored it. If he stood under the shower until he was far beyond the point of soaked through while wondering what he would do next, he ignored it as well. The anxiety yet remained, and the fact that making choices was inevitable made sure that the anxiety only grew as time passed. With every second he tried to squeeze out of the time between when he woke up and when he would have to decide, this gap only shrunk. Time was marching on, outside of his control, outside of anyone’s control, and he had to accept it or fail forever.

After drying himself off, he decided to apply the descarring ointment properly. The spot that he applied it to yesterday remained as it was, no troubling sensations at all, even if it wasn’t the full twenty-four hours later. However, what were the chances any sort of trouble would arise from now until then?  

He got the tube of ointment and sat down in the bathroom. That was it, the first step towards removing the physical reminders of his past experiences. Aside from the tear in his ear, which he could live with. The first thing he liberally covered in the ointment was the distorted circular symbol on his belly. He was not a thing, he was not something that could be owned, and this mark, this brand would be gone. In the past, when he was still a human, he thought about cutting it out with a knife. Whatever mess that would result from this would have still been better than the brand itself. However, he was no fool - he knew it would likely kill him, either because of blood loss or infection. If he got himself to the hospital, uncomfortable questions would’ve been asked, police would’ve been called, and so he hadn’t done it. Now, thankfully, he had a far safer and also a permanent method of getting rid of this scar.

Having just applied it, he already felt a lot better. He didn’t know how much time it would take for the scar to be completely gone, but he was perfectly willing to wait. There was no need to resort to self-surgery or any surgery at all. The ointment would work, it simply had to.

The stab wound scar received the treatment as well. He didn’t need a reminder of how close he had come to death then - he was far more familiar with the sensation now. He had died, and that needed no physical reminder to remain in his memory forever.

Other scars didn’t have nearly as much meaning and history to them as those to, fortunately. However, he applied the ointment to them just the same, making sure to properly cover each and every single one. He flicked his left ear in annoyance at the inability to do anything about it, but he supposed it gave him a certain air of danger, so it could remain. Of course, his torn ear was just a continuation of a jagged harsh scar on his head nearby, and that would receive treatment as well. It bothered him in that it was always catching his eye whenever he got a glance at the left side of his head in the mirror. Of course, his eyes would continue catching the tear in his ear, but there was no reason to exacerbate it.  

Once he was done using the ointment, he just sat there for a moment, dreaming of a time when he would look at himself and see exactly one scar left. He wished he didn’t have to do it - why did his new body have to have the same scars that his old one did? Why couldn’t he have been given an entirely clean slate? Perhaps he wouldn’t have struggled as much as he did if his body wasn’t a constant reminder of both his new life and his old one.  

There was no point thinking about it, he knew. He couldn’t change it. Although... a conversation he had with Lina came to mind - ponies were, apparently, were reasonably close to creating new bodies in a way that allowed others to exchange their birth bodies for it. He had no idea how they could even come close to it, but perhaps...

No. His body was good enough, and he had already put time and effort into it. Wanting to change it because of nothing but vanity would be extremely distasteful. A scar was a reminder, yes, but he could live with that, and he knew that, with time, it wouldn’t even be as noticeable to him. He remembered how often he had once been to crying every time he saw it when he was still young. Now? Seeing it just sent a small unpleasant twinge at him. In some years, it would likely not elicit much at all.  

Even if he decided to look into this, he very much doubted he would ever be able to afford a new body for any other reason outside emergency or if he faced some condition that made his original body slowly but surely die. Without a doubt, no one would pay for a new body for him if he simply complained about a single scar.

As he exhausted the ways he could think about his scars, he finally went outside, unable to delay it any longer. Once the door to his dorm was closed behind him, he stood there for a moment, thinking of what he would get to eat that day. Maybe he would pack something extra to chew through, just to stretch the time a tiny bit longer. It wasn’t like he even had any real responsibilities to attend to. Of course, there was the training at the Martial Arts Club, but that hardly counted. He wouldn’t wish to ever truly avoid doing it. Fighting came easy to him, after all, and it brought him a measure of joy that nothing else could provide. It was not a matter of choice whether to attend the training or not - he simply had to be there.  

He made his usual way through the same corridors he passed through on his way to the cafeteria he always passed on the way from his dorm. If he kept to the same time, he would likely see the same ponies on their own way to the cafeteria.  

Wild entered the cafeteria and slowly made his way over to the food stall. He took his time picking just the perfect breakfast, although he wasn’t going to be picky. He did have the luxury to be picky now, but the habits he developed during the times when nothing was certain would remain with him for the rest of his life. When there was no guarantee there would be a meal waiting for him, he couldn’t afford to choose what to eat aside from very specific exceptions.  

However, now he could, at the very least, have some preference again. Having fresh fruit for breakfast certainly beat a can of beans and a half-full can of soda.  

He settled down near the radio and the newspapers once more. When he picked up the newspaper, he immediately noticed the topic on the first page.  

THE CHANGELING DEBATE CONTINUES 

“The changelings remain a danger to us all,” Blueblood of House Blueblood said in his introduction during the yesterday’s evening court, “How long will we continue being idle about their threat?”

For weeks, debate has raged around Equestria following the Changeling Invasion. Proposals and counter-proposals were introduced and rejected from all sides of the argument, and yet it seems like a conclusion is still a far way off.

Wild leaned forward slightly as he read further - this was something interesting, at least. He skipped some things that told him absolutely nothing of worth until there were direct quotations again.

“They can pretend to be your parents, siblings, friends, and lovers,” an argument was made, “They can be anyone, anywhere. If we are to stop this changeling threat, every changeling needs to be registered, and every crime they commit harshly punished. They are a threat to the security of our country and to the safety of our families. What more is there to be said?”

Some counter-arguments were covered as well.

“Impersonating someone maliciously is already a crime. Making the punishment harsher for the changelings specifically is clearly discriminatory and serves no purpose.”

Wild continued reading it for a while, but it was clear that, as the article stated, there was yet to be a conclusion. Wild... didn’t know what to think about the changelings. Their ability to turn into anyone was decidedly creepy, and he had his body stolen once already to know how wrong it feels to have someone look like him even if they didn’t try to pretend to be him. He decided to put it all out of his mind for now - it wasn’t like he could do anything about it anyway. Legislature, ever since he was a kid, was entirely unreachable to him. It was true that he had some access to Princess Luna, but he didn’t feel like discussing politics and law with her. It wasn’t like he knew much about any of those topics in the first place.

He then idly browsed the rest of the newspaper, but there was nothing else that jumped at him. There were some talks of the coming winter, gossip about celebrities and nobility, various advertisements, and other things that he could safely ignore. He couldn’t even read any of that without being utterly bored within seconds. He didn’t care that someone called Fleur something or other was seen in a place he didn’t know about, he didn’t give a thought about a new music album of DJ Pon-3, and he certainly didn’t want anything to do with trying to figure out the dresses nobility would wear for any sort of ball.

Frustrated for no real reason that he could think of, he got to his food. He could just ignore all those news, he didn’t have to get so worked up over them. They weren’t for him, now were they? He knew very well that his mindset was unlike what others had. Many things in either world were simply not for him. He wasn’t under an impression that he actually mattered on the large scale of things, after all. He was just one of millions. No planet spun around him, and he certainly was perfectly aware that he wasn’t the center of the universe. Unless the said universe wanted him to suffer, and even then his own suffering paled in comparison to many things he had heard of.  

“Oh hey,” he heard Swingblade say as the young pegasus sat down not far from him, “Don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

Wild simply nodded, not saying anything about how Swingblade likely never knew what true hunger was. He was perfectly willing to let the pegasus remain ignorant of that.  

Naturally, with Swingblade around, it wasn’t long before Precision joined them. Wild found it not an unwelcome part of his routine... as long as no one spoke of anything that would make him uncomfortable. At least Swingblade seemed to have learned not to speak before he thought, so that had to count for something.

“Hey Wild,” Precision called him, “Would you be interested in playing paintball?”

“Ugh, you’re still on about it?” Swingblade complained.

“Shooting things is fun,” she declared, “You just don’t get it.”

“Getting paint all over my fur and getting bruised all over? Nah, I’ll pass.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she rolled her eyes, “And anyway, I got that you don’t want it. I’m asking Wild here.”

Wild signed a question, asking what paintball was. It sounded familiar to him, and that was a thought he didn’t sign.  

“It’s a game where people shoot each other,” Precision grinned, “But with a slingshot and not a bow or a cannon. But I heard someone did it with a cannon once. Anyway, you have a slingshot, you have balls of paint, and you shoot them at people. The paint’s not really paint - really easy to wash off if you care about that, and you can even eat the stuff if you want to. So, you in?”

Wild thought about it. It would be easy to refuse, and he would go about his day as usual. He hadn’t really played anything like that game before, and he certainly didn’t know how to shoot using a slingshot. He would definitely not come out as a winner in something like this. However... it certainly sounded like fun. It would be like dodgeball a bit, and he remembered enjoying it, especially when he got to throw balls at other people. Though, paintball would certainly be a lot different compared to that.  

However, what would he even do if he didn’t take this opportunity to possibly have some fun?  

He was reminded that it was time to make choices. Perhaps it would be good to make this easy one. And so, he gave Precision a nod.

“Awesome!” she said, “It’s like a couple hours before the training, where are you gonna be?”

Wild shrugged, then signed he would be around, maybe in the library. Privately, he thought that killing some time mindlessly browsing the books or reading whatever caught his fancy would be good.  

“A’ight, I’m gonna get you then.”

“Bet you’re gonna regret it, Wild,” Swingblade said, “Those balls hurt like a bitch.”

“It’s not that bad,” Precision protested, “You’ve not had one shot at you from a crossbow, now that would be painful.”

“From a crossbow?”

“Oh yeah, some special bolts. Heard they use them at the Royal Guard Academy.”

Wild tuned it all out as he continued eating. This was certainly a relatively easy choice to make. Some of his anxiety was now, if not gone, then noticeably lessened. He didn’t mind the pain, and the prospect of causing it to others while everyone had fun was definitely inviting. He was fairly certain Swingblade was exaggerating things - he didn’t think he had a particularly strong pain tolerance. With the enchanted training blades, getting bruises was simply not a concern at all, so it was no surprise Swingblade continued training with the Martial Arts Club. In fact, Wild was missing the solid thwack of a proper training sword, although being able to actually use physical force compensated for it somewhat. He idly wondered why Swingblade didn’t complain about that.  

In the end, Wild was glad he didn’t have to face anything more difficult than an invitation to a game. He didn’t even need any of the fidget toys for it, which was quite welcome - he didn’t want to face any sort of questions about it even if he could make people lay off him.  

This was, as far as he was concerned, a good beginning to a nice day.
> Chapter 45: Browsing the Books
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Libraries everywhere felt very similar - it was quiet, it was peaceful, and the smell of books was in the air. From the smallest school library to state libraries, there was hardly any difference. For Wild, a library was a place where he could simply relax in a way he could do nowhere else. Despite what sometimes felt like an endless supply of energy he had, he still liked the silence of a library, which was only sometimes interrupted by quiet, short conversations and a rustle of someone turning a page. Of course, sometimes libraries were visited by harried students, but even they were affected by the inner atmosphere of strict calm, forcing them to slow down and hush themselves.  

Wild had a respite from his anger, from his energy, all as long as he had something to read. He couldn’t call himself an avid reader, however - while books could be interesting, it was rare for him to want to spend more than an hour reading any book. He was simply a kind of guy who enjoyed being active. But even then, the library somehow always helped him bleed energy off, leaving him in contentment. When he was studying at school, the library was a place where he could easily do his homework even if it didn’t actually help him much with achieving higher grades. During breaks, especially the longer one for lunch, he often found himself there, reading about random things that interested him in one way or another.

This day, however, he found himself jittery and not exactly settled. When he looked at the books, he saw infinite choices among a blur of uncertainty. At first, he searched for what he knew he wouldn’t find - the answers to who he was, in body and in spirit. He had already read all he could on that, and the remaining words came from stories of dubious factuality at best and outright fiction - clearly labeled as such - at worst. However, to avoid thinking about other things, he delved into fiction anyway.

The Maiden and the Ghost was a romance story he hesitated to even look over. Romance... he never really liked, especially when it was between a man and a woman. None of that made him feel much of anything, although it became clear why when he finally figured out that he was gay. In any case, there was little useful in that book - the description of a ghost was only semi-factual, and the entire romance didn’t provide anything useful.

Lord of the Night was about all things considered dark: vampires, werewolves, ghosts, zombies. The protagonist was a young necromancer on their way to become stronger and more powerful, to break away from the chains, physical and metaphorical. It was certainly an interesting story with a complex narrative, although, once again, descriptions of beings were only based in truth. There were sad ghosts, malicious spirits, and exactly one mention of someone being able to leave a body, though the description was certainly fantastical.  

However, it made Wild wonder... could he possess someone? He knew he wouldn’t want to, that felt all kinds of gross, but the very possibility was... perhaps not scary, but it made him nauseous just to think of it. However, the Nightmare didn’t manage to possess him, not how it was described in Lord of the Night. All things considered, perhaps it just wasn’t possible to do in the way the book described. Wild didn’t know whether it was a good or a bad thing. He had been lucky to return, but what if someone else was in his spot? What if someone who didn’t have his experience of rebirth was attacked by the Nightmare? Would they be irretrieavably gone? In fictional possessions, the real person was still there, but what Wild experienced, it was different.  

He continued on to other books, putting the thoughts of possession behind him - they made him shiver. If he could, he would never experience that again.  

Among books containing ghosts or spirits, many were children’s stories that would, naturally, be scary for them. Ghost of the Castle and A Wailing Spirit were two such books, and they certainly didn’t provide any useful or valuable information. There were also historical accounts of ghosts, including confirmed sightings and interviews. He had already looked through them, and while they were quite enlightening and also slightly terrifying, they contained nothing that resembled Wild’s own... state of being.

He wondered if he would become a ghost once he died. He had plenty of... resentment, perhaps, towards humanity. Anger aplenty, always within him, oftentimes accompanied by hatred. And while there was no certain way that guaranteed becoming a ghost, Wild felt like he would fit whatever criteria there were. However, there was a far more likely possibility, one where his soul would remain as it was forever, knowing no rest and no peace. He was already disconnected from his body, able to leave it at will and yet remain. Of course, he considered that there was still the possibility of letting himself go, but now that he thought about it... it was a scary prospect. He doubted he would ever be ready to let himself go into nothingness despite all that he carried within him.  

Wild knew he wasn’t good at letting things go, yet the world always seemed eager to rip everything and everyone away from him. His parents were gone far before their time, he hadn’t seen them grow old and happy. His innocence was torn away forever. When he went to die, he thought he was letting it all go. He thought that it would be over then.  

Wild would chuckle at the irony of his situation if he found it humorous, but he didn’t. Death was scary by itself, he knew, but the prospect of continuous existence with no surety of an end... that was something he couldn’t even truly comprehend.

He closed his eyes and breathed, remembering who he was. While he still lived, he was a person, and his name was Wild. He knew what he liked, he knew what he disliked, and he knew what he was and wasn’t. However, perhaps he would have to reconsider what he truly knew.

For a long time, he had thought he was evil, yet Luna told him he wasn’t, and he... not only did he believe her, he also wanted to believe it. He accepted it and put some of his horrible memories behind him. He was a sadist, and that wasn’t evil. He would probably have to remind himself of that each day for it to truly stick, but it was a start.  

Wild wondered what else he would find wrong about himself that he had thought to be the truth for a long time.

However, he didn’t believe himself ready for more introspection, so he put that thought aside and directed his mind towards what Luna said about ghosts. Ghosts were either entirely formless, a mere mist, or resembling who they were in life by taking the right shapes and colors, although, sometimes, there were discrepancies. Not all ponies were born into the right bodies, and their true inner selves reflected that in death. There were, of course, also those who didn’t think much of their vessels, and so they could be essentially anything they felt like, as much as a ghost could feel anything.  

Most importantly, how a ghost looked was at least a semi-conscious decision. If Wild were to choose how he looked like, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t choose the appearance he had. A pony shape was certainly nice, and he did think of himself as a pony, but... he was just him, and his experience certainly showed that it didn’t matter what physical form he took, so why take any at all? Most importantly, he would never choose the colors he had nor the sickly, cracked appearance or the holes-for-eyes that he had. While he knew, on a deep level, that it was him, he didn’t want to be that way. However, when he asked himself what colors spoke to him, he couldn’t find a satisfying answer.

Luna spoke about free, unbound spirits, but he had found nothing useful in regards to them. Fiction could be disregarded outright, for it would only contain one’s imagination and not necessarily reality. Legends were there too, of course, but he knew relying on them would be foolish. People were all too willing to believe that a trick of the light was a manifestation of divinity. In his previous life, he had considered all those people idiots, unwilling to see the truth behind their self-imposed delusions.

Now... magic, true magic and not just clever tricks and stage mastery, was at play. Souls were, without a single doubt, real. He saw his own. He encountered beings that were spirits. To deny what happened, to ignore the implications, it would be... extremely unwise. He had never thought he was particularly smart, but even he could see that this was important.  

A part of him continued to marvel at magic, at even the simplest telekinesis unicorn foals could do. Ponies lived and breathed magic, performing feats humans would consider impossible, all in a day to day life. Magic was taught as a scientific subject, which still boggled Wild’s mind somewhat. Perhaps, if he were smarter, if he had any affinity for science at all, he would study magic, delve deep into it and uncover its secrets. However, he was a person in the here and now. Dreams and aspirations had been a foreign concept to him for a very long time. His teachers told him he wouldn’t amount to anything if he continued receiving the grades that he had, and, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much effort he put into it day and night to the point of hand cramps and exhausting in body and mind, he continued to fail again and again and again until it was simpler to just give up and realize that his teachers were right. 

He tried to read through Magic and You - The Basis of Ponykind but he could hardly understand a quarter of what it said. Some of it made sense like the basic description of what ponies could do and what they had tried to do yet couldn’t after thousands of years, but a lot of it was theory that would make sense only to someone smarter and more academic than Wild could ever hope to be. At least he now knew why ponies and a lot of other species were not only real but sapient - it was all magic influencing things. How and why, he couldn’t figure out even if the answers were there in that very book, but the basic answer was enough for him. Magic made talking ponies, real gryphons - or griffins or whatever spelling was correct, Wild didn’t exactly remember - and many other species, some of which he had never heard of like kirins.  

Perhaps Wild would one day even meet them. From what history he had read, griffins and ponies hadn’t managed to get along for countless centuries for various reasons. At one point, over a thousand years into the past, the now long-gone Griffin Empire used to serve ponies as a culinary delicacy, which made Wild nauseous to even think about. He could hardly think about harming animals, but to eat someone... someone like Lina, someone like Artful, any of the ponies he knew, it was unthinkable. After reading that bit of history, he felt like his mouth needed a thorough wash and his eyesight bleached of the very memory of reading it.   

In his efforts to replace that with something different, he had found himself in the self-help aisle. That was... not what he wanted, but... it was what he needed, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t it be nice to figure things out by himself without having to bother anyone? After looking around and seeing no one was there to see him browse this section in particular, he cautiously approached the shelves to see if there was anything of use to him.  

The first book that caught his eye was titled Awaken Your Life’s Purpose. He reached out and pulled it from the shelf, then opened it. He skimmed through the book and, honestly speaking, it was disappointing. What use did he have for living in the here and now? That was exactly the problem. How could he even live in the here and now if it could be turned on its head? And then there was something pseudo-religious nonsense too, all about everyone being a part of a whole, embracing all things without judgement, and so on and so forth. With a snort, he shut the book and put it back. Whatever it contained, it wouldn’t help him one bit, and he refused to spend a moment more on it. It didn’t even talk about purpose.

Another book that caught his eye was You Are a Badass. He snorted in some humor - he supposed some people might see him that way, considering how aloof he was and the fact that he practiced swordsmanship. However, he didn’t consider himself a badass. A badass is supposed to have strength enough to overcome everything thrown their way, and Wild... he knew he wasn’t exactly strong. Nevertheless, perhaps this book would have something for him.

That turned out to not be true at all. In fact, he was almost angry enough to throw this book across the entire library and then tear it apart - it was that useless. All the attitude of ‘go get it’ and ‘you’ll get what you want if you want it hard enough’ would certainly appeal to his younger self, but his younger self was an inexperienced idiot who knew nothing, certainly not what being helplessness was. No matter how hard he wanted something, it would remain out of his reach. He was extremely lucky to not be raped to death, and he knew the author of this book knew absolutely nothing about suffering, certainly not anything that he had gone through and survived, and not at all because he wished it to be true.

The absolute worst thing was when he stumbled on a part about getting an expensive carriage service. It was so mind-bogglingly out of touch that he would scream in frustration if he could and if he disrespected the library hard enough - the book presented a situation where there was a carriage service one couldn’t afford, and yet it would be good to go through with it anyway. As the book said, `I don’t see the money, but I believe it’s there and it will be mine dammit!’ What expensive carriage services had to do with being a badass, Wild had no idea, and he didn’t think he would find an answer to that. In his life, he certainly didn’t think about... the equivalent would perhaps be an expensive car. Before he died, he could hardly afford a pair of shoes, and a car wasn’t even on his mind.  

He gave the entire section a stink eye, considering that it may just be completely useless if these two examples he randomly picked were anything to go by. He snorted as he walked away - as if he didn’t wish hard enough for things to go his way. Even magic couldn’t manifest his desires, and this book certainly gave no mention of it in so far as he could read it. As far as he was concerned, You Are a Badass belonged in the toilet room in case toilet paper ran out and water wasn’t available. Awaken Your Life’s Purpose would perhaps have a second place to that.

Wild wished Artful was here in the library - maybe he could’ve provided some good suggestions, considering that Artful, for all Wild knew, was in the Royal Orphanage for far longer than him, and he was certainly better put together than Wild could ever hope to be. He didn’t know if Artful had ever gone to any kind of therapist for whatever issues he might have, but any advice from him would, at least, not be as bad as... that. Or perhaps Wild and Artful would simply find some board game or play the same one they played when they first met. Anything would be better than the self-help section.

Curiously, he had yet to see Artful this day. He hadn’t been there in the cafeteria while Wild was there and neither could he be found in the library. However, Wild knew not to presume - it wasn’t like he knew much about Artful’s schedule or life. And yet, he found he missed the young stallion’s presence. He was certainly shy, yes, but he had a pleasant voice Wild could listen to as the pegasus talked about one thing or another. Aside from that, Artful had yet to cross any unspoken boundaries that Wild had placed around himself, so that endeared Artful to him.  

And, of course, there was also a bit of... physical attraction. Wild believed he locked it tight, at least for the time-being, but he had to admit he was still experiencing it, still feeling it. It wasn’t to Artful specifically, perhaps, but the young pegasus seemed to have some attributes a part of Wild found... nice to look at. The color scheme of white and blue was pleasant on the eyes, and Wild secretly wondered how those wings would feel like if he touched them. The glasses perched on his muzzle made him look... kind of cute.  

Those were all fleeting thoughts, nothing more, certainly nothing he wished to focus on. His life was complicated as is, he didn’t wish for it to be complicated even further. Relationships, physical or spiritual, weren’t something he was knowledgeable about, and he didn’t particularly want to experience them anyway. Being together with someone meant sharing burdens, and his own was far too large to inflict on anyone else. He had already cried enough about it, and he couldn’t imagine what other ponies would experience if they learned about him. Perhaps they wouldn’t even want to... sleep with him, if he ever actually came to that. After all, he was... well, perhaps his body was clean of any stench or stain, but his spirit bore what happened to him. No, it was simply best that he didn’t allow anyone to get close, certainly nowhere close enough for any intimacy to take place. Besides, he didn’t believe he would even be able to initiate or receive any intimacy in the first place. He knew it was supposed to be pleasant, but all he had experienced was pain intermingled with a sense he couldn’t even describe as anything other than wrong.  

He shook his head at those thoughts. Romance, intimacy... why did those things have to arise again? Why now? Was it because of whatever happened to his soul? Or was it something that happened to his body while he wasn’t in it? Some sort of a restart, a reset, something of that sort could be possible, although he really had no way to tell.  

Whatever the cause was, he didn’t have to think about it for too long.

“Here you are!” Precision cheerfully chirped as she found him, “Now c’mon, we’re all gathering, I’ll show you where.”

Wild nodded and put away all the other thoughts. Romance and intimacy didn’t matter to him. If he told himself that often enough, it would come true. Fortunately, now he had something else to focus on, namely the game of paintball. From what he had heard of it so far, it could prove to be fun.  

He left the library and his thoughts behind. Whatever choices he would have to make about the mess that he was, it would be later. This paintball thing, he knew, wouldn’t touch any of it, and he would be grateful for that.
> Chapter 46: Before the Game
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild was glad to be outside again, breathing in the fresh slightly chilly air. The wind was barely strong enough to ruffle his mane, and the colors of autumn were pleasant to his eyes. The noise was likewise pleasant with no rumble of cars distant or close, which was something Wild had taken quite some time to get used to. No matter the time of day, no matter if there were birds singing or ponies playing, it was always far quieter than he thought was natural. However, now he learned that this quietness was indeed natural, and it was very soothing in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

However, he wasn’t there to enjoy the nature right now but to play a game of paintball. Precision led him outside and to one of bigger sheds on the Royal Orphanage grounds, situated nearby a forest. Wild could see that the closest section of the forest was separated from the rest by some kind of a net, and there were structures within that perimeter. Near the shed, a small crowd of ponies was gathered, all between ages of ten to fourteen if Wild had to guess. All in all, with him and Precision, it was nearing a dozen, and they were joined by a steady trickle of even more ponies. Wild wondered just how many ponies there actually were in the Royal Orphanage. The cafeteria was certainly large enough to host more than a couple of hundred, yet he hadn’t seen it filled to capacity yet. Were there more orphanages around Equestria? Perhaps he would look into it. He didn’t really have a particularly good reason to do so other than to kill time and fill his head with what was essentially useless trivia.  

“Shouldn’t be long before everyone’s here,” Precision told him once they were close enough to the group, “I’ll be around, find me if you need me.”

Wild nodded, and Precision left him, going to other ponies to talk to them. He didn’t exactly know what to do, so he just stood there. He turned away from the group and gazed at the surrounding nature instead, content with doing just that until the entire event began. After all, he didn’t exactly expect to make friends here, not like this, it just didn’t feel... right. Or perhaps he thought it didn’t feel right, but he wasn’t exactly looking for the difference or the truth of it.  

He had never been much for group activities. Interacting with others was often... cumbersome, in some way. When others easily found words to say, he was awkward instead. Something simply didn’t click between him and others, and that was without his aggression coming into play. He knew he was weird, he knew he wasn’t very likable, and he understood that he would, most likely, remain alone for the rest of his life. Of course, there were people he knew and interacted with on a somewhat regular basis, but they weren’t friends, and none of them even knew much about him. Precision, Swingblade, they were fine when it came to being clubmates or when they were sitting next to him during meal times. Artful was fine to listen to and to be around without feeling awkward. Lina, well, Wild could admit he liked how blunt she could be and... she was someone he could play a game with.  

“Oh hi, how are you?” a masculine voice said, breaking Wild out of his thoughts. He turned his head and saw an earth pony stallion with... was that some makeup? His eyes were certainly standing out as if outlined, “M’name’s Sharpshooter. Well, it’ll be my name when I get the mark, but yeah.”

Wild winced internally. That was just what he wanted - someone talking to him for no reason. However, he inclined his head in greeting and signed his name.  

“Oh, uh, sorry, I don’t- I’ve not really learned the sign language yet,” Sharpshooter smiled sheepishly, “But, um... pleased t’meet’cha. First time here?”

Wild nodded.  

“Cool, bet you’ll like it,” Sharpshooter said, “It’s really fun! We earth ponies get to shoot some awesome stuff, it’s so cool!”

Wild nodded again, privately wishing the energetic young stallion would go away. Wild wasn’t really in a mood to make any more acquaintances, he had enough as is. He shifted slightly in place, hopefully hiding his discomfort.  

“You’ll just get a regular slingshot, so it’s lots harder to aim, but it’s fine, you’ll manage it,” the young stallion said and then attempted to nudge Wild in what probably would have been a friendly way, but Wild flinched and stepped back. Sharpshooter flinched in response, looking surprised, an expression of uncertainty now on his face, “So, uh, yeah,” he then turned his head, a smile back on his face, although perhaps a bit strained, and he called, “Oh hey! Over here!”

Thankfully for Wild, Sharpshooter walked off then, leaving him alone, letting him let out a sigh of relief. He did not like to be touched, especially without any warning. As far as he was concerned, Sharpshooter better not return because, well, Wild didn’t really care for this kind of behavior all that much. He knew he was broken, too different from regular ponies, not fitting with them in any way whatsoever, but he didn’t want his face rubbed into this fact.  

He inhaled, held his breath for a bit, and then exhaled. It was an accident. Sharpshooter didn’t mean anything but friendliness by it. Wild was odd, Wild was weird, and it was his own problem, a problem he had to deal with and not anyone else.  

He dearly wished he brought his fidget toys, or at least one of them, along. As it was, he was left to kick at the ground to relieve some of the tension in him, to let it dissipate into the earth beneath him. Everything was fine, he came to this event to have fun, and he would have fun. Despite these self-assurances, he felt like it would be best for him to just leave. To return to his dorm perhaps, or to just find a quiet place in a nearby forest, maybe swim in the lake - as much as he could swim in his current body, at least, - or, well, anything else.

With a sudden viciousness, he thought just how much he would absolutely love to break something, to express his frustration, to relieve it by physical exertion and by the effort it took to break whatever it was. He would shout, he would jump, he would roll, he would kick, he would do anything and everything to just get it all out of his system, everything. Perhaps he would even cry afterwards, which would be embarrassing even if no one else saw it, but... crying felt good, and who could blame him for it, who could call it weakness? Princess Luna, at least, didn’t. She let him cry freely when he did. It was no less embarrassing, but not hearing any words of judgement from her, it was... good.

“Alright, everyone’s here!” he heard Precision yell, and he pulled himself away from his own thoughts. He came here to have fun, and he would have fun, “Right, so there are a few newcomers, so lemme just tell you all the rules. First,” her horn lit up and two weapon-like things and one simple slingshot were lifted into the air and placed on a folding table Wild didn’t remember her bringing, “The things we shoot each other with, because that’s what this entire game is about.  

“First, unicorns get this,” she lifted the regular slingshot, “And an assortment of balls. The balls are filled with liquid that will always show up on your fur no matter the color, so very easy to see. Also easy to wash off. You can even eat the balls, no harm in that, but that means eating your ammo, so don’t do that,” some ponies chuckled at it, “So yeah, regular slingshots for unicorns because magic is awesome and gives a huge advantage. This game wouldn’t be fun if unicorns won each time, right?

“So, with a slingshot, you get a bag of balls,” she said and showed the bag, then took one ball from the bag, “You get one ball - or multiple if you’re feeling lucky - and you put them right here, pull, and then let go to shoot,” she demonstrated it, hitting a target with an audible splat right in the center. Wild silently cursed at himself for not even noticing her putting the targets up while he was feeling sorry for himself. More importantly, however, was the fact that the paint was indeed clearly visible on all the colors of the target that spread from the center. The paint, it appeared, took the exact opposite of the color underneath and around, and the contrast was easily visible.  

“There’ll be some practice for you all unicorn folks to get used to it and maybe aim more or less well,” Precision said and put down the slingshot, “Next, for pegasi, we have this thing. It’s essentially a crossbow but uses a sling,” she demonstrated it, “Hey Mimi, give it a try for demonstration, huh?”

“Yeah, sure,” a pegasus filly a couple years younger stepped out of the crowd, “So, we pegasi can fly, so that’s an obvious advantage, but we can’t hold things very well, so we get this slingbow that makes aiming a lot easier. However, we have to land to reload it, and you do it with a lever. Set it down, nose-first, then pull the lever. Once you hear a click, put a ball in a slot right here, it’s marked with red. And done, you’re good to go!” she shook the slingbow, “The ball won’t fall out no matter how hard you fly too,” she then flew up, adjusted her body so that one of her front legs held the front of the slingbow while the back of it was pressed against her chest, “Aiming’s easy when you’re flying around, just look down the slingbow as straight as you can make it, aim in a way that the target is between the two prongs in the front, and then use your other foreleg to pull the trigger.”

With another splat, a second shot hit its target - not in the center but close enough.

“You can also divebomb people,” Precision said, showing everyone balloons filled with the same liquid as the balls, “Just drop it on them, easy.

“And the last thing, the multi-shot slingbow,” she showed the most complex weapon out of the three, “You wear it with this harness here. Sharpshooter, c’mere and show us how it’s done.”

“On it!” the earth pony chirped cheerfully and then swiftly put on the harness, on the side of which the slingbow was mounted. After some adjustments, there were three things in front of his face: two differently-colored levers and one target reticle, “An earth pony gets five shots in a magazine, which’s really difficult to change when the slingbow is on,” on the other side of the harness was a bag with one tube made of some clear material, a spring visible within, “But you can get used to it. First, you yank the white lever like this,” he demonstrated, using his maw to grab onto the lever and then pull it back, “And then you turn it up,” he tilted his head and did so, “And then you tilt to the side, and the spent magazine falls out. After that, you get the new one and put it in like this,” he used his maw to expertly grab the magazine in the pouch and then put it in its right place on the sling bow, “And then you turn the lever down and bring it back. Bam, you’re loaded and ready to go.” 

He then pulled on the black lever after aiming, and his own shot struck very close to the center of the target. The white lever was then pulled and brought back, not unlike a bolt of a rifle, and the next ball was loaded and then shot out of the sling.  

Wild understood - unicorns had to be careful about everything from loading to aiming, but there was much versatility in having just a regular slingshot; pegasi were afforded better aiming and the same strength of the shot each time, giving them consistency, yet aiming for them was harder since they had to turn their bodies; and earth ponies were given the best weapon that could shoot fast and accurately, although the bulk of it could prove problematic. Overall, the playing field would be quite level, and no one was really at a serious disadvantage. At the very least that was true in a casual setting - unicorns that spent their time with a slingshot would probably beat everyone else. However, he didn’t think any of this ever went beyond the casual, so there were no issues with that.  

“With the fun done, now there’s some safety,” Precision said, “Everyone will wear a full shield on their heads. Getting the balls in the eyes hurts.”

Some giggled at that. Realizing the possible turn of the phrase, Wild decided not to linger on that interpretation.

“Alright, so the rules are simple: you get shot anywhere, you’re out, depending on the exact rules. Before any of you get any of the slingshots, put the shields on.”

As it turned out, a shield was a transparent helmet of a kind, protecting the eyes and the front of the muzzle without restricting breathing. It felt like it was made out of some kind of plastic, but Wild couldn’t really tell. All he cared about that it didn’t fog up, although he could already see a problem - there was some distortion going on in his peripheral vision. Nothing major, but it would definitely be a bit distracting.

“Alright, looking good everyone, now to practice before we begin shooting at each-other!”

Finally, something Wild was actually looking forward to. The entire group was brought to a shooting range with pony-shaped targets at various distances and a bunch of balls lying in bags in front of a fence that separated the range itself from where the ponies would shoot. Wild took a place at the end of the row where he would only have to deal with one pony by one of his sides and not be sandwiched between two, and then focused on the shooting.

Precision made it look easy, but it was anything but. Wild thought he had a good eye for judging distance, but his first shot missed completely. And then the next. And the next one after that. The closest target was perhaps ten meters in front of him and yet he couldn’t hit it. Thankfully, his fifth shot clipped it, so that tiny spot of paint was better than nothing. He even managed to relax despite the growing frustration at not being able to hit something that he was fairly certain he would be able to hit if he just threw the balls with magic.

“No throwing the balls with magic!” Precision called out to someone who apparently did what Wild was thinking about, “Your slingshots only!”

Wild nodded, mostly to himself, and redoubled his efforts. In what seemed like no time at all, he was more or less consistent at landing shot after shot at the closest target, missing only one in four. The target after that, however, proved even more difficult. However, as time passed, he found himself hitting it as well, although not with any kind of consistency he would hope for. Using a revolver or a regular pistol was certainly much easier, although he was thankful these slingshots were extremely far from them in function. He didn’t think he would be at ease aiming a gun at a pony, especially a young one. Slingshots, he heard about them, and they were firmly associated with children and teens at best, so there was no uncomfortable parallel to draw. The slingbows were certainly a lot more advanced, but both their form and function were far different from any gun he had ever handled.  

Precision sharply whistled.

“Alright, everyone!” she yelled as ponies stopped shooting, “That’s all good enough, let’s go get some real practice!”  

The group yelled their approval, and Wild went along with them to the front of the area separated by the net. He could almost feel the excitement swirling all around him. If he had a weaker hold on his powers, he would certainly know the exact thoughts everyone was having about it all, but he held it all in control. He hadn’t slipped even after the Nightmare, so that had to count for something.

“The first thing is just a good old team on team fight!” Precision announced, “Two teams, I’ll be a captain, who else wants it?”

A couple ponies loudly argued for the position, although it was all good-natured. In the end, an earth pony young stallion Wild didn’t know called Spring ended up as the second captain. He was a small pony, certainly noticeably younger than Wild physically or mentally - or spiritually. However, Wild had a feeling that he would be a competent captain for a reason he couldn’t discern. The feeling was simply there, unexplainable.  

After the second captain was picked, the group was divided into teams, each captain calling out a name. Precision, unsurprisingly, decided to name Wild as a teammate, and so he joined her team.  

“Alright, team Spring and team Precision. Anyone here has issues seeing red from blue? No? Alright, then I’m team red, Spring’s team blue. Let’s get everyone dressed, shall we?”

Wild received five very red strips of stretchy fabric, one for each leg and one around the top of his head. He also received a pouch with a bright white cape inside of it.

“If you are hit, pull the cape out and drape it over yourself,” Precision explained to everyone, “That way you won’t get hit, on purpose at least, when you’re getting out of the field.”

It felt absolutely nothing like military uniform, and Wild had, at one point in his life, gotten a hold of plenty of military-related clothing and tried it on. He remembered how much of a fool he was, thinking that he would join the military, and so he did his best to learn how to march, how to crawl, and how to be quick, like a soldier. It didn’t really last long - becoming a knight took over his mind - and so he was glad he wasn’t going to be reminded of that again aside from this twinge of a memory. Aside from the fact that the game was about shooting people, it was nothing at all like anything close to military things, and he was glad for that.

“Alright, Team Red, follow me!” Precision called after she set a timer on an alarm that would tell both teams when the round begins, “We’ll go over some basic strategy, but don’t worry, it’s all just for fun so who cares? Let’s shoot the other team!”

The team yelled their approval in unison, and even Wild smiled. He liked this sort of energy and, perhaps, it would propel him forward as well.  

Wild readied himself and allowed himself to pull the corners of his mouth into a toothy grin. It was not a regular sort of fight, but it was a fight nonetheless, and he would thrive in it.
> Chapter 47: After the Game
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild was running, each step distinctly felt as he moved from smooth grass to packed dirt. There was a burn in his lungs and he was panting, his breaths frequent and as full as he could make them even as he realized he couldn’t keep up. His heart was not just beating, not even hammering, but pounding in his chest faster than ever before when there was no danger, drowning out almost every other noise.

And then there was a splat, and his vision was obscured by a wide colorful blot in front of his eyes, forcing him to slow down lest he ran into something.

“Boom, headshot!” someone from the opposite team yelled victoriously, and Wild knew it was aimed at him, but he didn’t scowl, didn’t as much as frown, but merely pulled out the red cape out of his pouch and draped it over his body.  

Wild used his magic to wipe the paint off his visor, mostly smearing it around in a kaleidoscope of colors.  

It wasn’t long before he was back in the game, running, dodging, shooting, getting shot at, getting hit, and then he had to go back out and then back in again.

Every ball of paint that hit him stung, yet it didn’t bring anything than a momentary pause in his enjoyment. Every shot he landed was more than worth every single hit he got even when the number of times he was shot vastly outweighed any of his own successful shots.  

Pegasi, he learned, were the most devious, often hiding on the tree tops. He was not accustomed to looking up in search of danger, and it was clear the pegasi had taken advantage of it, and it appeared he was prone to overlooking their presence most out of everyone else. That would have been frustrating, and he flinched every time a shot came from up above, leaving him unable to react even when he heard the slingbow letting its projectile loose just a tiny moment before it hit him. Once, he wasn’t fast enough to dodge one of the paint bombs, and so he was splattered from head to hooves, forced to blink the paint out of his eyes even as the pegasus laughed above. Wild was vindicated when there was an audible splat followed by a squawk when one of his teammates noticed what happened.

Wild thought earth ponies would be the easiest, with their bulk and all, to hit. However, he was dead wrong - they could easily dash in and out of cover while shooting faster than they probably should have been able to, forcing Wild to take cover himself. It took an earth pony less time to aim and let loose than for Wild to even put a ball in the slingshot, let alone aim. It was frustrating at first, but Wild learned not to rush at seemingly easy targets.

What frustrated him the most was the unreliability of his slingshot. It was made well, not just a piece of fortunately-shaped stick combined with a strip of rubber, but if there was a reliable method of aiming with it, he had yet to find it. Most of the time, his shots went nowhere near the intended target, splattering somewhere in front or behind or to the side of where he shot. And as the rubber part of it flopped around, it made it somewhat difficult to grasp and load the ball in. By the end of the game, he still hadn’t found a good way of using it, although he suspected he would improve with time.

Despite his lack of skill in using a slingshot, he still managed to hit a few ponies, and each their grunt or yelp sent a tingle of satisfaction deep within him, making the entire experience worth it. With a tingle of satisfaction, however, came a twinge of shame, of guilt, striking at him viciously even as he struggled to let it all go, telling himself that there was nothing he could do about it anyway, that he was not evil, that he could simply accept what he felt.  

Yet others freely whooped and yelled as they hit others, celebrating the pain they caused, and Wild wondered if he too would one day react so audibly to this. How others acted about it, more than anything, allowed him, at least partially, to let go of the feelings of guilt and shame. If others enjoyed it so openly... why couldn’t he?

By the end of it all, Wild felt a pleasant burn of exhausted muscles in his legs, the dull and rapidly fading ache of many paintballs having hit him, and the stickiness of sweat mixed with paint covering his body. Team against team, capture the flag, attack and defense, everything seemed like a long while when in the moment but, once it was over, Wild was hit with the sense of just how quickly it passed, and he realized how much joy he had in the meanwhile. He forgot his worries, forgot about the past and the future, and simply enjoyed being there in the moment, caught on a wave of action that carried everyone around him.  

“Feels great, doesn’t it?” Precision grinned at him as she used a towel to wipe the paint off with moderate results. She also threw a clean towel at him, which he fumbled a bit before grasping it properly, “Think you’d like to do it again sometime?”

Wild thought about it as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot where dirt from falling on the ground mixed with paint on one of his forelegs. It didn’t take him long to give her a nod, deciding that he could get used to something like this as long as it wasn’t too often.  

The cleanup was easy - the paint in the field of battle would, of course, remain, waiting for the next rain to be washed off and away; all the slingshots were cleaned, sorted, and packed back into the shed; the protective visors, red capes, and every other bit of wearables were cleaned and put back in storage as well.  

No one seemed to be going away, chatting in small groups, reenacting their best shots or showing where they were hit instead. The air was abuzz with the feelings of contentment, happiness, and tiredness.  

“By the way, are you gonna stay for the picnic?” Precision asked, “There’s gonna be some food. Bunch of us came together to make some stuff, so keep that in mind for the future, maybe you’d like to show us your own cooking talents, yeah?”

Wild hesitated only a little before he nodded. His stomach rumbled, and his mouth felt a bit dry, so he wouldn’t exactly mind something to eat.  

Precision whistled, gaining everyone’s attention right away, “Alright, everyone, let’s go to the lake! Hey Sonnet, got your sandwiches ready?”

“Yep, all right there!” an earth pony thumped their hoof on a wooden box.

“Got my fried tofu!” another pony, a pegasus, chirped from elsewhere.

“Ay, great to hear, Winter!” Precision replied to them with a grin, “Can’t wait for those! Everyone else has their stuff? Alright, then let’s go!”

It was well past noon, the sun high in the sky yet slowly moving towards where Princess Celestia would later lower it from, and the wind has turned from slightly chilly to pleasantly warm. The lake was covered in a variety of fallen leaves, the surface rippling every so often. A group of ducks was hiding among the reeds, quacking every so often. A couple of ponies broke off from the rest, heading towards the ducks. The ducks responded by gliding out from the reeds, moving swiftly to meet the ponies. The ponies sat down near the water and opened a bag of seeds, which they proceeded to scatter, making the ducks hurry to get them as they floated in the water.

Many ponies had blankets ready, setting them down on the ground and then lying on top. Someone was preparing a bonfire, clearing a place for it and gathering stones to circle it, as well as some sticks and old pieces of logs. Not much later, a small fire erupted and started to grow.  

Wild didn’t have any sort of blanket, so he somewhat awkwardly settled down on the edge of the gathering despite wishing to be closer to the bonfire. The flames now danced, growing higher every minute. A unicorn was showing off by using magic to change the color of the flames to red, green, blue, even black, which made the light disappear, making the flames look completely unnatural. Fortunately, the fire was almost immediately turned to a more pleasant color, and other unicorns joined in, attempting to make the flames multicolored.  

Wild relaxed, enjoying the ambient buzz of conversations even when there was a pang of loneliness. He swiftly smothered it, not wishing to ruin this moment. Thankfully, someone was now distributing the plates with aforementioned sandwiches and pieces of fried tofu that was also encrusted in breading. Wild accepted his own plate with a nod, as well as getting a cup of apple juice. The juice was surprisingly cool, and it soothed his somewhat raw throat as it went down. The sandwiches were nothing extravagant, a simple combination of vegetables and... was that bacon?

Wild peered closer, baffled, thinking that surely ponies wouldn’t actually eat pigs. He was proven correct when he recognized that it was... a banana peel. It was barely recognizable, made crispy by heat and browned by whatever marinade it was in beforehand. Wild hadn’t seen anything like it before, but the sandwich was surprisingly good despite the odd addition. The bread was slightly toasted too, enough to form a slightly harder outside yet remain pleasantly soft on the inside.  

As the bonfire steadily burned, tended to by a couple of ponies, more joined the group as time passed. The conversations grew quieter somewhat, and Wild relaxed completely, almost in a half-asleep state as he lay on the grass. The sandwiches were now gone, and the fried tofu bits turned out surprisingly well too - especially when someone started distributing sauce Wild couldn’t really figure out the contents of. It was spicy and savory, and there was a hint of sweetness as well, all mixed together to form whatever the sauce was. Wild found himself dipping the tofu bits in it without much thought, and then he licked the small sauce bowl clean afterwards.  

Wild, in the depths of his mind, wished there was someone he could share this meal with. Even as he sat not far from others, there was infinite distance between them and him, a deep chasm that couldn’t be crossed. Even as others conversed, he sat in place alone, the food his only companion. Even as he ate what was provided, he imagined someone sitting with him, perhaps even close enough to be felt with touch alone. Someone who would converse with him on any and all topics, probably something inconsequential yet fitting with the buzz of everyone else.  

Wild saw groups of friends lying close together, talking to each other with all the familiarity between themselves that Wild had never grown to experience himself. In a group of four, a unicorn was animatedly telling some sort of funny story, pausing at just the right time to build up the laughter, and then striking with the punchline that left everyone rolling and guffawing, tears of fun in their eyes.  

Another group, now a quieter couple of ponies Wild couldn’t really see the details of from where he sat, was sitting together in a hug, pressed so close together surely they could feel each other’s heartbeat. They murmured between themselves, and then there was a kiss - a light one, on a cheek, and it was followed by a giggle.  

Wild thought about leaving, his discomfort growing, yet he couldn’t make himself stand up, couldn’t ruin the atmosphere, couldn’t think of disturbing the slowly churning thoughts of contentment all around him. And so he stayed.

He tried to convince himself that he didn’t need what he had. Didn’t need the touch even as he found himself lacking the shudder he was so used to whenever someone touched him, whenever he even thought about being touched at all.

However... not all touch was unpleasant. His own family wasn’t very touchy-feely, but did it not feel good when he got to hug his parents or receive a kiss on the cheek from his mom? This was a memory that couldn’t be erased, that would not be erased as if it had a will of its own. Wild remembered pain, but no pain could ever erase the feeling of pleasure.  

The fact was, his new body was pure, untouched by the clinging dread and terror and pain like no other that were a part of his old human body. His scars were there on his new body, but even they lacked the punch of their presence on his old body. Most importantly, all of them would be erased save one, and that one... he didn’t like to think about because it was just a reminder of a step that led his life to where he was now, but it wasn’t the worst.  

Perhaps... maybe one day. He might allow someone to touch him again, someday. There was no guarantee, but, as he looked at the easy friendships and other relationships all around him, as he fought down his discomfort - and what was he even uncomfortable of? - he realized that he wanted it.  

The discomfort... it wasn’t exactly anything relating to what others did around him. They had the right to be happy, and he had no right to complain that their way to happiness was something... was something he didn’t have.  

The discomfort, he realized, arose from his envy. From his desire to not see what others had but he did not.

The future was unknown and uncertain, distant yet so close Wild could almost see it, and it loomed over him like a thundercloud, not yet alight, not yet raining, and it may not thunder anyway, but the possibility was still there.  

Perhaps it was true that Wild didn’t have the... relationship he wished to have. He knew there were obstacles between him and what he wanted, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to overcome them.

However... spending his second life in constant fear, allowing his anxiety to rule him, allowing his past to dictate a rigid path to his future, none of it was anything even close to what he wanted.

“What’cha thinking so hard about?” the voice of Precision dragged him out of his own thoughts.  

Wild could never think to confide in her. She deserved to live her life free of his own burdens. So, in response, he simply shook his head.

“Fair enough,” Precision shrugged in return, and Wild was grateful she didn’t push the issue, “How’d you find the entire thing?”

Wild, after a few moments of thought, began to gesture his response when he stopped. Precision furrowed her brows in confusion at it. Unbeknownst to her, Wild struggled on the inside, and he swallowed as he came to a decision. Having conversations, spoken or with just a touch, could never happen unless he started somewhere.

“It is nice,” he finally said, his voice quiet, and he now awaited... something that felt like judgement.  

Precision’s eyebrows climbed up to her hairline as she gaped like a fish at Wild. He would perhaps find it humorous if not for how scrutinized he felt in the moment, barely stopping himself from fidgeting.  

“Aaaalright. Uh, good to know,” Precision replied slowly, coming back to her senses, “So yeah, we do this thing sometimes. Not just the paintball and this picnic, but the picnic isn’t usually, uh, following, so yeah. But it’s nice to gather around and just relax for a moment, you know?”

“...Yes,” Wild replied, swallowing deeply again, his mouth suddenly dry. At least the babbling from Precision was a better outcome than questioning him about what was going on with his voice. Even now, his throat threatened to close up, to almost choke him, to force him to swallow his own tongue, but it held it all at bay. He continued, even if every word felt awkward both in his mind and on his tongue, “I had fun.  Thank you.”

“...You’re welcome,” Precision nodded, then slightly shook herself, “Well, I uh, I’ll be around. We’re gonna set up a tent and all sleep in a big pile. Feel free to join in, if you want that is.”

That was a step too far too soon for him, especially among strangers. So, he simply shook his head.

“You do you,” Precision shrugged, then went away.

Wild was, once again, grateful that she didn’t push for him to join the... pile. He had never slept with anyone in the direct sense of the word, certainly not after he passed the age of six. Lying together with a bunch of strangers, even if friendly-seeming strangers in what was probably a very safe situation... he didn’t want it.  

For now, however, he could relax by himself, enjoying the quiet and peaceful atmosphere until it was time for him to go back to his own dorm, take a shower, and then sleep.
> Chapter 48: Difficult Choices
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild was back in his dorm, lying in bed after having taken a shower. The windows in his bedroom were closed - the winds have picked up in intensity and lowered in temperature since the paintball game. He could hear his own breathing, almost hear his own pulse, and there was nothing else.  

And no one else.

Wild groaned softly and rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow. He relaxed his body, trying to sink into sleep, yet it continued to evade him. However, he could be very stubborn when he wanted to be, and so he continued switching positions, hoping that one of them would fit him just right and allow him to drift off to sleep in as close to an instant as possible. He wanted sleep - he didn’t want to embrace the... issues he had.  

Choices, choices. An easy path, a difficult path. Being ignorant, remaining ignorant, or... learning.  

He had already made a choice that day, he thought, as he complained internally about it. What more could the world ask of him? What could the world need from someone like him? He wanted his rest, he needed his rest.

Yet this rest wouldn’t change a thing about the uncertainty of an unknown future looming over him. Time marched on, with or without him, and the longer he put something off, the more difficult it became later. Wild didn’t have the luxury of remaining uncaring about his future anymore.  

How did his parents get where they were? He knew, intellectually, that they were once kids too, and then they grew up to be his age and beyond. He wished he could ask them where to go from where he was, but they were no longer there. If they still lived, Wild wouldn’t be called Wild, he wouldn’t be a pony, and, perhaps, his life would’ve been easier despite the fact that he didn’t see anything ahead no matter how long he gazed into the future.  

His father held a job once, he knew, before... before circumstances forced him to leave it and become a... stay-at-home father. That was the kindest description Wild could give if he ignored those circumstances, the very same that gave him his ear scar. He knew his silent semi-frequent complaints about the scar were nothing, nothing in comparison to what his father lost and yet didn’t complain about. Or did he? Wild never knew if his father had his own internal conflicts, his own shame, his own helplessness, and he would never get to ask, never get to talk face to face with his father.

It was all an accident that rendered his father unable to work. The very same could easily happen to Wild... and had it not happened already? The Changeling Invasion changed his life, and the Nightmare changed him irrevocably. Neither of those events were under his control, very much like what happened to his father.  

Wild rolled over on his bed yet again, staring at a wall now. A part of him whispered - why struggle when all could be undone in one moment, a moment that was not decided by him? Why plan ahead when everything could be ripped away, his life torn asunder? He could never know what the future held for him.  

He had lived - and once died - by it. He had known he had no future then, and so he only did what he could to survive and to achieve his revenge. The changelings have attacked him, giving him a new path, a path to strike back at them like how he had once done to those who violated him, yet it was taken away from him before he could even truly think of it. The changelings responsible were either already in prison or hunted down, and this hunt had more resources at their disposal than he had ever had. He alone couldn’t hope to stand against the changelings even if there was no one else to do it - the Invasion had shown it clearly. Humans were far... simpler - they had no magic, no shape-shifting abilities, no ability to fly without aid. 

The Nightmare was right - he was still weak, still unprepared for this world. They offered him power, and he continued to wonder if the price would have been worth it, no matter what Luna said about it. Perhaps he would’ve learned to coexist with the Nightmare, to still have a part of him, the most important part of him, alive.  

That was all, of course, a moot point. The Nightmare was gone, he was the one who killed them, and he would not regret it. This, at least, proved that he wasn’t entirely helpless.  

Wild groaned again, this time having chosen a pillow to hug close to his chest. None of this changed the feeling of something missing, and it wasn’t the feeling somewhere between his body and soul where there was once a weak yet steady connection. The pillow he hugged was as warm as he had gotten it with his own body heat, and he wondered what it would be like to... what it would be like to...

He didn’t want to think about it, yet images arose inside his mind. Him, lying in a large bed, yet he wasn’t drowning in the sheets and the size of the mattress - there was someone there, right next to him, and he allowed it and didn’t flinch away from the touch. He could almost feel their body heat against his own, their breath on his skin, see their eyes looking into his with contentment and, perhaps, maybe, possibly, happiness.  

Just like that, this dream disappeared, leaving him entirely alone. Just as he was used to. He had convinced himself that it was for the best, but then why didn’t it feel like it was the best? Why was there a gnawing, hungry sensation inside him, deep within, somewhere close to his heart?  

He whimpered, his vision blurry, and he hated how he cried yet enjoyed the sensation all the same. It brought some relief, removed the tension even as it made his throat hurt and his eyes not see.  

In his room, he was the only one present, and no one heard as he cried himself to sleep.

***

Wild awoke, not remembering when or if he even fell asleep yesterday. He felt groggy, his eyes felt crusty, and the room itself felt colder than was necessarily comfortable. Nevertheless, he got up from the bed and stretched. His morning routine went as usual, which wasn’t a surprise. Routine isn’t something that concerned the future, it was a constant in the present.  

There was a letter under his door again. He picked it up and opened it.

Hello Wild,

I regret to inform you that our meeting is rescheduled for the same day next week as I am needed in Canterlot due to the recent legislation debates. In the meanwhile, Doctor Fay of Canterlot Royal Hospital, Head of Psychology and Psychiatry Ward, will be in my stead. She has my full confidence as she had once been my mentor. If you need someone to talk to, you can trust her - everything you say to her will be held in strict confidentiality, and not even I would be able to access it without breaking her trust and a number of laws pertaining to patient rights, specifically the right to privacy.

Signed,

Princess Luna

It didn’t take long for Wild to realize that the debates in question were about the changelings - he silently offered himself a small praise for keeping up with the news. This time, at least, he wasn’t ignorant of the goings-on, and he intended to keep it that way.

As for this Doctor Fay... Wild decided to put it off. He didn’t need to visit her, after all - his meeting with Luna was still scheduled, even if he would have to wait for a week - as well as figure out what he would even say then. Perhaps, Doctor Fay could be trusted, considering that Luna trust her and had declared what kind of connection the two had, but... Wild wasn’t ready.

Or was he simply telling himself that he wasn’t ready? Where did the difference lie? Besides, it wasn’t like he was forced to say anything. If Doctor Fay taught Luna, and Luna never really forced him to say anything, then perhaps the doctor would act the same. Perhaps it would be worth a try talking to her.  

Choices, choices. He needed to make one. Once again, there were two paths he could take: an easy one or a difficult one. The easy one would be to wait for Luna to return, to talk to her when it was time... when the schedule dictated his actions. The difficult one would be to approach Doctor Fay, and he was explicitly not required to go there. He could easily just ignore it and be safe, yet...

His future gnawed at him still. Luna could hardly offer a perspective of her own - she had been a princess for far longer than Wild’s family had been around. If he were to ask her about the uncertainties of the future, what could she possible offer when she didn’t have to struggle with it? She was a princess, an alicorn - nothing had ever truly been beyond her power, Wild thought. She was unlike him.

In turn, Doctor Fay was, presumably, a more or less regular pony. Wild thought that he would have certainly heard of her before if she was an immortal or an alicorn like Luna. There was, of course, the possibility that she wasn’t a pony at all, possessing some kind of different power.  

Decisions, decisions. He could do as he had done or he could try this. He could wait for his inevitable meeting with Luna or choose to attend a meeting with Doctor Fay.  

His stomach grumbled at him - whatever choice he would need to pick, there were some things that required his attention first. He was glad for the interruption - perhaps getting some food in him would help him decide.  

The walk to the cafeteria was long and yet not, and it felt like forever as he picked the food for himself yet it passed in an instant. Before he was truly ready for it, he was sitting at a table, his food in front of him. The first was pumpkin chocolate chip bread, something he had never tasted before. It was a relatively small loaf, and Wild sniffed at it. The combination of spices, chocolate, and pumpkin was mouth-watering, and he didn’t hesitate to take a bite, allowing the rich flavor to enter his mouth, and he almost moaned in pleasure. He had truly yet to find anything he disliked eating in the cafeteria, and properly enjoying this food was not a hard decision to make. Next was some sort of scramble containing spinach, fried tofu, and an assortment of diced vegetables, all covered with a bit of lemon juice. Bright, crunchy, hearty, it almost exploded in his mouth, and he didn’t hide his moan this time, although he did keep it quiet. He didn’t know why it felt so good, but he didn’t care - he ate with gusto anyway.

“Hi, Wild,” he was greeted by Artful as the young pegasus took a seat nearby and put his own tray of food down.  

There was something about Artful that made Wild turn his head and look closer at him. His posture was slightly slumped, his wings somewhat ruffled, and there was a bit of darkness around his eyes that spoke of a night of poor sleep. Wild could sympathize - however, he didn’t know if he should or even could ask about it. Instead, he offered a second muffin, one of the two he picked but hadn’t had the chance to bite into yet.  

Artful blinked at him in what seemed like confusion. Somewhat awkwardly, Wild offered an explanation - the muffin was good, and Artful should try it. Artful blinked again, then a light blush spread over his face alongside a smile, and he accepted the muffin with a quiet ‘thanks’.

Wild continued eating yet threw glances at the young pegasus as he picked at his food. Wild did his best to ignore it, knowing it wasn’t his business, but this display made his own enjoyment of food lessen as his concern rose. He knew it wasn’t really his place, yet he couldn’t help it. With some hesitation, he tapped on the table to get Artful’s attention, and then gestured his question.

“Oh, it’s, ugh...” Artful scrunched his face, “It’s the entire changeling debate, you know? Nobles over in Canterlot are talking about them as if they’re not even people. Like... like they’re just monsters out to steal foals or something. Which they are not.”

Wild didn’t really have a side in this debate, but he nodded. There was hardly a difference between a regular person and a monster - not uncommonly, they were one and the same, and treating people as if some of them were only monsters while others were only people was wrong. Monsters, despite what they did, were still people, although to Wild, that didn’t mean there would be or should be any leniency - being a monster was like a disease, it spread from person to person, and the more exposure one had to a monster, the more likely the chance that they would become one too.

Wild, however, voiced none of that - he didn’t know what Artful would say in response. He was, after all, just a pony - he didn’t know what humans were and what they were capable of. In his experience so far, Wild had determined that ponies were softer, less prone to random acts of violence and cruelty, and he would very much like to keep it that way.  

Instead, Wild asked why Artful was so concerned about it all.  

“I don’t need to be a changeling to see how it hurts them,” he replied with a frown and a small glare, which made Wild blink - he didn’t expect such a reaction, “It’s wrong, it is unjust. Canterlot nobles talk about changelings as if changelings can’t speak for themselves, you know? A-and it’s not like they’re even offered a voice. I’m concerned because I care about it, it’s just the right thing to do. And what about you?”

Wild felt as if a spotlight was placed right on him, pinning him in place despite only one person even looking at him. If Wild spoke, he would stammer, so instead he just raised his hooves to gesture but couldn’t decide on what he wanted to say. In the end, he settled on signing that changelings had hurt him, and that seemed like a relatively safe thing to say.

“Yeah, they have, but not all of them, right?” Artful replied, “The Changeling Invasion was awful, yeah, but, like... not all of them even took part in it. And there are many who just did what ordered, and no one even died or was seriously hurt. E-except you, of course, but it’s not, like, many changelings did it to you, it was their princess, right? And she’s now in prison, so she’s already punished, so...”

Wild nodded slowly, accepting the arguments. Aside from the fact that a part of him still wanted her dead for what she did to him. However, knowing she was rotting in prison would be enough for him. He didn’t want to see her again, so he could accept it. As for the rest of the changelings... in truth, he didn’t know if he cared about them at all. Many of them were certainly part of an invasion force, and it was luck that no one was killed or seriously injured aside from him. They knew what they were trying to do, didn’t they? It wasn’t that much more different with humans - even if not everyone joined invasions, there was plenty of support for them, and barely anyone stepped in the way of them happening.

Could all changelings be judged for not having warned Equestria about the invasion, for not trying to prevent it from happening? Likely. However, Wild didn’t have any truly personal stake in what would happen to the rest of the changelings. If they left him alone, he was willing to leave them alone, and that was the thought he decided to share with Artful.

“Yeah, but, like, changelings aren’t being left alone right now, even those who didn’t do anything wrong,” Artful said, “Okay, so, uh... what do you know about the, uh, legislation that was proposed?”

Wild frowned and then shrugged.  

“Okay, so, let me tell you,” Artful inhaled deeply, bracing himself for something, “The least harmful is just keeping a register of changelings. Which w-wouldn’t even work because changelings can look like anyone. Some of them can look like rocks or trees, and you can’t really control that. And we don’t even have our own register, you know? Like, sure, schools keep lists of people and all that, but there’s no Equestria-wide register where all ponies are. So why would changelings be forced to get registered?”

Wild blinked at that in confusion - ponies didn’t have things like passports? Identification papers?  

“But that’s just the least bad thing,” Artful continued, “Some say changelings should be branded. They can’t hide, like, wounds and such, they’ll always show through, so... some nobles want that to happen, so that everyone could look at someone and see if they were a changeling or not.”

Wild’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened at what he heard.  

Branding. They wanted to brand them. They wanted to... what, carve numbers into them? Make a metal brand, heat it up, and then burn it into their skin or whatever they had on the outside?  

That. Was. Unacceptable.  

Barely holding his anger in, Wild gestured that he would stand against it.

“Yeah, it’s just f-fucking cruel, you know?” Artful swore, and Wild couldn’t spare any emotion to the surprise of it, “No one deserves that. A f-friend of mine is making a petition about it all, and... would you sign it?”

Wild would gladly do anything to prevent branding. Even he never stooped so low as to brand someone. A brand is a mark of ownership, and those nobles, whoever they were, wanted to own changelings. The Invasion was wrong, without a doubt, but this sort of retaliation... Wild couldn’t accept it. He knew his own scar would one day be gone, but he knew the changelings wouldn’t be given the opportunity.

If he had to march up to every noble in Equestria to prevent branding from taking place, he would. So, with all the seriousness that the situation entailed, Wild gave a nod to Artful, and something inside his chest felt just a little more free.  

The passion with which Artful spoke about people he wasn’t a part of yet cared about struck something inside Wild. The shyness was gone from Artful too, revealing a part of him Wild didn’t expect to see. And what he saw... he liked very much.

Later, he would learn to realize, it was a decision where he picked the difficult choice.
> Chapter 49: A Second Opinion
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Doctor Fay sat behind her desk in her office in the Royal Orphanage. The office was smaller than the one at the Royal Hospital, but that wasn’t apparent since it was clean, organized, and minimal, all just like she liked it. Some would say it was sterile - she would say it was calm. Some would say it was uncomfortably quiet - she would say it was peaceful. The closed window was hidden behind a curtain of white, scattering the light and offering no visual distractions. The light on the ceiling was on, a soft color exactly like what came from the outside, and together with the natural light it basked the room in an even, pleasant glow. The walls were a light shade of gray, not dark enough to seem oppressive yet not so bright as to feel too bright. The floor was vinyl, simple and without any fancy texturing, easy to clean and easy on the eyes.  

Doctor Fay usually wasn’t the one who handled cases of childhood trauma or anything relating to children at all. Her position, in general, was more administrative in nature, although she found time to personally treat people. After all, she went into psychology and psychiatry to help people, not to shuffle papers all day even if it was too, in a sense, helpful. She was privy to various details about many other doctors, including their certification, and any complaints or praises related to them. She was one of the people making sure that their related sphere of healthcare ran as smoothly as possible, and she prided herself on taking this job seriously. Psychology had very far-reaching effects, and she had to be always aware of it in order to be successful at what she did.

In the Royal Orphanage, her role would be handling the small handful of cases of the older children, age twelve and up, close to adulthood and its responsibilities. In her opinion, it was hard to tell whether the age of fourteen was the best age for declaring adulthood - she didn’t feel like an adult until the age of sixteen, and she wasn’t certain of it until into her twenties. While children in the Royal Orphanage were generally better adjusted to adult life by the age of fourteen as far as statistics showed, they still had a long way to grow, and it was Fay’s job to help those who were uncertain.  

Her next patient was Wild, and she learned, through both official channels and gossip, that he was the one Luna took an interest in. It didn’t take long to put two and two together and realize that it was him Luna referred to when she, as she had put it, ‘fucked up’. As far as Fay could tell, Wild would indeed be a special case. He was touch-avoidant, which could have been caused by plenty of reasons, although it was difficult to make a pony behave this way as ponies were naturally very social, and physical touch was a huge part of that. Wild was also noted to not be very social, which was a worrying sign assuming there were no behavioral disorders.

Doctor Fay knew that victims of abuse could behave the way that he is described, and the absence of any concrete information regarding his past puzzled her. No family members mentioned, and he was given a name after he entered the Royal Orphanage. His chronological age was not a specific number but a range of between twelve and fifteen, although his physical age indicated he was almost an adult if not one already. There was an old note that was then noted as removed - it said that he was a feral, meaning a pony who grew up in the wild. The reason for its removal was not stated.  

There were a couple of knocks coming from the door. Doctor Fay opened one of the drawers in her desk, revealing a small clock - it showed her that the time had come for Wild’s visit, one he requested himself. She closed the drawer - the clock was analog of non-ticking variety, and it was out of sight when unneeded. Fay never liked clocks, they were always ticking and moving, and that was not what she wanted.  

“Enter,” she called, and the door to her office opened.

To Fay’s eyes, Wild was indeed physically an adult. Taller than average, with plenty of lean muscle on his frame, his fur clean and exhibiting a bit of natural shine, he was a picture of outward physical health, and the recent health check-up confirmed it on paper. Fay noted it in her mind as good - having a healthy body always improved the mind. His gray eyes were bright and alert, although there was a hint of wariness to him with the barely visible tension around them as well as in how he moved.  

“Please, take a seat,” Doctor Fay gestured at the beanbag chair in front of her desk. She found that it was generally the most well-liked type of seating, adjusting for the user as they sat. It didn’t quite fit the neat and straight lines Fay preferred, but she was willing to make that sacrifice for the sake of comfort of her patients, “I’m pleased to meet you, Wild.”

He took a seat, taking a somewhat rigid position in it, and nodded. In his file, it was noted that he had begun learning the language upon his arrival at the Royal Orphanage. It would’ve made sense if he was a feral, but with the note about it removed, Fay was at a loss. If he was not a feral, then he must have known a language. However, nothing was noted about it.  

“What would you like to talk about?” Doctor Fay asked.  

Wild blinked at her, confusion evident on his face. He signed slowly, asking if she would be the one to start the talk, to ask him questions.

In her experience, it was best to let the patients come to her instead of trying to question them right out of the gate. Sometimes, of course, digging deeper was needed, but it wasn’t the kind of approach two strangers could use. Doctor Fay didn’t know Wild, didn’t know his personal likes and dislikes, and so a misstep would be very easy to make. In her experience, a single error can make the entire patient-doctor relationship crumble without the possibility of return.

“Since you came to me first, I’d like to know if you’d like to speak first about whatever you want,” she said, “It doesn’t need to be related to your mental health if that is what makes you comfortable.”

Wild fidgeted in place, uncertain, then signed again, gesturing that he didn’t know where to start. Doctor Fay could have replied that the beginning was always the perfect place to start, but she knew that wasn’t always the case.  

“Does anything recent come to mind?” she asked instead. Starting from the surface and then doing down was often far more natural and also easier for the patients, “And, of course, you’re free to ask me anything first, although I retain the right to not answer, and so do you.”

Wild was, once again, openly confused - he gestured, claiming he didn’t understand, stating that he thought being completely honest was necessary in order for therapy to work. That confirmed something Doctor Fay wondered, and she was glad Wild was seeking her specifically for therapy, and now she was aware of his own awareness of himself and what he wanted out of this and possibly subsequent visits.  

“Yes, honesty is very important. However, refusal to answer is not dishonesty,” Doctor Fay explained, “Everyone is entitled to information about themselves, and no one is owed your secrets. What you tell others about yourself is your choice, no one else can ever make it for you.”

Wild asked about what if someone figured something out without him having told them.  

“Thoughts of others is something no one can control,” Doctor Fay said, “If someone figured out something about yourself that you didn’t want them to know, then it is up to them to act on this information. It would, of course, be very rude to spread what they learned, and you would be well in your right to be angry at them, and you would also be in your right to pursue legal action against them if spreading whatever they figured out puts you in harm’s way.”

Wild’s eyes widened at that.

“Have you attended any lectures or taken any courses on the topic of law?”

He shook his head.

“I would recommend that you do if you want to learn more about it. Specifically, about defamation, libel, blackmail, and things related to them. Even if a secret is out of your grasp, it doesn’t mean it can run unchecked if it harms you.”

Wild was thoughtful for a long moment, then nodded. Then, after some hesitation, he asked what Doctor Fay knew about him.  

“Are you aware that everyone in the Royal Orphanage has a file that some authorities as well as medical professionals have access to?”

Wild signed that he thought about it but was never explicitly told. Doctor Fay shook her head in her own mind - Princess Luna seemed to have forgotten some basic things she needed to tell him. He was clearly aware of himself and others, as well as able to understand the language, so he could and should have received this information. Fay would certainly bring it up with Luna later, as well as advise that Wild gets at least one more adult figure in the place of authority to trust.  

“Here is a copy,” Doctor Fay gave him the one she had already read through. Wild took it and immediately started reading.

It took a few minutes for him to go through the entire file, his body tense, his eyes focused entirely on the paper, and the fur on his forehead was slightly darker - a sign of sweating, which, in told, showed Fay that he was nervous about what the file could contain. She didn’t comment, letting him read it in peace. After a while, he stopped, and then slowly, as if afraid, returned it to Fay.  

“Is there anything on the file that you would like to clarify or correct?” Doctor Fay asked him.  

Wild thought deeply for some time, and then slowly gestured a question, hesitating almost long enough to change the meaning of his gestures. He asked what happened to those who reached adult age while in the orphanage. Fay refused the urge to sigh - it appeared it was another topic that Princess Luna neglected to bring up with him. She would certainly have a talk with her as soon as possible. Without a doubt, Luna’s intentions were good, considering that Wild hadn’t yet been in the orphanage for a full season, it was likely she was simply letting him acclimatize to it, and there was the issue of him not knowing the language at first, but the time had certainly come for the basics that everyone was told to be revealed to him.

“If you are wondering if a person reaching the age of adulthood means they must depart the orphanage, then the answer is that no one will make you go until you are ready,” Doctor Fay assured him, and immediately there was visible relief coming from Wild, “While the orphanage does take in people that are under the age of majority, reaching the said age doesn’t automatically mean that they are no longer welcome here.”

Wild then asked when do ponies leave the orphanage for good.

“Once they are ready to leave,” Doctor Fay answered, “Generally, it is when they hold a steady job and have their own place to stay at. The latter is about ownership and not rent.”

Wild then frowned, asking how ponies could afford it so easily. Doctor Fay wondered where the question came from.

“Statistically speaking, ponies become homeowners within a few years after reaching adulthood,” she answered, “The difficulty varies, of course, and the most expensive place is Canterlot - any new construction must pass strict standards, and the initial cost of construction is high because of where the city is. The least expensive places are in the countryside - securing a plot of land and building a house for personal use is very easy, and villages like Ponyville are very popular when it comes to inexpensive living.”

Wild seemed struck by this statement and, once again, Doctor Fay wondered why. It was well-known that Equestria was a good place to settle, one of the easiest in the world when it came to the ease of it for both subjects of Equestria and those who wish to move to it from elsewhere. Of course, his surprise could stem from learning about it for the first time, but something nagged at her, suggesting that there was more at play.

Wild, after he gathered his thoughts, asked another question, this time about getting a job or getting education in order to get a job.

“Unfortunately, I can’t tell you much aside from my own experience,” Doctor Fay said, “My circumstances were also different. I went to school from age five to age fourteen, then entered the Royal Academy of Health, where I studied for eight years in psychology and psychiatry, then I was trained for one more year before I received my license. However, what I wanted to do with my life is not necessarily what you want to do with yours.”

Wild frowned, then signed that he had yet to go to school. He then added, shamefully, that he only knew the language.

“Do you know how to count?”  

Wild looked startled for a moment, then nodded sheepishly. Afterwards, he added that he could do some mental calculations without much trouble. However, he gestured that he didn’t think it would be enough for a job.

“There are always jobs to take,” Doctor Fay assured him, “Being able to communicate to others and knowing basic mathematics is enough for many of them. A lot of occupations have training on-site. However, as I said, I’m not the best person to talk about it,” and neither was Luna, considering that she was a princess. Thankfully, Fay knew whom to recommend, “Steady Hooves is a pony who can help you. She is a pegasus with pale yellow fur and red mane, her talent mark is a steel wrench in a red circle. You can write to her with the questions you have, and she comes to the orphanage every month.”

Wild nodded and, after a few moments of thought, gestured that he would like to think about all of it and whether it was fine for him to leave.

“Of course,” Doctor Fay nodded, “And good luck in your endeavors, Wild. But before you go, would you like to schedule another meeting?”

He hesitated, thinking, and then asked if he could come in a week. After checking her own schedule, Doctor Fay named a time, and the two had an agreement. Finally, Wild left and closed the door behind him.

Doctor Fay was neither blind nor deaf, so the worries of Wild were clear to her - he thought about his future and was afraid of being kicked out because he had yet to find a way forward for himself. Over many years, it was a legitimate fear - for some time, the orphanage did indeed made ponies leave once they reached the age of fourteen regardless of whether they were ready or not. Doctor Fay was glad that this practice had ended long before she was even born.  

While she didn’t end up talking to Wild about any other issues he might wish to raise, she understood that this first meeting was a success. He entered the room with fear in his mind, ready to flee, and ended the meeting in a far more relaxed manner, going as far as signing up for a second meeting not far from the first. In Doctor Fay’s experience, many of her patients tended to stretch it as much as possible in the often misguided attempt to give themselves time to prepare for it, and it was good to see that Wild thought himself ready for more so soon.

Doctor Fay wrote down the summary of her meeting with him in her own journal, then put it all away and went to get some tea and snacks. Her next patient wouldn’t be due for another hour, and she would have time to eat as well as decide what to tell Luna once the princess was free from the politics of Canterlot.

As well-intentioned as Luna was, the saying about paving the way to hell continued to ring true, and Doctor Fay wasn’t about to let it dissuade her from making sure Wild reached a far more pleasant destination instead.
> Chapter 50: Morning Mist
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild was wandering the halls of the Royal Orphanage, his steps soundless yet with an echo at the edge of his hearing. He passed window after window, every single one displaying the same thing: leafless trees and bushes all covered with something gray, could be snow or could be ashes. The walls were leeched of color, showing the same drab gray as the outside, plain and boring, with no designs or texture to speak of. The floor could only be called wooden out of the feel of it, and even then just barely - the grain was all directed the same way as if made by a machine in a factory.  

He walked and walked and walked, step by step by another step, each movement taking him closer to... where? The halls remained the same, the scenery was unchanging, and he could only walk forward not knowing what was beyond but expecting the same.

A door opened up to the outside, yet there were no birds singing, no wind blowing. There was nothing but complete and utter silence, oppressive and heavy to the point of silencing his heartbeat, making him unable to hear it. He blinked yet didn’t, breathed yet no air moved.  

He couldn’t tell whether it was ash or snow. There was no taste, and it didn’t melt again his skin, black as it was.

Black?

It wasn’t his skin but the semi-solid mass that comprised his...

Soul.  

He woke up, his eyes opening up to the white ceiling of his bedroom. There was gentle tapping of rain outside the window. He had a feeling it was before his regular waking up time. There was something about the quality of the air around him, but it was not the smell nor the visual appearance.  

Wild got up and stretched, chasing away the last wisps of sleep. He turned to look through the window, and perhaps there was something about the air - there was a thick blanket of fog, merging the sky above with the ground below not far from the lake shore he could usually see out of his bedroom. He, as if in a trance, opened the window and inhaled a deep lungful of damp morning air. It was almost completely still, but the quiet rustling of the leaves with every small gust of wind made it look alive instead of dead like in his dream.

Wild wondered why he dreamed what he saw. Magic was real, so why couldn’t odd visions be a part of it? He knew plenty of fictional stories featured cryptic dreams as an element, and there was distinct possibility his own would not be spared from it. There was perhaps some humor to be found in the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, in a magical story. As a child, he would have certainly been extremely excited about it all, and now... there was no excitement even though it should have been there.

However, the day he appeared in this world was the day he died on Earth - it wasn’t something he thought he would ever be excited about.  

He went through his morning routine and went outside, meeting no one on his way there as it was too early for most to be up. The fog seemed to swallow every sound, and his steps were quiet and lacking an echo as he stepped outside. The pale grayness of it all seemed to swallow him as well, the building of the orphanage disappearing behind him as he walked further and further away from it.  

Wild was looking around with open wonder on his face, having not seen fog in a long time. How did it work? He knew clouds were water, and if a cloud was close to releasing it, it would be darker. But why were the clouds white? Of course, water vapor was white, so that made sense, but then why were rain clouds darker? Could the fog likewise darken and then release rain of some kind?  

It had been a long time since he bothered with questioning the world around him and how it all worked. Undoubtedly he had asked his parents why the sky was blue and why the grass was green, even if he didn’t remember it, but he thought himself past those childish questions. At one point, perhaps, he believed himself knowledgeable enough about the world to not need to ask any more questions. Wondering why clouds were white and rain clouds were gray didn’t bring water to drink or shelter to hide from the rain. Thinking of the reasons why various plants had all those different colors didn’t put food on the table. What use were any of those questions to him then?  

There were things in the world far more important and immediate than the very nature that surrounded him. Nature simply was - it existed, and that was it. Humans, however, not only existed but made decisions that affected others. Humans could think while nature only was, not performing an action or determining an outcome before chasing it but simply being. He could perhaps influence it, change how a river flowed by digging a new path, break a tree before it grew into one that would need an axe and a saw to fell. However, why would he do that when humans were always his biggest concern and his most immediate threat?

He could hear voices in the fog, undefined and muffled and with a direction hard to determine. If he was right, just a couple short sentences were exchanged, and now he could not hear where they came from.

A thought came unbidden - what if this fog was unnatural? Magic could break minds and tear souls, what was mere conjuration of mist to it? Perhaps the voices were from some kind of an attacking force, another group desiring to take over the Royal Orphanage for their own ends.

Wild would be foolish to venture any further into the fog, but something pulled him in, something from within him. One of the voices carried a note of familiarity, and familiarity, he knew, could be good, especially in this world.  

Wild was no longer a rock in the river but dust in the air as it absorbed moisture and fell down just like he was now absorbing floating thoughts. For now, they were too undefined, scattered throughout the air, but he could feel where they came from, and so he headed that way, making sure his steps were quiet. The damp of the grass and the thick fog were on his side as he moved, the sense of two separate minds growing closer and more defined, enough so that he could once again become a rock in the river, the thoughts floating by without clinging to him. There was no maliciousness there as far as he could sense, so it would be his duty to keep his own mind away from the thoughts he should not have been privy to in the first place.

In front of him, a blurry shape came from the fog, solidifying soon into the familiar shape of Artful, who was sitting on a stool underneath a wide umbrella on a pole stuck in the ground. He was sitting with his back to Wild, a canvas in front of him. Behind the canvas, sitting on a different stool, was a changeling, who was facing Wild, their eyes closed and their posture relaxed.

Wild tensed up, stopping in mid-step. He quietly put his hooves down, his eyes unblinking and aimed straight at the changeling, his mind open and absorbing the thoughts.  

Artful’s thoughts were a constant flow of decisions and questions about how to proceed with the painting he was making, as well as hoping that he picked the right one for the moisture not to affect it much. The thoughts of the changeling... there was something there, somewhat foreign, and there was a sense of calm, but Wild couldn’t grasp it.  

He slowly released a breath he barely didn’t realize he was holding. There was no malice from the changeling and no fear from Artful. Whatever was going on, it was... fine. However, Wild would not be so foolish as to leave. He sat down to watch the two, just in case. Perhaps it was an irrational fear, but he couldn’t help but feel... twitchy about the changeling’s presence.

Artful hummed from time to time, adjusting his posture as he used a brush in his mouth, slowly working from barely defined shapes to something clearer.  

“Feel better?” he asked as he put some more paint on the brush.

“Uh-huh,” the changeling answered, their voice carrying a sort of insect-like quality to it, an undercurrent of a buzz perhaps, “But, um, you didn’t have to wake up this early just to, you know, keep me company.”

“I didn’t have to, but I chose to,” Artful replied softly, then a few seconds passed in silence as he painted and the changeling breathed deeply.

“What if someone finds you with me?” they asked, their eyes still closed.

“It’s not like I’ve been quiet about defending changelings,” Artful replied, “It’s not the first time someone spews hatred at me because of something.”

Wild wondered how Artful could be speaking so calm about it. If what Wild understood from the news was correct, the anti-changeling sentiment was relatively widespread and the tempers were high. Artful didn’t look like someone who could fight back very well. Perhaps Wild could offer him... something. Some training, perhaps? Wild wasn’t exactly a martial arts master outside of swords, but he could perhaps still help. Offer some sparring, maybe. It would likely be a good idea if Wild looked up hand-to-hand - or, in the case of ponies, hoof-to-hoof - combat and got into that part of martial arts. It could be rewarding, it could definitely be helpful, and he would perhaps be able to help Artful not get into trouble.

Why he cared if Artful got into trouble because of his own words or actions, he didn’t know. However... people like Artful didn’t deserve to be hurt. It would only be a good thing if Wild ensured that or, if failing to do that, at least did something about it.

Considering that there were proposals to brand changelings, perhaps Wild’s thoughts about ponies being relatively harmless were foolish. At the very least he learned about it before he became the target of it.  

“Um... would you mind if I ask why?” the changeling asked.  

“Why someone said hateful things to me before?”

“...yeah.”

“My biological parents didn’t like me,” Artful put it bluntly, “Not because of anything I did but because of who I am. And I, ugh...”

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me,” the changeling quickly backpedalled.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s just... not the best memories,” Artful chuckled humorlessly, “I didn’t come to the Orphanage until I was eleven. And...”  

There was a long pause then as Artful mixed some paint for just the right shade for the changeling’s outside, which Wild couldn’t determine the composition of. It wasn’t skin but neither was it fur, and it was somewhat glossy and hard-looking. Certainly insectoid in nature, but he didn’t know the term for it.

“My biological parents hated me,” Artful said, a surprising amount of anger in his voice, “They wanted a filly and got a colt, but they just... didn’t want to accept that because I had the wrong body.”  

“Oh,” the changeling opened their eyes and, immediately, spotted Wild, produced some sort of a high pitched noise resembling a squeak, and promptly fell off the stool. Artful, in his own surprise, almost put a streak across the painting as he turned around.  

Silence fell on them as Artful looked surprised at Wild’s presence, the changeling hiding behind the stool as if it was a sturdy castle, and Wild...

Wild puzzled out what Artful meant when he said what he said, as well as what Wild could say now. If he got it all right... Artful was transgender. That was... something Wild had never had to think about.

“Hello, Wild,” Artful greeted him, his voice calm, “Jade, remember I told you about Wild? He’s against the nonsense nobles are trying to pull off.”

“Is he?” the changeling, Jade, peeked from behind the stool.

Wild swallowed and then nodded. No matter what, branding was not something he could allow, as powerless and helpless as he was in the face of whatever nobility Equestria had. Even if seeing the changeling made him feel odd, he couldn’t just throw his convictions away because of looks or species.  

Wild had never, to his knowledge, had any inclination to hate on people for looking different. He himself was different, he knew what it was like to be disliked for both what he chose and couldn’t choose. In certain places, his very existence was illegal and would spell death for him if someone heard of him being gay. Even in the USA where he lived, attitudes towards people like him were less than welcome.

His father had taught him some facts about what it meant to be gay in a world that hated gay people, and Wild knew branding was not the farthest people would resort to in their blind bigotry.  

Wild found that he could... emphasize with both Jade and Artful, although Artful, to Wild, did not look like a transgender person. In all fairness, however, Wild had never known a transgender person, and perhaps magic had a hand in this as well. To him, Artful looked like a stallion, and to continue to think of him like a stallion wouldn’t take any additional effort.  

jade and Artful were now waiting for something from him, yet he didn’t know what to say, so he stood there awkwardly, trying to figure it out. He was eavesdropping, which he believe was not a thing that people took lightly. However, how would he apologize for it? And did this Jade even understand sign language?

“Is everything alright?” Artful asked, his brows furrowed slightly not in anger but in... concern?

Wild nodded, then made some aborted gestures before he figured out how to convey that he did not intend to listen in. He paused after that, then signed that he would keep their secrets and that he had no issues with either of them.  

Wild thought that he could perhaps speak - saying words to Precision felt so liberating - but, with the situation being what it was, he wasn’t certain he could, and so he didn’t. Instead, he awkwardly gestured a question - what were the two of them doing before he came in? It seemed like a safe question to ask at least.

“Jade likes to meditate sometime, and I was invited along and decided to paint them,” Artful explained, “To be honest, I couldn’t just skip this mist, it’s too beautiful not to paint! And Jade definitely lives up to their name,” he then turned to them, “You really do look lovely.”

“Um, thank you,” Jade blushed as they slowly and carefully settled back on the stool, “But... I, um, don’t think I can meditate anymore.”

Wild suddenly felt bad for them, and so he gestured that he could leave, that he didn’t intend to interrupt anything. To himself, he thought of how alone this fog could make someone feel, and some people would definitely enjoy the perceived privacy of it, perhaps even a comforting feeling. 

Wild then paid some more attention to the changeling and noticed that they indeed looked... perhaps he wouldn’t call them lovely - not the kind of word he ever really used to describe anyone, it felt awkward - but Jade certainly didn’t look like the other changelings. They had no holes in their legs, their body was not gray but had a green hue to it, and their eyes were a nice emerald color, certainly living up to their name. If Wild were to guess, he would say that Jade was a healthy changeling.  

In response to his question, Jade looked uncertain, and Wild allowed just a bit of thoughts to get to him. The situation certainly grew more awkward - Jade didn’t want to tell Wild to leave because they felt it would be somewhat rude, but Wild had also been rude by listening in, and Jade would really like to go back to meditating without being aware that someone that was seriously hurt because of changelings was around.

Wild then gestured that he was hungry and would be eating breakfast. Afterwards, he turned around and left, allowing the fog to swallow both Artful and Jade as if they were never there.

Wild didn’t know whether breakfast was even served yet - it was far too early. And, in truth, he did wish he could stay if only to watch Artful paint. However, Jade didn’t want him there, and so the right thing to do was leave. Artful, after all, didn’t belong to him alone - surely he had plenty of his own friends, certainly better ones than Wild who was a mess and an idiot and an awkward moron and-

Perhaps it was for the best that he left indeed.  

Wild felt a bit of a flush come to his cheeks as his mind focused on a different thing. Like how Artful looked half-turned, a brush in the corner of his mouth, his eyes looking at him not with anger but with concern, and-

Wild squashed everything else, pushing it down and down and down until he could pretend it wasn’t there anymore. He could perhaps accept that he was coming out of the shell of his own making a bit, but he still needed it, and he couldn’t think of, he couldn’t dream of, perhaps, hugging at least someone and not just Luna, although Luna’s hugs were good but there was something missing and...

Wild sighed deeply as he walked alone. His life was a mess, he was a mess, and this day started out all wrong with a stupid dream and walking in the fog and then being an eavesdropping idiot like he was a child who needed to know everything and so entirely incapable of minding his own business.  

His stomach growled, and he decided it would indeed be for the best if he focused on food, which was a bodily need he could satisfy without thinking about it.  

Wild got an assortment of fruit as well as some porridge for breakfast and sat down to eat in the mostly empty cafeteria. He thought back to the day before, when he talked to Doctor Fay for the first time. What he heard... it was a relief, that much was true, but he was still waiting for... something. There was that irrational fear in the back of his head that Luna would talk to him and reveal that, no, Doctor Fay was wrong, ponies did leave the orphanage at certain age mandatorily. He knew this wouldn’t happen, but he couldn’t help but think it anyway.

This, this gave him time. How much, he didn’t know, and he didn’t believe he would simply be allowed to stay as long as he wanted. This uncertainty, more than anything, pushed him towards taking action. He couldn’t allow himself to relax, not yet, not until his future was more certain, not until his future was secured and assured. He couldn’t allow himself to drift aimlessly, even if every step forward came slow and painful and anxiety-filled and more and more and more.  

Wild had a goal and he had to reach it. To reach the goal meant to act. He reminded himself of the revenge he had taken - it required planning and it required action. Without the first, he was doomed to fail, and without the second, he wouldn’t succeed. However, that situation was entirely different, barely could be called short-term. He got lucky, he knew it. Despite malnourishment, despite the constant stress, he struck back and wasn’t captured by either his tormentors or the police. He knew the possibility, yet he acted anyway, overcoming his anxiety to do what he needed and wanted to do.  

Getting education and getting a job were... different. He had not gotten a good education, and he couldn’t say he was good at anything that could earn him money. As for what he wanted to do... he didn’t know. Whatever childish desires he had had when he was younger could hardly be applicable, and he had forgotten all about future plans once everything was collapsing around him.  

Fortunately, he was directed to a person who could perhaps help him - Steady Hooves. Supposedly, this mare gave some sort of job advice. Career advice? Whatever the case was, she was the person he could write to. That could likely be easy enough - his writing wasn’t very good still, symbols the Equestrian language used not coming to him naturally just yet, but it was serviceable as long as he consulted books on proper grammar as well as a dictionary. Unfortunately, he expected that the letter would take most of his day, considering that the focus of his language lessons had been understanding speech and communicating with others using signs. Naturally, there was plenty about reading, but writing specifically was the least important thing.  

After getting done with his food, he put the tray away and, instead of going to write the letter, went to the kitchen to help with cleaning the dishes. He knew he was delaying it, yet he could easily justify it to himself - it was far too early to do anything serious yet. He had time.  

“Sure, go ahead,” a familiar cook told him once he expressed his desire to clean the dishes, “Load’s not terribly high yet, but we’d all appreciate if you stick around until the end of breakfast. Do you remember how it’s done here?”

Wild dug around his memory for a bit - he did remember he washed the dishes once, but it seemed like an eternity ago. In the end, he shook his head instead of trying to puzzle out what exactly he remembered.

“Alright, I’ll remind you,” the cook easily agreed to help him out, showing him three basins. The cook went through the sequence of cleaning, and Wild’s memories of doing it returned. After the explanation was done, Wild nodded his head and gestured that he would have no problems doing it again and that he would remember it.

He got into the rhythm of washing dishes. Big chunks went in a bin to the left of the sink, smaller chunks were removed in the first basin as Wild used a generous but not excessive amount of soap. Once that was done, the dish was moved to the second basin where the soap was washed off. After that step was complete, Wild dipped the dish in the third basin, swished it around for five seconds, and then put it on the drying rack. Rinse and repeat, one after the other, dish after dish, with various pauses in between as dirty dishes came in at irregular intervals.

With some humor, he thought that perhaps he could wash dishes as a job. It was easy enough, and it brought a certain sense of calm. He didn’t even need to get himself wet or dirty - his magical hands did everything for him, and they came with all the advantages of hands and none of the downsides as far as he was concerned.  

He wondered just how good he was at washing dishes - probably not very much, considering that it was his second time doing it in the past few months at the very least. When he was a kid, he did his own dishes as soon as he was able to, although he had a rebellious phase when he refused to do so. His parents humored him then, allowing him not to wash his own dishes, but he was forbidden from using their dishes. In the end, he caved in to the need to wash his own because they grew far too disgusting to use without it.  

Now, Wild did his best to ensure that the dishes that went through his hands came out nice and clean, perfect for anyone to eat off of. Nothing else would do, nothing less would suffice. And, of course, putting his physical and mental efforts both into it allowed him a reprieve from the inevitability of the distant yet almost immediate future.  

Unfortunately for Wild, breakfast wasn’t the meal that produced the most dishes to wash, so he was done far too soon for his liking. He glanced at the clock on the wall - he had certainly managed to spend over an hour not doing what was actually important, and now he needed to head back to his dorm to write the letter to Steady Hooves.  

It didn’t take him long to find himself sitting at a table faced with an empty sheet of paper and a pen. Just then, it occurred to him that he didn’t exactly know how to write a letter. How would he begin? Starting with ‘Dear’ felt too personal, but what other option he had? Starting with just her name felt incomplete and perhaps even rude. His future was on the line, so he couldn’t afford to make wrong first impressions. His father’s effort to teach him to present himself properly would not go to waste if he had anything to say about it despite the fact that he had not cared about it for a long time. However, the time of survival and crawling through life was over - whether he liked or not, his concerns were now long-term instead of immediate, and so he needed to do everything properly in order not to fail.  

Fortunately, he remembered that there was the library - he would surely find the guide to letter composition. He placed the pen back on the table and got up, heading to the library. His steps were perhaps too hurried for what wasn’t exactly such a big deal, but he felt like he was at a time limit, like the offer would expire if he were to waste time. Unfortunately, he had already spent an unnecessarily long amount of time washing dishes, but it couldn’t be helped now.

Once he was in the library, he stopped, then browsed the catalog in search of anything that would point him in the right direction. He could, of course, just ask the librarian or any of their helpers, but he wanted to do it by himself. Thankfully, he found “Letter Composition for Successful Business” by Inked Quill in the Business section of the library, where he immediately headed. The book was still there, and he snatched it from its place.  

When Wild found a place to read it, he sat down and opened it, being careful with memorizing what it said. He was immediately stumped by just how many ways a letter could be written depending on the sender and recipient, as well as a number of styles that depended on the culture and country and language.  

Wild cursed at himself for not bringing the letter with him, so he placed the book down at the side table next to his seating and rushed out of the library. He made his way to his apartment, grabbed the empty letter and the pen, then returned to the library. He wanted to slap himself in the face for being so thoughtless. Thankfully, once he returned to his reading place, the book was still there, so he grabbed it and went to one of the study tables where he could write the letter. He set it down and... there was a crease in the paper, an angled one. He shifted in place for a long moment, thinking that surely it would be fine if the letter was a bit imperfect...

No, it would not be fine.

After a trip to get another, perfect piece of paper, he finally sat down to read the book and actually get to writing the letter.  

All formal letters start with contact information and date. In Standard Equestrian Style, this goes exactly a hoof’s width away from the left edge and a quarter of a hoof’s length away from the top.

Wild furrowed his brows. He was somewhat aware that Equestria had once used their own measuring standards based on pony bodies, and those standards had largely gone away with the introduction of the International Standard some centuries ago, which were exactly like the system of meters and kilograms and such that there was back on Earth. Very few cases existed where the old measuring standards were still used, but apparently formal letters were one of those. Wild snorted, putting the book aside and wandering off in search of how big a hoof actually was in the old system. Surely it wasn’t just his own hoof?  

It didn’t take Wild long to find a book titled “Measurement Standards: From Pre-Equestria to Modern Era”, which was exactly what he wanted. The answer to his question was easy to find - the size of a hoof was replicated one to one on one of the pages, and the hoof measurements were based on Celestia’s right front hoof. There was tradition to change how much a hoof was based on who ruled Equestria at the time - and such changes were usually once every half a century - but this was done away with some time after Celestia and Luna took the throne. 

Unfortunately for Wild, he would need a ruler to accurately measure out where he needed to place his contact information and date. That was easily remedied - some writing supplies were available at any desk. He groaned as he realized that he could have easily found paper, although his own desk, for some reason, didn’t have it.  

Before measuring anything, he felt an itch to read a bit further.

When writing to a member of a noble house, one must write their contact information and date at exactly three-quarters of a hoof’s width away from the left edge and half a hoof’s length at the top edge. When writing to a member of the royal family, one must step a half-hoof from the left edge and a three-quarters of a hoof’s length away from the top. When writing to the rulers themselves, the distance is a quarter-hoof width and a full hoof length from the left and the top edges respectively.

He did not expect he would be writing any formal letters to any member of nobility or royal family - he wondered if Princess Celestia and Princess Luna even had any family - but it was perhaps useful to know how to write to the princesses themselves if he ever needed to.  

Finally, he measured a hoof’s width from the left edge, then cursed, his hand swiftly grabbing a nearby pencil, and then he measured it out again and marked it, and then he measured a quarter of a hoof width - no, he needed length, which was from front to pack, not left to right - and marked it very lightly again. Then he lined paper, realized that it wasn’t exactly straight, erased it all, and then lined it again, this time slower, taking his time to measure the exact distance so that everything was nice and even. He had to erase line after line when they were slightly off until he, finally, had it all lined for the contact information and date.

At this point, he wanted to be done with it, but it was far from over, and so he persevered. First line was his full name, which was just Wild, simple enough. The next line was the country - Equestria. It was a fancy symbol incorporating sun, moon, and symbols of three pony tribes. That was difficult, the symbol itself not perfect, but it would do. Next line was the settlement, which... he didn’t know. Was the Royal Orphanage counted as its own thing or was it somehow attached to the nearby village of Ponyville? He got up from his seat and went for the Book of Addresses, which he had spotted previously.  

The Book of Addresses contained, predictably, addresses of various businesses, government offices, ponies, and so on that were important enough to include. Ponyville was on it, although nothing beyond its name was mentioned. The Royal Orphanage, Wild learned, was not connected to any city or town or village and was, indeed, a place of its own, although it situated on Crown Land, which technically belonged to the princesses themselves.

The next and last line was for the street, house number, and apartment number. The Royal Orphanage didn’t have streets, so he simply wrote the number of his dorm.

Finally, it was done, and had he regular hands, they would already be cramping from how much effort he put into things looking nice and neat. Fortunately, he avoided having to use a quill - as per the rules, one had to use a quill to write any important business inquiries or when writing to a member of a noble house or writing to royalty. Otherwise, thankfully, regular pens were used.

Wild looked back at what he wrote and grit his teeth - the symbols were all slanted, slightly curving to a side, as well as of sizes too different, looking not quite even enough.  

He glanced at a clock and gaped - he spent nearly an entire hour looking at all those stupid rules and lining his contact information and writing it all out.

He couldn’t stop now, he had to get it done. He furrowed his brow in concentration and, under the last line of the address, he wrote the current date after he confirmed it with a glance at a nearby calendar. Then he looked back at the rules.  

One must skip a line between the contact information and the date, then skip two lines before writing the salutation. 

He did not skip a line.  

He resisted the urge to slam the table. Instead, he got up, balled up the letter, making it crinkle under his grip, then tossed it in a nearby bin. He closed the book with more force than was probably necessary and went to put it away, breathing heavily.

He couldn’t do it. He did not want to do it. This entire nonsense could wait. He was not spending a single extra moment on it. He was done.  

The letter could be sent some other time, once he actually got through with all the stupid ancient rules and idiotic measurements and lining the paper and everything.  

Steady Hooves would visit the Royal Orphanage anyway, so maybe he could approach her then. He simply was not dealing with letters, not anymore, not for at least another day.  

He wanted to punch something as he internally continued to grumble about it all. Thankfully, there was the Martial Arts Club training later in the day, so he would have the opportunity to let out some of the frustration inside of him.

He could deal with everything else later.
> Chapter 51: Debates
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild woke up the next day with the knowledge that he had not completed what he set out to do. That he had failed. That a mere letter frustrated him more than a fight for survival. He had given up when he just needed to push through. What was a letter in comparison to what he had gone through? It was nothing, that was the answer, and yet, and yet...

Wild got up and went through his morning routine. He did not want to write the letter. The process of proper letter writing was exhausting, more involved than he had anticipated, with rules that were there for the sake of making letters more difficult to write, no doubt. When he used internet - and wasn’t that a lifetime ago? - he never had to bother with it. But then he had been a kid, and he had never needed to write any sort of formal letter. There was a half-memory of writing a letter for his English class, but that was so long ago he barely remembered anything aside from the fact that it took place once.  

Even beating everyone he sparred with during the Martial Arts Club training didn’t bring him much reprieve from the need to think about his future and to act on it. The letter continued to sit in the back of his mind, taunting him, laughing at him, reminding him that mere words on a piece of paper stopped him from doing what he needed to do.  

When he was eating breakfast, he was joined by Artful, which helped him take his mind off the letter.  

“Hey,” Artful greeted him, “So, um... there’s a, uh, club, I guess, where we talk politics and all, and, you know, changelings come up now, and there’s the petition to not make all that dumb stuff into law that would make their lives hell and all... would you mind attending? You’d just need to be present on this side of the argument, sign the petition, and... well, I won’t push you, but it’d be nice if you spoke up and said why you’re on our side.”

Wild nodded slowly but gestured that he was unlikely to speak. Even as he thought about it, there was a sort of pull that didn’t allow him to even entertain the possibility, making him step back. Standing in front of a crowd, however small, and being required to speak gave him anxiety as a child, and he did not long to repeat the experience. If he were to speak, he would only speak to a few people, no more than perhaps two or three at a time. Preferably, he would only ever speak to one person at a time. He started with Luna, did it again with Precision, and perhaps he could, in time, expand it. He was only grateful that Precision had not yet mentioned the fact that he could speak to anyone else, and he hoped it would stay that way until he was ready... whenever that would be.  

“That’s fine,” Artful told him, “Anyway, we’ll be in room fifteen on the second floor at eleven thirty. That works for you?”

Wild nodded once again - he had no plans aside from the letter, which he did not want to tackle until later in the day or, better yet, tomorrow, when he had a day entirely to himself. In truth, he did not want to dedicate an entire day to this either, but did he really have a choice?  

For the next few minutes, Wild and Artful ate in a relatively comfortable silence. Wild was glad that Artful didn’t attempt to make small talk with him - Wild had no idea how to make small talk. It was meaningless, after all. He would rather talk about things that truly mattered at least a little bit. The weather, the general ‘how do you do’ and such... he never cared to discuss any of that, especially since asking about the weather or how he was did not, in fact, provide an invitation for any actual discussion.  

“Wild?” he heard from behind him and turned around. A young unicorn was standing there, a letter in their grasp, “There’s a letter for you.”

Puzzled, Wild nodded and took the letter. It was sealed, the seal itself a stamp he didn’t recognize, so he wondered who sent him a letter. He opened it and found out it was from Doctor Fay, which was part surprising and part expected, although the topic of the letter was not something he anticipated.

Dear Wild,

It has come to my attention that you have not been given proper basic education yet. It is understandable, considering that you had to learn the language first, but from what I understand, your level of language comprehension is now enough in order to receive the said basic education.

Your primary caretaker, Luna, is currently unable to provide you with it, so she entrusted me with it. If you would rather hear it from her, feel free to stop reading the letter now and send your response telling me of your decision. Otherwise, please continue.

Wild, in truth, trusted Luna far more than he trusted Doctor Fay. He had, metaphorically and in reality, showed his soul to Luna, and he thought it meant something, had to mean something, and... if there was anyone Wild could trust with any sort of education, or anything for that matter, it was Luna and, so far, Luna alone.

However, it was Doctor Fay who trained Luna in psychology and psychiatry. Doctor Fay had more experience too, as mind-boggling as it sounded considering just how much older Luna was. So, perhaps, he could extend his trust to her. She had already earned some of it, at least, by not pushing him anywhere and telling him the answers to the questions he had, as well as by alleviating some of his fears.  

He continued reading the letter.

Everyone at the Royal Orphanage is taught to speak, write, and read if able, as well as apply basic mathematics to everyday life. This much is enough to seek further education or for basic employment opportunities. However, there are other areas of life that young ponies need help with. Personal finance is one such thing, and the other is how to manage relationships with different people in healthy ways, be it familial, friendships, romantic or sexual relationships. 

He gulped, feeling his heartbeat increase after reading the last part. He did not want-

But he needed it. Had he not had difficulties with relationships? He had no friends. He didn’t even remember if he ever loved anyone. And... in truth, he did want to touch and be touched. He would not give his dead tormentors the satisfaction of having a grip on his life after all this time.  

If his hands were real, they would tremble slightly, but he continued reading even as he caught Artful looking at him with worry in the corner of his eye.  

Sexual education is extremely important as it gives you help in understanding yourself, recognizing various situations of sexual nature and how to deal with them, and how to safely experience sex if this is what you want. 

A monthly lecture is coming up, which I would recommend you attend. If you are uncomfortable with it, there is the book titled ‘Sexual Education Basics’ available in the library. 

Wild was not ready for listening to lectures, so he would certainly pick a book instead. His relationships, whatever they were, would be kept private.  

A week from the lecture, you will have two options: either we will have a talk and I will question you about what you learned or I will give you a questionnaire if you are uncomfortable with discussing the matter in person. The questions that will be asked will depend on your orientation, so you may not need to answer all of them. 

Wild was relieved that he would not have to talk about women as they have never interested him. Of course, as any curious teenager, he had learned more than he probably bargained for, but he did not care to learn anything more. He knew that unprotected sex led to pregnancies, and since he would never have sex with a woman, he didn’t need to worry about it. He remembered he had once looked up what pregnancy was and, in truth, he was rather grossed out. Women went through that willingly? Perhaps he was lacking perspective as someone who did not like women, but he simply couldn’t see why so many would want to line up to become pregnant. Thankfully, it would never be an issue for him, which was a positive side to being gay.

No matter what your identity is, it will not be invalidated or disrespected. Whomever you like or do not like is not for anyone to judge, and whatever you decide to do or not to do with others is no one’s business as long as everything is done consensually. 

Consent... he had been robbed of it once. He did not intend for it to happen ever again. He was stronger now. He would not let himself be defiled again. No one would ever get the satisfaction of subduing him.  

There was more to the letter, which he skimmed over before putting it back in the envelope and then wrapping the string the envelope was attached to around his neck. He definitely needed to get something with pockets if he planned to carry more with him.  

“Everything alright?” Artful asked him. Wild just shrugged, and he was glad no more questions came his way. Artful was surprisingly thoughtful like this, but perhaps it wasn’t surprising now that Wild knew he was friends with a changeling.  

Wild wondered whether the princesses were even aware that they had a changeling in the Royal Orphanage - he had certainly never seen them before, likely because the changeling was disguised as a pony every time Wild saw them. He only got a name to go on - Jade - and he didn’t even know if they used the same name as a pony. Considering that he was attacked by a changeling back on the day of the Invasion, he didn’t believe anyone noticed anything off, and the princesses likely didn’t know.  

Did he need to tell them? Would it be best to expose the changeling, whatever the consequences? He cast his mind back to the previous day and... no, he could not do it. The changeling, he remembered, was afraid of him. They did not try to attack him either, and he expected they would if they wanted to avenge their princess or to strike back against ponies for thwarting the invasion. Considering everything, they would have had the time to strike against him or anyone else yet they didn’t. Artful was friends with them as well, and he had a suspicion that this friendship was older than the amount of days since the Invasion. 

With all the talk of branding changelings, Wild would commit a great crime by exposing the changeling before the very idea of branding was off the table, dead and buried. Not a second before would Wild entertain exposing the changeling who, as far as he knew, had never hurt anyone.  

Despite his thought process, he couldn’t help but realize that he was not as safe as he thought. Or, perhaps, not as knowledgeable about his situation as he thought. In truth, it wasn’t any different than not knowing if the person sitting opposite him on the bus was a serial killer, yet the illusion of relative safety continued to crumble further and further.  

Wild... did not know how to restore it.  

***

It did not take long for Wild to find the room for the politics club slightly before the meeting time. Artful was there to greet him.

“Hey, glad to see you came,” he said, “Almost everyone is here already. Would you like to sit with me?”

Wild nodded - it was good to be near a familiar face. In the room itself, there was a number of various sitting places arranged in a semi-circle in front of a small stage, behind which was a blackboard. A few podiums were stored in the corner - perhaps for debates? Wild, frankly speaking, did not know anything at all about politics. Of course, he knew the Pledge of Allegiance, which he always thought was stupid as well as part of what he now deemed as brainwashing, and he also knew who the president was, or at least had been at the time of his death - Donald Trump. Some more names were somewhere in his memories, but he didn’t care to dig them up, certainly not when he was no longer in the US and would not be impacted by what happened on Earth ever again. What mattered to him was the fact that politicians never did anything for him aside from Princess Luna and Princess Celestia, although he didn’t know whether they could be counted as politicians. Of course, they were involved in politics, but he had never thought of politicians as people who involved themselves in something like running an orphanage. He couldn’t imagine Luna wearing a suit and delivering some boring speech that promised nothing in too many words just like he couldn’t imagine Donald Trump caring about someone like him. Wild was very glad that he would not get to ever actually meet the man considering what he knew about him.  

In the end, Wild needed to learn more about politics, which was partially the reason why he came to the club in the first place. Most importantly, he had to make sure no one would ever be legally obligated to get branded.  

It wasn’t long before everyone was there and it was time to begin.

“Good day, everyone,” a pony began after stepping onto the stage, “For those who don’t know, my name is Clever Word, and I am the head of the Politics Club. There are a bit more of us here today than usual, so I will cut straight to the chase - the topic of today is, as it was recently titled, the Changeling Question.”

Wild wasn’t sure why, but the title of it made him uncomfortable.  

“Over the last few weeks, two sides have been formed: those who wish to welcome changelings to Equestria, and those who wish them to be gone. Our club has compiled points from both sides, and it is time we have a debate. Let’s go over the debate rules right now.”

First and foremost, each side would elect a speaker, which would then be sat against the opposite speaker. They would go in turns, a minute each to state a point, then eight minutes to discuss it, four per speaker. The speakers may not be interrupted during their turn, and those on the sidelines could not participate in the debate unless the speaker chose to consult with them for the maximum time of two minutes per point. After the debate was concluded, the audience would vote for whatever side they found most convincing.  

Wild did not know whether the rules made sense, and he was fairly certain most debates never happened in a way this organized. However, he would be there only to listen and not participate in any talks, considering that he could not talk, and neither would he wish to have so many people pay attention to him at once.  

Soon enough, the club was separated into two groups, as well as the audience who would not participate. With voices at half-volume, the groups discussed between themselves how to proceed, and Wild saw Artful adding his own suggestions here and there. In time, the groups were ready, their speakers elected, neither of which was familiar to Wild.

“Alright, the speakers have been chosen - Melon from the pro-changeling side, Yellow Feather from the anti-changeling side. Melon, you may start first.”

Melon was an earth pony of black mane and green fur with no talent mark, and Wild thought the name was apt despite the fact that they didn’t have any watermelon stripes. Yellow Feather was a pegasus of, predictably, yellow fur and two-tone orange-and-brown mane and no talent mark either.  

“I believe changelings should have the same rights that us ponies have, as well as protections from discrimination,” Melon said, “Many of them have lived peacefully for many years in Equestria, forced to present themselves as ponies to avoid loneliness, inability to find a job, being unwelcome in educational establishments, and so on. Many of them felt like they could do nothing else but to turn to Queen Chrysalis if they wanted to be themselves freely, believing that only having power over others would help that. We must show them that they are welcome and would be accepted for who they are.”

Melon indicated that he was done speaking.

“You speak of noble ideals, but it is true that changelings have proven to be dangerous first,” Yellow Feather said, “It was their choice to attack us first, and no law of ours would have excluded them from participating in our society without deceit.”

Many points were talked over, rehashed, and talked again, neither side willing to lose ground, and frustration rose. The changelings were dangerous - yet they were not any more dangerous than a pony. The changelings could impersonate anyone - ponies could also impersonate others, although with more difficulty, and none of it mattered because impersonation was already illegal regardless of method. The changelings thrived in social situations, and it was unfair to exclude them from them because of who they were - yet the changelings couldn’t be trusted because they would inevitably turn on ponies.  

“Even if something is to be done about changelings impersonating people, do you really support branding them?” Melon demanded.

“No, of course I don’t, that’s cruel!” Yellow Feather agreed, “But they can’t run unchecked!”

It went for some time with no resolution. Frankly speaking, Wild was leaning towards the pro-changeling stance since their position made more sense - everything bad that changelings could do was already illegal. However, Wild didn’t understand much about legal protections - since changelings weren’t barred from schools and colleges and having jobs and so on, could they not just partake in it already? They definitely did not need to be forbidden from taking jobs, and Wild found Yellow Feather’s insistence that the changelings were inherently untrustworthy suspicious and distasteful.  

Naturally, Wild voted for the pro-changeling stance - the opposition was simply ridiculous in too many places.

Wild didn’t know whether he would return to the club - it seemed like it would involve constant arguing over the same points over and over again, which was not something he could spend time on even if he wanted to. However, he still signed the petition the pro-changeling side presented, urging Princess Celestia and Princess Luna to take action and protect the changelings. His signature was his name as well as stripes of color representing his colors, and, lastly, the black circle that was his talent mark. Truthfully, he was a bit thankful for how simple it was - he couldn’t imagine having to use something more complex in his signature, especially since it was already more than he was used to.  

When Wild finally exited the club, he didn’t feel like he accomplished much outside of listening to arguments. Perhaps writing his letter would be a more pleasant thing to do after all. At least it didn’t involve any sort of loud noises outside of what he produced on his own.
> Chapter 52: Awareness of Self
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A car passed by, the mist trailing in its wake, scattering the red glow of its tail lights. The rain washed away days of dust and litter from the asphalt towards the side ditches, coming from the dark skies heavily until no individual drop could be heard over their combined noise that turned into almost a roar.  

Huddled under the low bridge, he was alone, a part of him deep inside wishing he could weep alongside the clouds. A battered plastic bottle was standing just a step away from the bridge, filling slowly yet steadily with rainwater. He was sitting not far away, his hands peeking from under the cover of his shelter to cup the water so that he could splash it on his face. Yet, no matter how much he scrubbed his face or washed his mouth, he could not remove the stain of what was done to him, of what he had to endure.

With an angry groan, he scrubbed and scrubbed, reminding himself that he was yet alive, that he was free. He could strike back and he would strike back, he only needed to plan and then execute the plan. It was so simple, yet...

His stomach growled, reminding him how he was chased away from a dumpster he was digging in not long before the rain started. Those people couldn’t even spare him the scraps, and he hated them, yet he dared not attract any unneeded attention, and so he left without more than a scorching glare aimed at whoever it was that denied him food.

He knew it was just simple human nature, the hatred of others, the disgust at the downtrodden. He had likewise been distrustful of those less fortunate than him until he joined their ranks. Perhaps it was his punishment to endure, and maybe it was what he deserved. After all, he knew who he was, and it was simple logic that he must suffer as much as he wished others to suffer for his own enjoyment.

His hands stilled. No - he knew what he was, and there was nothing wrong with what he was. Luna told him that-

He blinked the not-eyes, realizing with a sudden clarity that he was dreaming. The sounds could be heard yet not with his ears, and the images in front of his eyes were creations of his own mind and not the reality around him, lacking both focus and details. The smells, the sense of touch, everything that there was that he felt, was not quite real.  

He hadn’t had hands for quite some time now, and now, without much more than a thought, he felt his dream self turning into a pony. His blue fur, his dark-blue mane with its white streak, his cold gray eyes, and his black circle of a talent mark were all there.  

Wild fake-blinked and looked around. He remembered sleeping under a bridge, and he remembered having his bottle of water stand under the rain, but not together. This particular bridge was not quite right either - he didn’t remember it.  

Most importantly, he was now aware he was dreaming. It was lucid dreaming, wasn’t it? And without Luna’s presence as far as he could see, and he suspected he would have been able to feel her in his mind if she came to him.  

Wild could use her help because he had no idea why he kept dreaming these odd dreams. Did they hold any meaning? Was he to learn something from them?  

Could he control them?

An invisible hand of his extended and he focused. If he was aware of being asleep, of dreaming, then he had to have the ability to change it all. After all, everything he was experiencing now was inside his own head.  

The world around him twisted, chunks of it flying away like bricks, things turned flat, everything growing distant yet close, and there was something now circling in the sky-

He stood, and all around him was a blur of vaguely recognizable shapes filled with colors that told him what they were, yet they slipped from him when he tried to focus on them. In the center, in stark sharpness, was a house, a familiar house. The flames were silent, not a single crackle or pop sounded as they licked at the walls, consumed and blackened the paint, cracked the stone. He could almost hear a scream coming from within, from down below, yet there was no sound at all.  

The awareness of being inside a dream came slower this time, but he knew it wasn’t what he wanted to see. He focused, twisting an invisible hand again, closed his eyes-

And his real eyes opened. The details of the dream were already fading from his mind as the quiet noises of the outside slowly trickled into his consciousness. There was no grogginess to his mind, no sleep to go back to - he was entirely awake and aware. There was only a single realization - he couldn’t control what he dreamed. He groaned in frustration - his dreams belonged to him, so why couldn’t he control them? His mind was his own, it had to be, he had control over it to a degree he didn’t even know before, and yet, and yet...

Wild moved from his bed. He barely noticed as he completed his morning routine, ending it with applying a descarring ointment. It could be his imagination or a trick of the light, but the scars seemed more faded, less clear, more smudged. It wasn’t yet the result he wanted, but he was coming closer and closer to it. No matter how slow it was, no matter how much time it would take, he would not abandon it, and his scars would be gone forever, the last outer reminder of his past and his old body.

As he looked up in the mirror, he could almost see how he looked like before, and he was disgusting. Unhealthily skinny, with dark circles around his deep-sunken eyes, and balding thin hair alongside a few patches of what could have perhaps been a beard someday. However, from behind the glass, the real him looked back - a pony with thick, dense, healthy fur and mane, and eyes of gray that were cold yet, nevertheless, did not have any darkness around them. He flicked his left ear, watching the scar he would not be able to get rid of. His eyes shifted to the white streak in his mane - was it from stress or was it his natural color? He didn’t know - ponies, from what he had learned, had all sorts of colors everywhere in enough patterns that his own could very well be natural.  

After completing his morning routine, he decided to go outside. He moved, each step nice and even, his breathing deep and calm, and his entire focus was on it. One, two, one, two. Breathe in, breathe out.  

Meditation was a practice he had gotten somewhat used to, and perhaps it was time to use it to... he didn’t know what it was exactly yet, but meditation was definitely useful for him now even if he couldn’t describe why.  

Moving meditation worked the best for him, allowing a part of him to focus on nothing but physical sensation of his body in motion. Sitting and just breathing didn’t entirely do it for him even if he could meditate that way.  

One step after the other in a still slightly odd equine gait. He had gotten used to it after all this time, but the memory of being bipedal still lingered, and he expected that he would never quite get over having four legs instead of two.  

When he was a human, his arms naturally swung as he walked, but now his arms didn’t exist, and his hands only existed when he willed them to. They were almost weightless despite being able to sense things just as well as his human hands had once done if not even better. However, when he didn’t need them, he could just not have them. It was odd yet it was also a relief - he didn’t need to carry arms with him everywhere. Even though he didn’t actually experience a change in the overall amount of limbs, he felt lighter and more nimble, likely because all his limbs were now legs.  

In truth, he could no longer describe walking as just placing one foot in front of the other. The equine gait was different, and there was a variety to it that didn’t exist, couldn’t exist in humans. Human feet worked in a one-two sequence, no more and no less. The steps may be wider or more frequent, and there was a difference between how one walked and how one jogged or ran or sprinted, but it was always a one-two sequence. However, equine gait had four ways of moving, all different from each other. It was a one-two-three-four sequence for walking, from back left to front left and then from back right to front right. At any moment, there were at least two hooves on the ground if not three. It was an odd way of walking, and Wild continued to wonder how he didn’t stumble constantly.  

The next step after it was the trot. It was faster and, in a way, the closest to a regular human gait. First it was back left and front right, then back right and front left, together, almost making it a double of how humans walked. It was a cycle of one-two, after all, and it felt the most comfortable to him.

Wild walked through the building of the Royal Orphanage and, once he was outside, he shifted from it to trotting. One double, two double, one double, two double, an easy cycle that took enough of his focus yet not too much of it. If not for how the rest of his body felt, he could perhaps imagine that he was still a human.

He didn’t think he would want to go back to being human. While his new body was very different to what he was used to, he thought it was better in every single way. Faster, more stable, stronger, more agile. And, of course, there was also the beauty of it. When looking back, he now realized just how ugly humans were, how awkward and how just generally bad they were physically. Slow and weak, and they couldn’t even walk soon after birth. Wild wondered what would have happened had any other species developed sapience. Without a doubt, ponies reaped the benefits of evolving from a naturally strong foundation, and when adding magic into the mix... No, he would not want to go back to being human, that would mean giving up his newfound power and, if he were honest with himself, joy.  

Wild enjoyed being a pony. There was the fur, a comfortable layer between him and the weather, and it helped that it also looked nice. The variety of colors that ponies possessed was, without a single doubt, enjoyable to look at as well. Humans had to wear clothes and paint themselves to look anywhere close to this natural beauty, and Wild never really knew whether he wanted to get a tattoo or dye his hair or wear outrageously colored clothes. Now... he was content with his coloration even if it was somewhat dull in the face of many other ponies.

He wouldn’t wish to give up being a pony.

He sped up, going from trotting to cantering. Canter was different from a trot or a walk - it was a beat of three instead of four or two. One leg, then two legs at once, then one leg again, and then there was also a very small pause when all the legs were in the air. It was somewhat odd to move to the beat of three - no matter the speed, humans always moved to the beat of two. This was perhaps the most difficult way of moving to adapt to, but Wild managed even if he still felt somewhat odd about it. It took more of his attention now in order not to stumble despite his good sense of balance and a neat-perfect sense of where exactly his limbs were.

From cantering, he switched to galloping, the fastest gait a pony could have without adding wings into the mix or, alternatively, magic - although teleportation didn’t exactly require a gait at all. The sequence of galloping was, once more, one-two-three-four, but it differed from walking in that there was a pause when all the hooves were in the air like in cantering. It was a strangely freeing feeling, making it seem like he would simply fly off. And perhaps he would if he was a pegasus instead of a unicorn, although he wouldn’t wish for wings - having direct control over magic was far more valuable than the relatively simple ability to fly. 

From walking to trotting to cantering to galloping, the movements were all different, and even now they took a large chunk of Wild’s attention. He shifted from one to the other every so often, feeling all too aware of how odd it was, of how unlike any of it was to what he was used to when he was a human. Despite this oddness creeping on him every so often, there was a sense of freedom to it all, and he felt just how fast he was, without a single doubt easily outrunning the fastest human even at a relatively sedate pace.  

Wild continued his moving meditation, thinking of nothing at all but where to place his hooves, letting his own thoughts flow past acknowledgment and conscious understanding until there was nothing but him and pure motion. One, two, three, four. Then one, two, one, two. Then one, double two, three, pause, one, double two, three, pause. Then one, two, three, four, pause, and one, two, three, four, pause. From one to the other, smoothly and deliberately.  

Unfortunately, despite his desire for peace and calm, certain thoughts tugged at him insistently, begging him not to ignore them lest he would suffer the consequences. However, he was used to suffering. What was more of the same thing to him? An old acquaintance. Certainly not a friend, never a friend, but suffering and him were inseparable. Either he caused suffering or he received it.  

The letter

Wild had to write it, he knew. His future relied on help. He had no skills worthy of a job - no matter what was told to him - and he had no education worth the name. He just couldn’t simply believe what he was told because he was told an impossibility. Basic language skills and some mathematics were enough for a job? Everyone he had ever known would laugh at the notion. His parents, his classmates, his teachers, his trainers, everyone had insisted that he had to finish school and then go to college, and he needed, he had to do well in order to be worth anything. No one would need him if all he had was language and the ability to count things. Everyone had it, and that meant it held little value, and that, in turn, required him to know more, to have skills that were rarer, all so that he would have anything at all.  

Equestria, as far as he could see, could seem like a paradise, and all that he had heard so far said as much. However, when something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. Without blood, sweat, and tears, nothing could be gained, that much Wild knew from experience. Nothing was ever free, nothing was ever just given. Perhaps it could be argued that parents gave, but Wild knew he was indebted forever, and it would be his duty to look after them in turn for what they have done for him.

Breathe in, breathe out. One, two, one, two, slow but steady.  

He needed to write the letter yet... he didn’t want to. Why bother? He couldn’t imagine working a job. From nine to five, five days a week... what exactly would he do? He was not even qualified enough to be a cashier. And, without a doubt, there were far more ponies who actually had a talent for it, and he, naturally, did not fit, and he would not be better than any of them, and so who would hire him?

He was entirely worthless. Yet he was told he wouldn’t be kicked out... however, he had yet to see anyone older than him around. So, either what he was told was a lie, or... he didn’t exactly know.

He needed to write the letter. There were no two ways about it. Without any skills, he was doomed to a homeless life forever. He shuddered at the thought, remembering how it felt when hunger twisted his stomach, when his limbs felt like they were too heavy to move around, when-

He shut that line of memories, pushing them back. He still had time. He could write a letter. And it would be better if he did it now.

Wild forced himself to take step after step back, bringing him closer to the inevitable. Once he was back in the building, he made his way over to the library where he could finish the letter - proper spacing, proper greetings, proper introductions, proper everything included.

He marched to the library, got the book about proper letter writing, and sat down. With sharp focus, double-checking, triple-checking what he wrote, he penned a letter. 

First, he measured out exactly where he would begin. Faint lines made with a pencil were of great help, and he made sure the lines were all nice and even, perfectly angled against each other. Each line was measured carefully and, after he checked it numerous times, it was perfect. Perfect spacing, no curving or tilt. He finally wrote down his full name on the first line, the country on the second line - and the symbol that stood for it was far better than his first attempt at it. After that, the next line was the settlement, and he wrote down the Royal Orphanage. The line after that one was the street name, house number, and apartment number - thankfully, he only needed to write down the number of his dorm.  

He paused for a moment and stretched, feeling glad he didn’t have to use any physical hands for this. Nevertheless, sitting as still as he was made him feel slightly uncomfortable, so stretching helped. He skipped the line after his contact information - he didn’t forget it this time - and almost wrote the date before he stopped. He looked at one calendar hanging from one of the bookshelves, then stood up and walked around, making sure each calendar spotted the same date, and they were, so they could be trusted. Perhaps he would need to keep track of the days by himself in the future - it was an oversight on his part for not having done so before. Now, unfortunately, days would matter more than just time that passed by him.  

He returned to the letter and, after checking that he did indeed skip the line, he wrote down the date. That was simple enough. Then, according to the rules - which he checked once more just to be sure - he needed to skip two lines and write his salutations. He consulted the rule book about them.

Most salutations begin with “Dear”, after which comes the name of the recipient. A salutation must use title capitalization and end in a comma. If name is unknown, using a job title is permitted. If the recipient is of noble descent,-

He didn’t exactly know if Steady Hooves was a part of the nobility, but he was certain it would be mentioned. Besides, from what he knew, nobility had a different kind of names - Celestia and Luna were certainly atypical pony names. Steady Hooves did not strike him as a noble name. He then checked if he needed to write something like Sir or Madam or Mr. or Mrs. or any of that but, from what he had just learned, such terms were rather outdated and no longer used in writing.  

Dear Steady Hooves,

It still felt a bit too personal - he had not called anyone dear in his life - but, according to the rule book, it would work.  

Finally, it was the body of the letter, and he consulted the book again.

Formal letters must be straightforward and direct. The sender must get to the point of the letter as quickly as possible.

Wild was glad for that, although now that he thought about it... he didn’t know what to say. He knew what he wanted, but how would he write it down? He put the letter aside for the moment, carefully placing it where he wouldn’t crinkle or smudge it on accident. He grabbed an empty piece of paper to write on and started writing out what he wanted.

Wild almost sighed in relief when he realized it was indeed a smart thing to do - the first attempt was absolutely bad. He was rambling, his writing was uneven, and it was, overall, a mess. However, he didn’t let it get to him - he continued on. No matter how much time it took, he would get it.  

There was no other acceptable option.
> Chapter 53: Self-Defense
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

With a deep sigh of relief, Wild put down his pen, shook his magical hands despite not feeling any tiredness in them, and slumped in his seat, taking a few moments just to himself. Finally, after hours of concentrated effort, the letter was done. Every single point of needlessly complex rules of letter composition was followed precisely, and his writing was as perfect as it could get. He carefully folded the letter, using a ruler to ensure the fold was exactly where it needed to be. Finally, it was put in an envelope, which Wild properly signed.  

It was done.

The letter was finally complete.  

The letter was ready to be sent.  

He took very little time getting his letter to a post box. With it out of his hands, it was also out of his mind, no longer weighing him down. He felt accomplished... and yet there was more in front of him, more waiting for him. His mind immediately went to the topic he did not wish to touch, the topic he had avoided for so long, and it was... sex. Sex education if he were to be precise, but this distinction hardly mattered when he was not ready to approach this topic in any way at all.  

Life, as usual, was not waiting for him to be ready for anything, and so it was up to him to brace for it. Intellectually, he knew he could admit to his discomfort, to reveal that this was not what he wanted, but it would amount to admitting to weakness. Others did not have such problems, others were not broken like he was, and it was on him to reassemble the pieces, to glue them together, to make himself whole. It was the only way to survive and, perhaps, to live.  

Fortunately for him, no single issue demanded the entirety of his time anymore. He didn’t have to choose between getting food and working on whatever it was that he needed - he could do both. With great pleasure, he picked some delicious options at the cafeteria, silently marveling in continuing to have a choice in what he ate, what amounts he ate, when and where he ate. It wasn’t like he had forgotten this safety, but he was grateful that he had it now nevertheless. After all, safety could always be taken away, and he would never again take it for granted.  

He sat down and dug in, savoring each bite, chewing thoroughly and thoughtfully, picking out all the various flavors. Ponies continued to surprise them with the sheer variety of food they had, which was a thing he had continued to note. However, at the back of his mind, he was all too aware that this was not normal. Perhaps this part of his past was better not revealed at all. The hunger, the thirst, the lack of any safety... it was all past him now. He very much hoped he would not need the experience of having gone through it ever again.  

Wild... needed to be prepared. Just in case. His letter might not work, and all his efforts might still go down in a pathetic whimper. The comforts of his current life depended on everything going right, and if he knew anything about how life worked, something would go wrong at the worst moment. Of course, a single event was never enough - it always turned into a series of indeterminate - or even indefinite - length. His family died because of them, he died because of them. His new life was already harmed by the Changeling Invasion, which was followed by Luna finding out more about him than he was ready to reveal, and then the Nightmare caught him, showing him the truth of souls. Knowing what he did now... there was no rest for him. He would have to march on, to outlast the infinity, to rise back up again and again and again, time after time, because there was no choice. 

He was distracted from his moody thoughts by Artful entering the cafeteria, prompting him to remember that he wanted to teach Artful some ways to defend himself if any anti-changeling ponies wanted to throw more than words at him. However, what did Wild know about useful self-defense? His skill with swords could perhaps be translated into other things, and it was certainly effective to hit someone with a stick. However, Artful was a pegasus, not a unicorn, so he couldn’t use any tricks Wild had up his metaphorical sleeve. However, Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club wasn’t concerned only with swordsmanship, Wild was certainly aware that unarmed - or weaponless, Wild thought that was a more accurate term for ponies - martial arts were offered as well. Wild had to admit - he was useless without a weapon, and he needed to remedy it.

Once Artful sat down next to him, Wild signed his proposal for the two of them to attend the lessons. Wild wanted to speak about it, but it would have likely led to awkward wording or slow speech, so he decided to sign instead. One day, he hoped, he would be able to speak freely, but each day he used sign language was a day other people got used to it more and thus would be weirded out by him actually speaking. It was a dilemma he didn’t know when or how he would address.

“Martial arts? Why?” Artful asked.  

Wild replied that it was for self-defense, then explained that Artful was not taking a popular position by siding with the changelings, and so he might need to defend himself somehow.  

“I... yeah, I see what you mean,” he frowned, “But, like... I’m not very strong. Not like you are,” his face flushed, “I mean, y-you train regularly and all, you’ve muscles and, uh, stuff. I don’t really do anything more than, like, just walking around.”

Wild signed that he began training when he wasn’t much better off. It was even true - he was a thin kid at first, then a fat kid, and it took him quite a bit of time until he took training seriously. Of course, one didn’t even need to be especially strong to know how to do certain tricks, and Wild was about to advise Artful to know how to effectively kick someone in the crotch when he realized that, with ponies walking on all fours, doing it wasn’t even possible unless the attack came from behind or if the target was standing on the rear legs. Without mentioning it, Wild signed that it took a few years to get to where he was now, but people who just start doing training progress fast as long as they’re consistent.  

“I guess I can try that,” Artful nodded, although he sounded doubtful.  

Wild told him not to worry, saying that he would do well as long as he put effort into it. He added that Artful would feel tired and sore, but it would be worth it. Wild was certainly not going to hide the difficulty of training - in his experience, it was best to approach it head-on otherwise only disappointment would await going forward. Wild thus assured Artful that he would support him in this, knowing it was best to have someone to be backing up. He remembered how he made an... acquaintance, perhaps - not really a friend, considering that they never really shared anything personal or were all that close, but they had some sort of silent understanding, very often sparring together. Wild wondered where he was now - he had not seen him in a very long time.  

“Alright, so we’re going together?”

Wild nodded.

“Um, you sure I won’t be, you know, weighing you down? I bet you’ll be much better at it than me, so, uh, yeah.”

Wild shook his head, gesturing that it was fine, that he, truthfully, didn’t know much more about true self-defense.

“But don’t you know a lot about swords?”

Wild explained that this skill was only useful if he carried a sword with him everywhere. Silently, he could admit that the prospect of cutting someone up was not appealing to him, and he doubted Artful would feel great about using an actual sharp sword on anyone. Thinking of maiming or killing someone was one many people certainly had, jokingly or not, but Wild, having experienced it firsthand... he was very aware of what it did to a person. Something inside him had permanently changed after his first kill, and it was irreversible. He didn’t know exactly what the change was - was it something that made it easier to think of doing more of it or was it something else? Regardless, he did not wish for Artful to experience it.  

Wild decided to admit that using a sword meant seriously injuring someone, and it was best to avoid it.  

“Y-yeah, that makes sense,” Artful winced, “I didn’t think about it.”

Wild didn’t think about that either before he stabbed a man to death - and not exactly in self-defense - but he kept this thought to himself. Next, he signed that it was best to avoid a fight if possible.

A younger version of Wild would scoff at the very idea, thinking that a fight that is started is a fight that needed to be ended on his terms alone, that he had to come out victorious. And, in truth, he still thought that way on some way, but he was far more aware of how to survive even if it meant losing things like his dignity. Getting injured or killed was not worth it.  

Unless, of course, it was all served a greater revenge. For that, he was ready to die - and he did. Perhaps... he did end it on his terms. He died with satisfaction even if gnawing emptiness was right behind him, and everything he had known died with him. Or it would, had he died in truth.  

Wild finally noticed that he drifted off and came back to reality, signing that it was best to not get in a fight if possible. A choice had to be made if a fight was even worth it.  

“Alright,” Artful said slowly, giving Wild an odd look which almost made him shift in place. Thankfully, then Artful, in a more amused tone, said, “I’ll definitely try not to get in trouble.”

***

The time for the Martial Arts Club had come, and Wild arrived together with Artful. Since the weather was nice outside, that was where the lessons were taking place. The air was pleasantly cool, and there was a light breeze brushing past them every few minutes. They were greeted by an older-looking earth pony stallion by the name of Tae, and introductions were made.  

“My name comes from a difficult to pronounce far-away martial art,” he chuckled, “And it’s a lot easier to say Tae than its complete name. So, what’s the goal you two young ones have?”

Wild signed that he was there for self-defense. If Tae was surprised by the sign language use, he didn’t show it, and Wild was grateful for it. So far, sign language had not produced much of a reaction from anyone, and perhaps Wild would one day stop fearing that someone would bombard him with questions about it.

“Y-yeah, I’m for self-defense too,” Artful said with a somewhat nervous nod.  

“Alright, then let’s...” the trainer looked around before spotting a pony, “Stand over here with Jade, I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Jade?” Artful’s ears perked up, “I know them.”

“That’s good!” Tae smiled, “It’s always easier with a friend, isn’t it?”

If Wild was correct, this Jade was the same person as the changeling named Jade, but they certainly did not look like a changeling this time, the only similarity being the coloration. Artful and Wild made their way over to them.

“Oh, hi!” they greeted Artful with mild cheerfulness even as they gave a nervous glance at Wild, who did his best to appear non-threatening, “Um, what are you doing here?”

“Wild said it’d be good to learn self-defense because, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m here for the same,” Jade nodded seriously in understanding, “I, uh, can’t really do much yet.”

“I can’t do anything at all,” Artful admitted with an encouraging smile, “But we’ll manage, right?”

“Yeah...”

For a short time, the three waited for the trainer to be done with other participants before he approached them.

“Alright, so you three want to know how to defend yourselves,” Tae began, “Jade knows this, but I am going to ask you two - what do you think self-defense means?”

Wild was the first to answer - he signed that self-defense meant the ability to not be helpless when someone attacked him, meaning that he would be able to strike back and win.  

“Alright,” Tae nodded, “What about you, Artful?”

“I, um, think it’s the same? If someone attacks me, then I will know how to fight back.”

“Both of you are, of course, right,” Tae said, “However, knowing self-defense techniques is only a part of self-defense. The most important part is knowing when to use self-defense and when not to. A fight can always result in injuries, sometimes serious ones, and sometimes... even in death,” he looked at all three seriously, “The best fight is one that is avoided. No self-defense techniques will help you when you’re dead. So, the first thing I will teach you is how not to fight.”

Wild expected this, and Artful looked relieved.  

“See that pine over there with a white stripe on it?” Tae gestured, and the two nodded, “First, we’ll do a bit of a game of tag, me against you one on one. Jade, you’re included too - let’s see how far you’ve come in running away since we started, right? So, the rules are simple: if you reach the tree before I catch you, you are safe. There are no other rules. Wild, I’d like to see you do it first. Artful, would you count down from three?”

Wild stood facing Tae, his behind to the tree he needed to reach.

“This is the starting point,” Tae explained, “Essentially, we are having a confrontation, and your goal is to escape. Artful, if you please?”

Wild measured Tae with his eyes, taking in how thin the older stallion was yet there was no excess fat. From what Wild had been able to observe so far, he moved without any apparent difficulty, and there was a sort of grace to his gait that spoke of knowing exactly where he was and where his limbs were at any given moment - a mark of a skillful martial artist. 

“Go!” Artful finally said, and Wild immediately dashed to the side, his magical hand appearing and throwing some dirt in Tae’s eyes while a couple more hands pushed into the backs of Tae’s front knees, making him collapse right on his face.  

Wild quickly galloped over to the marked tree and touched it before looking back. Tae wasn’t even a quarter of the way to him, his eyes red and blinking furiously, a spot of dirt on the front of his muzzle.  

“Very effective,” Tae praised, “Creative, too,” he spat on the ground, “You definitely know how to run away, don’t you?” he spat again, “And this, you three is how you do it. Wild here,” Tae spat again, then shook his head, “He used his magical advantage to give himself more time to escape than he otherwise would have. Dirt in my face made sure I would have to take some time to get it out, and it sure is not easy without magic. Then making me fall on top of that added even more time before I was ready to chase him. By then, he was long gone.”

“Wow,” Artful commented, “You’ve done great, Wild!”

Wild lightly shook his head - it was pretty much nothing. When he was all by himself, he made it a habit to carry a bit of dirt in one of the pockets as well as a knife in another. Fortunately, he would certainly not need to stab Tae.

“Alright, but we need to try again,” Tae said, “Imagine there is nothing you can use to throw in my face. Perhaps you can’t even use magic for one reason or another - perhaps exhaustion, sickness, or some odd pain in your horn.”

Wild nodded, and the two faced off again as Artful counted down.

“Go!”

Wild immediately dashed to the side again, then bolted as fast as his body could carry him. Wind brushed past him, almost roaring in his ears as he galloped full-tilt to the marked tree, not looking back once. When he reached it, he turned around and saw that Tae, surprisingly, wasn’t very far behind, but still far enough that Wild would have been able to escape for longer.

“Good, good,” Tae said, “Even without any tricks at all, you are very fast and agile. That’s a very good basis, although it could still use some improvement. I’ve seen you train with swords, and that takes more endurance rather than raw speed. It is indeed a very different thing to gallop at full speed compared to enduring your opponent in a match of skill.”

Wild nodded, accepting the praise as well as the criticism. As far as he was concerned, however, he did well enough. This didn’t mean he wouldn’t seek to improve, but it was good to know that he would be able to escape if needed. This reminded him that it would be good to learn teleportation - he would have been at that tree in an instant if he knew how to teleport. That was something to look up later.  

“Alright, Artful, you’re next,” Tae blinked rapidly a few more times, then chuckled, “I think I can take another faceful of dirt now. Jade, count down for us, please.”

The two stood against each other, and Artful was tense as he waited for the countdown. Wild simply watched, considering what would happen silently.  

“Go!”

Artful dashed to the side - not as gracefully as Wild, but it was passable. Tae lunged at him, missing him just by a little bit as Artful unfurled his wings and flew upwards faster than Tae was able to react to. Not long after, Artful reached the tree and then went back.

“Pegasi have a really good tool for escaping - their wings,” Tae nodded approvingly, “Never forget about that. Earth ponies like myself, without any weapons, can’t do anything about it. Unicorns would be harder but not impossible to escape this way unless they’re very skilled in the use of magic to capture people. Escaping from another pegasus depends entirely on how fast they are in comparison.”

Artful smiled at the praise.  

“However, let’s imagine a scenario - pegasi wings are rather delicate, and let’s say yours were injured and you can’t fly at all. Let’s try it again, then, shall we?”

Once more, Artful stood against Tae as Jade counted down.

“Go!”

Artful did a dash again, but within seconds he was caught and lying on the ground. In comparison to him, Tae was lightning-fast, and Artful didn’t even get a chance to become out of breath. If anything, he looked surprised.  

“Oh wow,” he said, breathing out, “That, uh, was fast.”

“Yep,” Tae nodded, “You’ll have to train your legs, young stallion. Jade, now it’s your turn. Artful, if you would, count down for us again.”

Jade appeared nervous in their eyes but ready in their body as they faced Tae.  

“Go!”

Jade spun on their front legs, kicking up dirt in Tae’s face with their rear legs, and then they bolted. Tae recovered from the sudden dirt attack quickly and dashed after them, slowly closing the distance - slowly enough that Jade managed to get to the tree just over a second before Tae did as well.

“You’ve done well,” Tae commented, “The first time, you couldn’t run away at all. Good job.”

“T-thanks,” Jade murmured quietly, face slightly flushed from the praise.

“Alright, now you all see what would happen in a controlled situation where you know when and where you will be attacked,” Tae said to them all, “We will have to work with it until all of you can reliably escape. First, you will need to learn how to move fast, to gain speed quickly from zero, and for that, I found the best way to train is through HIIT, as in High Intensity Interval Training. Let me show you what I mean by it...”

For the next small eternity, all three of them did the same thing. They jogged lightly for some time, then all-out sprinted for a short duration, then jogged again, and then repeated it over and over until they reached their limit. The first to give up and collapse was Artful, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. The second was Jade, not looking too much better. Lastly, Wild stopped, breathing heavily, completely covered in sweat and feeling sticky everywhere, but still standing on his legs.  

“Each and every one of you must know your limit, even if you don’t overcome it in the future,” Tae spoke when they were all resting, “Of course, we will work on moving that limit further and further. For now, however, you will rest - even you, Wild. You all need to give your bodies time to recover, and it would take the longest for the untrained like you, Artful. Tomorrow, you will feel very sore and, if you are unlucky, barely able to move. But it will pass, and you will be stronger for it.”

Artful, still out of breath, merely nodded. Wild winced in sympathy - he still remembered the soreness he experienced after he trained hard for the first time, and it was not pleasant.  

However, he knew that there was no gain without at least some pain, and pain from training was always better than pain from having failed in the real world.
> Chapter 54: Education
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day Wild awoke to soreness in his legs - not only that, but this soreness was in the muscles he hadn’t truly felt before. Fortunately for him, this soreness was far from debilitating, so he went through his morning routine as usual. From his own experience, he knew the soreness would disappear completely the next day afterwards, so there was nothing to worry about. He was in the cafeteria when Artful announced his presence by uneven breathing alongside soft groaning as he heavily sat down next to Wild.  

“It aches everywhere,” he complained before he almost planted his face on the plate of oatmeal. His mouth worked for a bit as he got some food into him, then he rose back up. Wild had a sudden urge to giggle at the expression on his face alongside a bit of oatmeal stuck under his lower lip, “How did you deal with that? Is there a way to make it go away?”

Wild shook his head, signing that it would only go away on its own as long as Artful rested properly. He then added that he heard of ways to deal with the soreness like dunking in an ice bath.

“That doesn’t sound great,” Artful said, “Icy water? Brr, no thank you.”

Wild gestured that some other way could help - getting a massage.  

“Do you know how to do a massage?” Artful asked.

Suddenly and vividly, Wild imagined his own hands going all over Artful’s body, and he had to shut that thought down fast even as his face heated up. He was sure he was visibly red, considering that ponies had the unfortunate ability to blush despite having fur everywhere - if anything, the fur made the blush brighter and clearer. 

“Ah, oh, um,” Artful blushed as well, looking away from Wild, realizing what he had just implied. After all, he didn’t ask where to get a massage, he asked if Wild could do it. Silence continued to stretch as the two didn’t look at each other, both their faces burning.  

Wild had to direct his thoughts elsewhere, and he wondered what a massage would actually feel like, as he had never gotten one in his entire life. Before he became, he had to admit it, afraid of touch, he hadn’t been very receptive to touches of others either, but there was always a what if. Wild had no idea if a massage would ever actually help him, although he knew his body sometimes felt like a wound spring and there was little he could do by himself to relieve the pressure and make it disappear.  

The idea of massaging someone, that was an idea he had never really thought about. He knew massages were done professionally all the time, but he didn’t know if he would be comfortable with some stranger touching him that way. If anything, a massage seemed like a... private, even intimate thing. This sort of access to a body of another person could not, in Wild’s mind, be anything other than a great show of trust. Trusting a stranger with his body? That was something Wild couldn’t do. But what Artful suggested... did he really consider Wild trustworthy enough to grant him this sort of access? They barely knew each other!

Perhaps Wild was overthinking it. He had to be overthinking it.  

“So uh... any, um, other ways to deal with the, uh, soreness?” Artful asked slowly, still blushing. Wild decided that this silent invitation to forget what was said was quite welcome.

Wild signed that, if there were, he didn’t know of them. He then repeated what he said before, telling Artful that the best he could do was eat and rest. Wild perked up, now remembering, and then signed that eating more than Artful usually ate was essential if he wanted to grow stronger. It was especially important that he ate foods rich in... and that’s when Wild’s vocabulary failed him. He awkwardly tried to explain it, saying that there were three small elements to food, one of which was fat, and there were two others, and one of them was very important to building muscle. He said that grains had it, legumes had it in abundance, beans would work well too.

“Ah, you mean protein, right?” Artful guessed, and Wild nodded, “Yeah, okay, so more beans and legumes. I can do that.”

Wild gestured that all foods contained all three of those elements, and even oatmeal should be good for it. Finally, the remaining blush disappeared from both of them, the small awkwardness over the idea of a massage lying forgotten for now. Wild was silently relieved that something else arose to be discussed, so he dove into it, telling Artful everything he could remember about training right, eating right, and resting right. He stressed that strength - and muscle - grew during rest and not during exercise - that was a thing Wild had struggled with in the past, training more than his body could handle and recover from, stifling his own growth.  

Wild signed that he knew only a small part of everything and that a trainer likely knew more, but Wild knew enough of basics that he hadn’t messed up in a long time. Silently, he thought back to the time when he simply couldn’t get food, rest, or exercise in the right amounts, but Artful didn’t need to know that.  

By the time both of them finished eating, Artful had learned more about exercise and all that surrounded it than he had heard in his entire life. Although his body was still seemingly impossibly sore, he now knew it wasn’t some sort of odd punishment for exercising but a natural process that happened to everyone and that would ease with time.  

“W-would you like to go to the library with me?” Artful asked at the end of their meal as they took their trays away, “I don’t think I can do anything other than read today and, um, I’d appreciate your company.”

After a few moments of thinking, Wild nodded - after all, he needed to get some reading of his own done.  

As they made their way to the library with Wild going at a slower pace to match Artful’s, Wild thought about how to perhaps hide what he was going to read from Artful. The only thing he needed to read - was required to read - was `Sexuality Education Basics: Pony Edition`. Whatever it actually contained, he didn’t want Artful to comment on it.  

Wild breathed in, then breathed out. Ponies, he knew, were openly affectionate with each-other. Topics such as touch or sex were not any sort of taboo and, sometimes, Wild could catch some conversations involving it. With his ability to detect thoughts, sometimes when he wasn’t paying enough attention to direct the thoughts around him, he got impressions of when ponies were... actually doing it or going to do it. He was aware that even young humans did it sometimes, but now it appeared as if ponies were unconcerned about any sort of scandal or even rumors or anything of the sort.  

Wild... didn’t know what to do about it. If he could even do anything about it. It wasn’t even his business anyway. What others did to each other consensually, what right did he have to interrupt or intervene in any way? Despite it all, he grew... frustrated. Angry, even. And he didn’t know why.

No, he knew why. He knew precisely why.  

It was all because he was broken, because they had what he couldn’t have, certainly not with the ease they talked about it. He was jealous, he was afraid, and those two things were circling him endlessly.  

In the library, Wild and Artful separated in search of their respective reading material. It didn’t take long for Wild to find his own book. He didn’t know what he expected, but the cover of the book was a pleasant blue color, and the only other thing on it was the title. That was... not a bad start, perhaps. He brought the book with him to a comfortable spot, sat down, and opened it.  

First, there was a long page of acknowledgements, which Wild skipped. He knew he wasn’t going to be question on who wrote the book, who inspired it, and who approved of it. Unfortunately, he needed to learn of different things. What he needed was the table of contents, and when he reached it, he dreaded to see what it contained. He didn’t even know what he exactly feared, so he continued on.  

The first section was innocent enough - Background and Introduction. It covered the history of sexuality education, structure of it, as well as the fundamental principles behind it. Wild started with it, keeping his breath calm. He needed to see how the book began in order to judge what possibly lay ahead of him.

Sexuality education is a lifelong process of acquiring information and forming attitudes, beliefs, and values about such important topics as identity, relationships, and intimacy. The Sexuality Education Council of Equestria (SECE) believes that all people have the right to comprehensive sexuality education that addresses the socio-cultural, biological, psychological, and spiritual dimensions of sexuality by providing information; exploring feelings, values, and attitudes; and developing communication, decision-making, and critical-thinking skills.

Wild found his heart slowing down to calmness, and he no longer had to consciously control the rate of his breath as he read more and more. The language wasn't dry but it was also somewhat distant, making him take a more objective look at sexuality education. In truth, he found it helped immensely with actually reading the book and comprehending its contexts now that he was a lot less afraid of them. 

The book then told about how Equestria had been the freest country when it came to freedom of sexuality for many centuries and how this experience had resulted in the development of sexuality education as it was known these days. Wild didn’t need to worry as he continued reading, somewhat fascinated by what he learned. In his home country - as much as it could be called a home - of the USA, he knew the history of sexuality was rife with discrimination. After all, had he revealed who he was to others, he would have faced disgust. Here in Equestria, that hadn’t been a large thing for a very long while - the few people who did make a fuss about it were swiftly dealt with. Not all countries were as as receptive as Equestria, however - certain Griffin Kingdoms held rigid social structures based on binary gender roles, for example. Wild made a mental note not to visit those kingdoms - he had enough of experiencing being an outcast for a lifetime already, he didn’t need any more.  

The book then continued on to describe the key concepts of sexuality education.  

Key Concept 1: Pony Development. Pony development is characterized by the interrelationship between physical, emotional, social, and intellectual growth.

If Wild were asked about sexuality education even a day ago, this concept was not what would come to his mind. In truth, he hadn’t had any sort of formal education on it, merely a few talks with his father as he outlay what Wild could do, what he shouldn’t do, and what he must not do. What this book said in the first key concept was already more than Wild had ever been taught.

Key Concept 2: Relationships. Relationships play a central role throughout our lives.

That concept was, thankfully, far more obvious. Wild, however, didn’t know what kind of relationships this book would cover - wasn’t all sex essentially the same? Of course, Wild was fully aware of doing sex for money and not for any kind of personal reason, but everything else was concerned with, supposedly, relationships of love or, at least, mutual attraction. There was the other kind, the kind he had experienced, but he denied it - what was done to him, it was not... it was not right. It was not any sort of... relationship.  

Wild breathed in, then breathed out. It was past him. He suffered, and then he punished those who caused it. They were dead by his hands. There was nothing more he could do, so it was time to move on. He had to move on, deny those dead monsters the hold on him.  

Wild breathed in, breathed out. It was time to continue reading.  

Key Concept 3: Personal Skills. Healthy sexuality requires the development and use of specific personal and interpersonal skills.

That one, to Wild, was quite obvious. He was also aware that he didn’t exactly have healthy personal or interpersonal skills. Perhaps... perhaps it was time to learn them, somehow.  

Key Concept 4: Sexual Behavior. Sexuality is a central part of being a pony, and individuals express their sexuality in a variety of ways.

Wild, to his memory, hadn’t really expressed himself in that way. He had always had to hide his attraction, after all. So, how would he even express himself? What did it mean? Would he have to, perhaps, paint his... hooves, wear a rainbow scarf or some kind of a shirt, talk a certain way? Or would continuing on as he was count? His own father had only ever publicly expressed affection towards his wife, and Wild didn’t think he could base his own behavior on that.  

This was perhaps the most confusing concept so far.  

He was distracted for a moment when Artful appeared with his own book. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Artful’s gaze slipped down to the book in his grasp. Wild tensed for a moment, ready for, perhaps, teasing, maybe questions. However... nothing came. Artful only blushed lightly - which might and might not be because of the book - and silently sat down nearby, and soon after he was focused on his own book. Wild lost some tension in his body, although he silently cursed himself for not taking this book with him to read later. However, since Artful said nothing about it, and not a thought betrayed any sort of desire to even tease Wild about it, now it looked like Wild was overreacting. After all, to ponies this was, supposedly, normal, and had been for hundreds of years.

Wild let out a silent sigh of relief towards the world for not throwing more problems at him and gratitude towards Artful for not giving this any more attention than a cursory glance. There were just two more key concepts left to cover anyway. 

Key Concept 5: Sexual Health. The promotion of sexual health requires specific information and attitudes to avoid unwanted consequences of sexual behavior.

Wild took it to mean STIs and pregnancies. Thankfully, he would be able to avoid the latter, at the very least. This was perhaps the easiest to understand. Wild wasn’t stupid, he was perfectly aware that protection of some kind was needed. His mind slid back to the days before, and he wondered if part of his physical weakness in his later days was because of STIs he might have caught, but it didn't matter anymore. That body was dead and gone, he was pronounced as healthy as he could be by pony doctors. Anything and everything that plagued that disgusting body was gone... aside from the damned scars. However, even they would be gone with time.

Wild breathed in, held it for a moment, breathed out. It was better not to linger, there was more of the book to cover.

Key Concept 6: Society and Culture. Social and cultural environments shape the way individuals learn about and express their sexuality.

Wild breathed in, breathed out once again. A simple, controlled motion. He was glad he was no longer among humans, whose societies would gladly see him dead. Equestria would accept him. Princess Luna, a ruler of Equestria, already accepted him despite his sadism. What was being gay compared to that? So what if he liked men? This had nothing to do with violence or with pain, so he didn’t see why it would be a problem. Besides, he had already seen openly non-heterosexual relationships among the ponies in the Royal Orphanage, and if the princesses disapproved of that, then surely it would have been apparent by now.  

He continued to read until he came upon the section titled Life Behaviors of a Sexually Healthy Adult. He knew he was far from a healthy adult in that way, so it was time to learn exactly how much he failed.  

A sexually healthy adult will:

- Appreciate one’s own body.

Wild had very little against his own body. It was fine aside from some scars. Perhaps he didn’t fail at the first point, and he hoped the trend would continue.

- Seek further information about reproduction as needed.

Thankfully, he didn’t need any information on reproduction. He did not plan on reproducing, ever, in any way whatsoever, and that was final. Another point towards him.

- Affirm that pony development includes sexual development, which may or may not include reproduction or sexual experience.

Wild knew his own experience would not include reproduction as per the previous point, but as for sex... he was surprisingly uncertain. He knew a part of him wanted it, and perhaps one day, maybe... Maybe. He moved on before getting stuck on it.

- Interact with all genders in respectful and appropriate ways.

Wild didn’t remember an instance where he was deliberately disrespectful, so perhaps he passed there. As far as he was concerned, people could call themselves whatever they wanted, it was no business of his. Though, it did raise a question of who he was. He never really cared - he would have been fine either way, he believed, although he could never be certain. If he could change bodies... he wondered how a female body would feel like. Would it change anything or would nothing change? It was something to perhaps explore... someday. Maybe never. He didn't know whether he really cared about it. 

- Affirm one’s own sexual orientation and respect the sexual orientations of others.

Wild believed he would do just fine here. Perhaps he wasn’t as hopeless as he thought. Or, at the very least, if he understood the word' affirm' correctly. He certainly had nothing else about anyone else's sexual orientation.   

- Affirm one’s own gender identities and respect the gender identities of others.

He knew he was a man - or, at least, that’s what he was used to and had no real concrete plants to change, certainly no need to do so - and he had no issues with respecting others.   

- Express love and intimacy in appropriate ways.

Wild sincerely hoped he would never express any of that in inappropriate ways. Assuming he would even get to experiencing intimacy or love. He, perhaps, maybe thought that someone would one day maybe be his partner, but... this point was certainly valid, and he didn’t know appropriate ways of showing love and intimacy. He doubted he would even easily allow others to touch him, especially... especially if it came to sex. He very much doubted that flinching was appropriate.  

- Develop and maintain meaningful relationships.

Were any of his current relationships meaningful? What did it mean for a relationship to be meaningful anyway? He didn’t remember if he ever had a relationship he didn’t mean to have, at least. This point definitely needed elaboration if he were to accurately judge himself. 

- Avoid exploitative or manipulative relationships.

The very notion of being the initiator of something like this made him sick. He would never exploit or manipulate anyone he cared about, and this was a promise he would never break. He was only going to be honest... as much as he could be honest. It was perhaps easier not to have relationships at all if he couldn’t maintain honesty. Others should not be burdened by his own issues, that he believed in its entirety. 

- Make informed choices about family options and relationships.

Wild did not plan on making a family considering that he didn’t plan to reproduce. The family that had existed before was now dead, and he was the last one left. Whatever he did, he would not be able to bring back what was gone. Whatever family could be had, it was not his to have. The image of a family was two parents and some kids living in a house and having a car, or at least that's what he remembered. He could not place himself in any of those positions. Aside from perhaps a car - he could probably outpace a slower one if he tried. This thought got a tiny, quiet chuckle out of him. 

- Exhibit skills that enhance personal relationships.

What skills those were, he had no idea. It was clear he failed this point. What personal relationships he had? He didn’t have any friends, certainly no lover. Princess Luna, perhaps, cared about him, but he didn’t know just how personal the relationship he had with her was. She knew a lot more about him than he was ready to reveal, and he appreciated how she cared about him, but...

It was confusing. It was better to move on to the next point.

- Identify and live according to one’s own values.

He had already done it for a long time. Continuing on from where he was would prove to be easy, he believed. However, if he truly thought about it... His values had changed over time. He thought that his sadism was wrong, so he had not lived according to his own values, but now he believed - or, at least, very much tried to - that sadism was not, in itself, wrong. So, causing pain for his pleasure was now not against his values. This was a... refreshing thought.

He realized he needed to figure out what values he actually had. However, that was for later.

- Take responsibility for one’s own behavior.

He was always responsible. There was no other way - every action had consequences, he knew it perfectly well.  

- Practice effective decision-making.

He almost laughed at this point - what did his decisions even matter when they were routinely taken away from him? He couldn’t even decide to die on his own terms. That very possibility had been taken away from him, the very decision removed from his grasp, perhaps forever. Besides, he had proven that he didn’t decide things well, so it was easier to let someone else do that for him. Like Princess Luna - at least she cared. She also had enough power to nullify any of the decisions Wild could take to go against her. As long as she cared about him, he could - and gladly would - follow what she said.  

- Develop critical-thinking skills.

He had no idea what that meant. He could think, and he usually didn’t rush into things... was that critical thinking?

- Communicate effectively with family, peers, and romantic partners.

When he had to hide who he was, how could he communicate properly? Besides, there were things he just didn’t want to talk about. Not that he could even talk easily - he still struggled, and even now he couldn’t just speak to Artful. The moment he spoke to Precision was the last time in recent memory that he spoke at all.

Communication, he had never been good at it.  

- Enjoy and express one’s sexuality throughout life.

Wild knew he completely failed at that. He didn’t remember ever experiencing enjoyment through his sexuality. There was only ever fear of discovery. Even when he was looking at porn when home entirely alone, the fear was not far away, as well as shame. Just why couldn't he be simply normal?   

Fear defined his sexuality, and Wild had to blink away unbidden tears as he realized it. This fear, he could perhaps let go of someday... likely not today, however.  

- Express one’s sexuality in ways that are congruent with one’s values.

He didn’t exactly know what congruent meant, but he could guess. However, what did it matter when he didn’t know what it meant to express his sexuality?

Finally, there was one last point, and he would perhaps be done for now.  

- Enjoy sexual feelings without necessarily acting on them.

What did this mean? Did it mean that Wild could fantasize without actually indulging in it in reality? He had done that before, he would probably have no problems doing it again. As long... as long as he could move past the remembered pain.  

He put the book down and blinked, feeling mentally exhausted. He had only just begun reading the book, yet it had forced him to ask himself questions he hadn’t asked before.  

He didn’t want to read anymore.

But he wanted to find out more.  

He was broken and he needed to fix himself.  

A quiet part of him was still there, whispering to him with a promise of pleasure if only he let go of the pain. He could almost imagine the soft touch, someone’s body against his, he could almost hear moans of pleasure, and perhaps... perhaps someone would call his name lovingly.  

Wild stood up and hurried away, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. He didn’t respond as Artful called after him.  

Why did he have to be so broken?
> Chapter 55: Spirit Trapped
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the rest of the day, Wild avoided everyone he knew, which proved to be easy as long as he allowed their thoughts to reach him before they saw him. Artful’s worry and concern warmed him yet also hurt, especially since Wild fully intended to not see him again until the next day at the very least. He didn’t need to be asked any questions, he didn’t want to be pitied, he didn’t need anything at all but to be alone... for a moment. Or a while. Or a long while.  

Thankfully, his ability allowed him to get to the cafeteria when no one would notice him, and then he spent the rest of the day walking around aimlessly. His mind was a jumble of thoughts jump-started by the book about sexuality education. It was such a small thing, yet Wild just couldn’t help how it affected him, and he didn’t know why he had to react this way.  

Wild was jogging now through the grounds of the Royal Orphanage, feeling each time his hooves hit the ground. He had to control how he moved exactly in order not to stumble on a root or some sneaky dip in the earth, and most of his attention was no longer on what happened. There was just him and the movement, just what he wanted, just what he liked. When he moved like this, he didn’t have to think about himself... much.

Day turned to night, the sun set, and the moon arose in its place. The Royal Orphanage was quiet as the daytime denizens were asleep. Wild, however, was awake - but not in body. His body was resting, devoid of worries or wishes, uncaring of what went on in Wild’s soul as it hovered above, looking down at its physical vessel.  

Wild decided to test the limits of his new form - his true form. Not bound by physical rules of either his human or his pony body, it was free in a way he would never be able to properly describe. An idle thought entered his head, and he wondered if his physical human body was still there, rotting away after death. Was it ever found by other humans? Or perhaps it was eaten by wildlife? He knew it didn’t exactly matter anymore yet he simply stopped for a moment to think about it. He didn’t exactly feel anything about his old body other than relief that he didn’t have it anymore. He never particularly liked it, and that was that.

He already knew he could fly straight through physical obstacles, and he wondered whether this applied to the ground too. For this experiment, he went outside, and then flew into the ground. He expected to be able to see nothing at all, considering that there was no light, but no - instead, he saw... he couldn’t even describe what it was properly. He simply knew what was around him, and for now, it was just earth. He went further down and down, at one point even passing some old skeletal remains. Soil gave way to clay, and then clay was replaced by stone.  

A tunnel opened before him, clearly not a natural cave. He looked around - the tunnel was long and straight, the ceiling arched yet not much taller than someone like Princess Luna. There were odd crystals scattered here and there, dull and lifeless. Wild decided to travel along the tunnel to see where it led.  

One way led to a dead end but not any sort of cave-in but what looked like a stop in the works. Loose rocks were scattered around alongside a couple of old and rusty tools, the end of the tunnel rough and uneven. Wild turned around and went the other way after seeing that there was nothing behind that dead end other than solid stone.

For a while, there was nothing but old dust alongside some newer hoof prints, although they too were covered in dust. Wild didn’t have any true estimate of how long ago someone was there before, but it was likely at least over a year if not more. Along the tunnel, there were various rooms, most of them empty and dusty. However, some of them had some basic furniture: tables, chairs, even a few cots Wild found a few cupboards filled with empty jars that had once contained food but now there was only dirt and dust. The labels were written in a slightly older language than Wild was used to, but they were simple enough that he could understand them. The most useful part of them was, of course, the date - and considering that it was nearly a decade into the future, Wild thought it was likely at least a century into the past when they were made if not two or more.

Wild wondered what he had just discovered - was it some kind of shelter? It looked rather unfinished, but he could imagine a group of at least fifty fitting in without overcrowding. He knew some people built their own shelters for one reason or another, though those were only big enough to fit a family for a maximum of a few days - this shelter looked far more long-term if a room full of empty shelving was considered.  

It was then when he heard distant crying. Wild ceased moving, standing absolutely still even though he knew he couldn’t make a sound. It would likely be best for him to leave - if he knew anything about horror stories, it was not good when there was crying in an abandoned place. His heart would be hammering right now if he had his physical body, yet he displayed no fear outwardly even as it gripped him from the inside.  

This place, even before hearing the cry, was giving him the creeps, and he realized why - there was no sunlight to be seen, and there was likely just one entrance and exit. He did not like basements, and this place was one big and very deep basement where things - or people - could be hidden. At least he had yet to spot any sort of cell or even proper locks on the doors, so that was a small relief.  

He could float away from this cry right now, return to the surface, forget about this place. However, he realized that he couldn’t leave, not without seeing what it was about first. The crying, the sobbing, it tore at his heart - oh how he hated to see and hear people cry. Unless he caused it, there was always a desire to help, to soothe the pain.

His body was safe back in the Royal Orphanage, so nothing physical could hurt him. However, he didn’t believe he would even have to worry about anything physical happening in the first place.

Slowly, he glided along the floor, leaving no mark and making no sound. He was back in the tunnel, and the crying was certainly coming from the unexplored length of the tunnel. If he had his physical body, he would be straining his eyes to look further into the darkness, but everything remained as it was - equally lit in his vision, though he knew it was not any sort of real light that illuminated the surroundings. The tunnel made a bend, around which the crying originated. Wild could spot a couple of loose rocks and quite a lot of dust and dirt, growing in size and amount the further he went.  

Rounding the bend, Wild stopped at the sight in front of him. He could see a couple of stair steps leading upwards, yet a cave-in blocked the way. A rusty bent shovel was lying on the ground along a pickaxe, all covered in dust and debris. In front of the cave-in lay a single body and, next to it, a ghost was tugging at a rock. Wild didn’t have to guess to know that the two were one and the same.

“Come on, come on, come on,” the ghost desperately muttered, “Just a little bit, come on...”

The body was mummified, remarkably intact for what it was, still boasting fur, mane, tail, and wings. The same colors, although much paler, belonged to the ghost - a pegasus.  

Wild stood there, frozen, unable to avert his eyes. The ghost paused in their work - a memory stretched far past their death - and panted from remembered exhaustion. Incomprehensible quiet whispers and whines echoed from him before he resumed, trying to find some sort of weak spot in the cave-in that there never was and never would be.  

There was a stutter in their movement, one of their ears twitched, and they stopped. Then, slowly, the pegasus turned around and faced Wild, eyes blinking in confusion and surprise, then fear slowly crept in. Wild was still rooted to the spot, the sight of the long-dead body and the ghost left behind forever etched into his memory. He regretted experimenting with what he could do, wishing he could turn back time and simply sleep in his body like he was supposed to do, but what was done could not be undone.  

For a moment, Wild feared that the ghost would turn into something... other. Something malicious, something that would see him as a target of desperation turned into rage. However, it did not happen - instead, the ghost looked afraid, paling even beyond their already pale translucent looks.  

“H-hello?” the ghost said, their voice a whisper yet loud and clear, full of wariness, “Who are you?”

Wild didn’t know if signing was useful, so he decided to go a different route.

“Hello,” he thought out loud, and by the shudder that went through the ghost he knew the message was received, “My name is Wild.”

“...are you a ghost too?” the pegasus asked cautiously, “You are not going to... hurt me?”

Wild should have expected this question - it wasn’t like he looked very inviting in this form.

“I do not know who I am,” he replied, honesty striking out to his own surprise. “I am like a ghost but not. Who are you?”

“My name is Cave Explorer, a he,” he gave a watery laugh, “Didn’t go so well for me, huh? But if I could just...” he trailed off, a part of him wanting to go back to the futility of his postmortem action.

“You couldn’t get out,” Wild pointed out the obvious, “Are you stuck?”

“I... I guess?” he said, “I... I just want to get out, you know? To see the sun again. And... and for someone to, to do the... the rites for my body,” a few ghostly tears escaped his eyes as he sniffed, “I was so stupid to come here alone. But nooo, I just had to explore this thing. By myself. It was fine before, but I knew, I knew people died sometimes in caves, but... but I thought it would never be me.”

“I am sorry,” Wild said, doing his best to sound genuine despite not making a sound, then made an uncertain offer, “I can maybe help you?”

“How? Can you leave? Can you take me with you?” Cave Explorer looked at him with the eyes so full of hope Wild would cry if he could.  

“I do not know,” Wild replied, hating this uncertainty, “But I can... dig out from the other side. Bring someone who can do it. Get you out, get your body out.”

“Yes, please! I want to see the sun!” he begged, “I w-want to, to tell my family that, that I love them. To tell them that I’m sorry I wasn’t careful, and that... that I love them, you know? They’re family. They cared. Cared more about me than I did, you know? And I must let them know that.”

“I know,” Wild nodded, wishing he could shed his own tears in sympathy, “I will get you out. I promise. But I have to leave you alone for that. Are... are you alright with that?”

“I’ve been waiting a long time. What’s some more time by this point? I am not going anywhere, after all,” he gave a humorless chuckle, “But... promise me you’ll come back?”

“I will, I swear,” Wild assured the ghost, “You will not be alone for much longer. You... you will see the sun. You will see your family. I swear you will.”

“T-thank you,” Cave Explorer sniffed, “I... come back soon.”

Wild nodded, then went through the cave-in until he emerged on the other side. He ceiling was cracked in places, and he knew it wouldn’t take much for it to collapse further. Fortunately, his own presence didn’t disturb anything.

He went up the stairs, around a turn, around another turn, and finally stepped out into a natural cave. The entrance was certainly cleverly hidden, nested between two rocks in a way that hid it from sight. Wild needed to mark it somehow, so he reached out, trying to feel the physical world, and then scratched at the stone. It gave in, and he had a nice and large X marked on one of the rocks, unmistakable and unmissable. He continued his way upwards as he snaked his way through the cave until he could see a sliver of moonlight. Soon enough, he came to the cave entrance - it was overgrown and thus hidden from sight, situated somewhere outside the orphanage. Wild did his best to clear it up, to make it more visible, and then he flew up to see just how far he was from the Royal Orphanage under which the old shelter lay. As it turned out, he wasn’t particularly far. Once he memorized the direction, he slowly made his way through the forest the cave entrance was in, marking the trees as he passed by them.  

It took him some time, but he finally came back to the Royal Orphanage. He looked back at the forest, noting the trees that he marked - and those marks would not be lost if he came back. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, keeping in mind his goal.  

His body still needed rest, but Wild knew what he would need to do once he was awake again. He was not going to leave Cave Explorer trapped, he would get him out. He was glad for this random discovery, and he had a chance to do good, and he would take it.  

Wild told himself, as he often had to, that he was not evil. Luna told him sadists can have great empathy, and he would prove her right, and prove to himself that he wasn’t good just for causing pain. He would do a good thing, and that would, perhaps, soothe his own hurt.  

However, how would he help him? It would be best if he did it as quickly as possible - he didn’t want to wait, and he didn’t believe he’d able to sleep until he knew that Cave Explorer was no longer trapped. And... as a ghost, he’d be able to see his family if Wild helped him, to say a goodbye that Wild wished he could have done to his own. 

Wild knew he could trust only one person with exactly how he found out about Cave Explorer, and that was Princess Luna. However, he couldn’t simply wait for her to return to the Royal Orphanage - he had no idea how long it would take. He could send a letter, but that would be too slow as well. He wished ponies had internet for instant messaging or, at least... whatever the thing that sent morse code was. A telegraph? He didn’t remember. Either way, he needed to deliver the message quickly, and it appeared there was only one way to do it.  

Canterlot, it was said, could be seen from any point in Equestria. The planet Equestria was on had relatively weak curvature, from what Wild had learned, which meant that one could easily see tens of kilometers away even from something as tall as a four-floor house, and that was in pony height, not human height, which made it all the more impressive.  

Unfortunately, it meant that Canterlot was further than it appeared. However, Wild didn’t need a train or a plane or any other sort of method of transportation. Free of his body, certain constraints of movement no longer applied to him. He soared into the sky and zoomed straight to the distant lights of Canterlot, going way faster than he naturally could and yet not even feeling it. He remembered how he rode a bicycle as a child - wind had howled in his ears then, and he could feel it ruffle his hair more the faster he went. Now, however, there was no sense of movement, only the results of his imagination.  

He wondered if he could teleport as he was now but didn’t know where to even begin. He remembered the physical sensation of his uncontrolled teleportation, but he no longer had a body for it. Would he teleport to some kind of wrong place if he didn’t do it exactly right?  

He decided to shut that thought down - he had done enough exploration for a long time. What he was doing now was already pushing the limits he worried he should not have crossed. What he was... it was unnatural enough already, and he feared there would be something waiting for him, something that took offense to his his ability, perhaps even to his... existence.  

Treetops passed below him at a terrifying speed, yet Canterlot was not drawing close particularly quickly. In the distance, on a railroad going from Canterlot to elsewhere, he could see a steam train as it chugged along, and Wild was reasonably certain he was faster. It would be exhilarating, but only if he could feel it at all.  

Being without a physical body, he begun to realize, was... incomplete, in a way. Or was it perhaps his memory insisting that there should be something even if there was no real, true reason for it? After all, his body was just a vessel, and everything that was truly him was all within his soul. His memories, his personality, it was all there, and his body was empty and devoid of anything that could be called a person when he wasn’t there.  

Wild wondered if ghosts could do what he did. However, from what he saw in Cave Explorer, ghosts were stuck. Wild was not stuck, not forced to repeat the same actions again and again and again in perpetuity and eternal futility. No matter where his body was, he could leave it. No matter what physical obstacle was before him, he could go right through it. He was not tethered, there was no anchor holding him down, and it was proven true again and again as he departed his body time after time, all of his own free will, able to return to it at any time. And now, further away from his body than he had ever been before, it was even more apparent that he was free.

The mountains in the distance, the sky above, the ground beneath, none was a constraint, nothing was a limit - the only true limit was himself.

Canterlot was finally in front of him, close enough that he could see a couple of ponies out on the lamp-lit streets. Whatever allowed Canterlot to stand on the side of the mountain for many centuries was an impressive feet of engineering Wild was curious about, and the dense buildings looked cozy like cities in Europe he had seen photographs of but never had been to in person. However, he didn’t have time to take in his surroundings for long, in need of finding Princess Luna as he was. Fortunately, he didn’t have to look for the answer to that for long - the Canterlot Castle was not difficult to find, and it was an obvious place for royalty to live in.

Sticking to the darkness of the shadows, Wild glided closer and closer. Inattentive guards patrolled the streets of Canterlot, easily avoidable even as their density grew nearer the castle. Were Wild a younger and more mischievous person, he would consider giving a scare or two, to keep the guards on their toes, but he had no time or desire for this.  

The castle itself had many guards posted around various doorways, but they were easy to pass by. Now Wild just needed to find Princess Luna, and he focused on figuring out the flow of thoughts of ponies around the castle. There was some staff doing cleaning, worrying about their things as well as thinking about things unrelated to either princess. After hanging around the staff for longer, however, Wild got the direction of Lunar Wing - the wing of the castle where Princess Luna resided. Wild hoped she wasn’t asleep, but if she was, he would just leave a letter. He doubted she would be particularly happy with him if he woke her up - he knew very well what it was like to enjoy sleep, and, considering how busy the princesses had to be, sleep was something they not only enjoyed but needed.  

The castle - or, more accurately, the palace - was a massive, sprawling complex, so it wouldn’t be surprising for people to get lost in it, and Wild had to double back a number of times as he didn’t know what kinds of mental maps the staff had of the palace to navigate it. He had stumbled on a few offices, a ball room, some kind of small dining room, and a bunch of bathrooms. The next hallway was a gallery with what were undoubtedly very expensive paintings, all of them of various places in Equestria as far as Wild was able to guess, as well as a few stands with expensive artifacts of unknown purposes. The lighting was dim, provided by a few lit candles. There was no one in this gallery, which wasn’t exactly surprising, but Wild had a feeling...  

A quiet whoosh of air made him turn around. The doors he had passed through effortlessly were now open, and they shut with a click. In front of them, stood Princess Celestia, and the expression on her face froze Wild in his place. It was not fury, no, but there was something dangerous within her eyes, something that could not be denied nor evaded.

“I wonder,” she spoke, her voice soft yet carrying weight. Wild was, for the first time since he had seen her, struck by how imposing she was - or could be, “What is a wayward spirit doing in the Royal Canterlot Castle?”
> Chapter 56: Distrust
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Princess Celestia woke up to an intruder alert from one of the protective spells placed on the Canterlot Royal Castle, and she immediately knew where the intruder was. They moved smoothly, unnoticed by staff or guards, passing through closed and magically locked doors as if they weren’t there. As an alicorn, she had the power to deal with their type, and she mentally noted to review security arrangements afterwards. That they had managed to get as far into the castle as they had without raising an alarm before Celestia was notified by specialized spells was unacceptable. After the breach Queen Chrysalis had caused, Princess Celestia was not going to take any chance of anything similar happening ever again.  

The source of the alert stood now in front of her, a dark smoke-like pony-like shape with shining red holes for eyes and a face devoid of any expression. Sickly red cracks spread out from where a heart would be in a regular pony to all over their entire body. She couldn’t see whether the spirit was hostile or not, couldn’t judge what they were thinking based on facial expressions. The only reaction to Celestia’s appearance that she could see was a slight widening of their not-eyes.  

She could already imagine it, could almost see them flying straight at her, attempting a possession, attempting to make her submit. However, what they didn’t know was the fact that Celestia was now ready. She knew how to deal with spirits, and she would not be taken by surprise in her own home. She suspected the reason behind this spirit’s appearance was her sister - this gallery was close to Luna’s chambers, and it would not be surprising if some dark spirits wanted her for one reason or another.

However, no attack came. If anything, the spirit was just standing there, their form wavering in unseen wind, almost following the waver in Celestia’ mane and tail. She wondered if the spirit was readying themselves or waiting for just the right moment to strike, gathering their strength. If the reason for their waver was the same as why she had it, they had to be powerful.  

“I mean no harm,” they suddenly spoke - but it was not speech but a mental impression of words. This psychic voice felt like one belonging to a pony yet... not quite. Psychic voices did not exactly have accents, but if they had, there was certainly something foreign to this spirit’s tone. Before Celestia could dwell on it any longer, the spirit continued, “I want to see Princess Luna. I have a message for her.”

Celestia could hear it now - there was an uncertainty to the words, a slowness that spoke of the spirit carefully picking them as if they did not use words often. Which would be right for a spirit - their ways of communication could certainly be... esoteric, and putting them to words was putting a limit on them that spirits did not know how to use properly.  

“You have trespassed for the sake of delivering a message?” Celestia raised a brow, “A letter would suffice.”

There was a pause as the spirit shifted slightly. It was a surprisingly pony-like movement that resembled... uncertainty?

“The message is urgent,” the spirit insisted, “Sending a letter would be too long.”

“This does not explain trespassing,” Celestia said.

“I...” the spirit shifted again, “I did not know what else to do.”

“Let us speak plainly - I do not trust you,” Celestia said, “Can you prove you want to send a message to my sister and nothing else?”

“...I do not know how,” the spirit replied. Celestia was becoming unnerved by their lack of expression, especially as their unwavering not-eyes seemed to peer into her soul, “How can I prove I am honest?”

“You can tell the message to me and I will pass it on,” Celestia said, “After escorting you off the Canterlot Royal Castle grounds.”

“The message is... personal,” the spirit answered, but Celestia knew it wasn’t the full truth straight away, “She... she knows me.”

“My sister hasn’t mentioned a spirit to me,” Celestia noted. To that, the spirit was silent for a while.

“You can ask her. Describe how I look to her, she will tell you she knows who I am,” the spirit replied, and... was there desperation in their tone? That couldn’t be right.  

“I cannot leave you here by yourself,” Celestia shook her head, “And I will not bring my sister where you can reach her. Surely you understand it?”

There was a pause the length of a few seconds, and then the spirit took off, passing through a window. Celestia took a single instance to take the suddenness in before her horn lit up and she disappeared from the gallery and reappeared on the roof above, startling a couple of guards. She ignored their question, her eyes tracking the dark spot of smoke as the spirit moved quickly to escape. She made mental calculations as a spell gathered at the tip of her horn, then aimed it and let it out. A bolt of golden light traveled across the air and, with unerring accuracy, hit the spirit. A glass ball materialized, encompassing the entirety of the spirit, sucking it in until it was trapped there.  

Celestia knew that it wouldn’t hold a determined spirit for long, but it would have to be enough until she carried to a much stronger place where she would be free to find out why exactly this spirit had taken an interest in her sister. She would not fail to protect her, not again.  

“Continue as you were, guards,” she addressed the still confused guards near her then flew down to the ground to capture the glass ball. As usual, her short flight was less graceful than it could perhaps be. She knew over a thousand years had passed, yet she would continue to blame it on her being a unicorn before she became an alicorn. Perhaps one day she would learn how to fly properly and gracefully. One day, but today she had something far more important to deal with.

***

He could not be he could not be he could not be trapped again not again please-

He swirled and churned within the transparent prison he found himself in, helpless as Princess Celestia carried him in in her magical grasp.

Not helpless, must not be helpless, never helpless again-

He could not pass through, but something that could not be simply walked through could be destroyed. He paused for a moment, gathering his strength, then focused his best on striking the glass. The sound of the hit resonated around him, but he had no ears to be hurt by how loud it was, although he was disoriented for a moment as he jolted when Celestia turned to see what was going on. She cursed under her breath and hurried her steps.

Come on come on come on break out now-

He hit the glass again and again and again and again and again, the force of his blows making it rattle yet there was not a crack, not a dent, nothing to show for all his efforts.  

Whatever he said, Celestia would not believe him, and he was so foolish to get caught like this. He should have sent a letter - the ghost would have waited, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been waiting for some time already. He was stupid, why did he have to be so stupid?

He struck, more flailing than anything, but he knew something would have to give, and he didn’t have muscles that got tired or skin that got bruised or bones that cracked and broke, and so he hit the glass again and again with as much force as he could muster, confined as he was to the glass orb.  

Was there a tiny crack or was that his imagination? Inspecting it closer would be useless - he needed to act. Celestia was already somewhere Wild didn’t know, and the longer he spent in that orb the sooner he would be somewhere... he didn’t want to think about.

Celestia went down and down, deeper into the castle and beneath the windowed halls, and he knew with perfect clarity where he was led.  

Not the basement not the basement not the basement please no-

His frantic hits grew in intensity and strength, and there was now an undeniable crack, slowly fracturing further and growing in size. He could get out if only he hit harder and hit more.  

The only way to escape anything was to fight, that much was clear. He didn’t want to fight Celestia, but he didn’t exactly want to see what she had in store for him, believing him to be... what, evil? He didn’t know what she thought about him, but it was clear she didn’t trust him, and nothing he could say would change that. The only option was to escape and hope she would not dig deeper, would not try to track him down, would not-

It was all for later. The glass was cracking under his force, he was almost-

The glass shattered and he was free. Princess Celestia was already aiming her horn at her, and it was glowing. Unthinking, Wild directed barely focused pure force at her, making her stumble and the spell on her horn fizzle out. Wild flew away-

Only to hit the brick of the hallway which resonated inside him as if he was inside a giant bell that had just been rung. This momentary disorientation cost him, and another glass orb became his prison. He did not give up, could not give up, and he hit it again and again and again, knowing that nothing good would wait for him if he didn’t escape.  

The glass would have probably cracked soon but he was suddenly thrown, and then there was a lot more space around him. He reoriented himself in the space and looked around - he was now in a much bigger orb that floated in the middle of stone-bricked room, which was lit by electric-like white lights. If he squinted - or simply looked closer now that he couldn’t squint - he could make out faint inscriptions in whatever transparent material comprised this orb.

He. Was. Trapped.

Again.

He knew begging to be let out wouldn’t work.  

Helpless again.

Magic was a useful tool, but now it was time for him to learn that it wasn’t just his tool to use. There was not a single chance he could do anything about a centuries-old powerful magic user like Princess Celestia.  

All he could do was float there and stare at her, awaiting her judgement, preparing for what she would do to him now.  

He was at her complete mercy. Assuming she had any.

She had to have mercy. Princess Luna had empathy to spare for him, and her sister was known for being kind, and she had been kind to him when they first met, from what he remembered. However, he looked like a pony then - now, he was pure spirit, and he had trespassed.  

And it was all because he decided to be kind to a ghost. It appeared life always found a way to punish him regardless of what he did or tried to do.

“Alright,” Celestia spoke, “Let’s see if you can answer some question, truthfully this time.”

It wasn’t as if he had a choice now. He had been honest, but she simply didn’t trust him.  

“I will begin with being honest as well - I know what you spirits do. You are entirely selfish, focused on what you want, no matter who suffers,” Celestia said, “My sister has suffered enough.”

Was she talking about the Nightmare? Wild almost chuckled humorlessly - he knew exactly what Celestia meant. And... now that he thought of it, Princess Celestia didn’t know what happened to him. Luna had kept her word, had kept his circumstances secret.  

He couldn’t help but feel some... he couldn't form thoughts properly at the moment, but he did feel some kind of warmth towards her. If he got out of this situation, he would never doubt her promises ever again. If she didn’t tell her own sister anything that he asked her not to tell anyone, then she truly meant it when she made a promise.  

That counted. A lot. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to help him now.

“Now, for the questions,” Celestia looked at him, her eyes cold, “Who are you?”

Who was he indeed? There was only one question to it.

“I do not know,” he replied honestly.

Celestia blinked, then her horn lit up. Wild wished he could flinch and close his eyes - wrong answer wrong answer pain awaited-

But no pain came. He didn’t feel anything at all, in fact. There was simply no change.  

“Alright... what is your true name?” she asked next.

What did she mean by true name? Was it how he was called? Was his true name the one he was given as a human? Was it the name he was given as a pony? He had thought of himself as Wild for a somewhat long time, but he didn’t exactly have any true name because, well... it was all true, in a way? His human name used to be true - and still perhaps was, it wasn’t like he was a different person. 

In the end, it was uncertain.

“I do not know,” he replied once again. Celestia furrowed her brows but didn’t say anything.  

“Very well, why are you in the Royal Canterlot Castle?”

This question, at least, was easy.

“I have a message for Princess Luna,” he replied. He had already said it, and he knew it wouldn’t be more believable the more he said it, but it was true.  

“What is the message?”

“There is... a thing she can help with,” Wild replied, “And it is... it should be done quickly.”

“What is that thing you believe she can help you with?”

“Not me,” Wild shook his head, “There is a ghost. He wants to see the sun and his parents again. He is trapped, and he needs help.”

Celestia looked at him with an expression of confusion. Wild would openly swear that he was telling the truth, but what use was that when he wasn’t going to be believed anyway? And why hadn’t Celestia questioned his trustworthiness again? Why was she looking at him like that?

“Why do you want to tell my sister that? Why not someone else?”

“Because I can trust her,” Wild readily replied, “Who else could I turn to with this?”

“There is the Ghostbusters guild,” Celestia replied, “Their job is to help ghosts pass on.”

“I did not know that,” Wild replied, imagining himself furrowing his brows. He was, unsurprisingly, an idiot - he should have looked things up before rushing to a princess. Of course there was a solution that didn’t require intervention of a nation ruler. He should have known, he should have thought, but he didn’t.

“Why do you trust Luna?”

“Because she helps me,” Wild said, hoping Princess Celestia would not dig deeper, “She gave me... kindness. Understanding,” then, hoping that perhaps it would convince Princess Celestia to let him go, he said, “She is the only one I can trust to help me.”

“...by what name does she call you?” Celestia asked slowly.

Wild did not want to say it because then Celestia would have the answer, would know who and what he was. Princess Luna accepted him for who he was, and he knew others would not be so generous.  

“I answered your questions,” he said instead of answering her, “What more do you want from me? When will you LET ME GO?”

He hurled himself at the wall of the orb, only bouncing harmlessly back even as he screamed and bashed against it again and again.

It was a flurry of effort after, but there was not a single scratch, nothing to show for any of it even as he lost count for the amount of times he hit the glass or whatever it was. He just wanted to go home, to fall asleep, to wake up and not remember it like a bad dream.  

He didn’t know if Princess Celestia was still there but he didn’t care. He was but a blur of black and red as he bounced around, trying to find a possible weak spot because he wanted to escape, to go away. He would not show up at the castle again, he would stick to himself, he would stop experimenting with being a spirit, he would-

“Wild!”

Wild stopped then, recognizing the familiar voice. He looked her way, and there she was - Princess Luna. Worry was clear on her face, and her horn was alight. The orb around him melted, flowing into oddly-shaped channels in the floor, and he was free again finally thankfully-

“Wild, I am so sorry,” Luna rushed over to him and... hugged him. He felt it, he felt her warmth, he felt the, the safety, and... if he had eyes still, he would have cried. However, he had nothing now, so he could only share the relief he felt at Luna’s presence.  

He took a single moment to imagine her rescuing him from before, from when he had no power, from when he was bound to the whims of his tormentors. She would have busted down the door, would slaughter them just like they deserved, and he would have been free, all before the most terrible things happened, all before they could truly break him.

“Wild?” Luna called him, and he looked into her eyes. He could gaze into them forever, into their warmth and... a kind of love, perhaps. She cared about him, and he, he... he didn’t know how to respond to that, wishing it was easier. And then she spoke again, “You are spreading your thoughts.”

Wild grasped them then, forcing them to retreat to the depths of his mind.  

“I am happy to know you are glad to see me,” she smiled at him, but then the corners of her mouth turned down, “I am truly sorry for what my sister did. She is extremely wary of spirits now, and I wish she woke me up before approaching you.”

“Did you tell her who I am?” he asked warily, hoping that she had not just broken-

“No,” she denied, “I only confirmed that I know you. Come on, I will lead you out of this place. And... my sister will apologize to you. If you are ready to receive her apologies.”

“...I do not need apologies,” Wild shook his head, feeling tired in a way that felt physical yet wasn't, “I want to... go home.”

“Of course,” Luna nodded immediately, “Alright, let’s see you off then. Would you like me to fly with you?”

“Do you not have things to do here?” Wild asked her.

“This is more important right now,” she assured him, a flash of emotion passing in her at his words too fast for him to catch let alone decipher. In her eyes, however, he could perhaps see... sadness?

“And I wanted to tell you about-”

“My sister told me about it,” she gently cut him off, “I will make sure that the ghost receives the help they need, but right now you need me. So, my offer still stands.”

“...I would like you to fly with me,” Wild admitted shyly.

“Then I will do that,” Luna nodded, “Come on now, let us go.”

Wild was looking forward to forgetting himself in whatever remained of his sleep. The ghost, Princess Celestia, the way in which he was imprisoned, it would all simply wait.
> Chapter 57: Why
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The wind whipped around Princess Luna, ruffling her fur, her mane, her tail, and her feathers as she flew across the night sky. Wild, in his spirit form, produced nothing but a cloud of black and red moving just slightly ahead of her in perfect silence. The two didn’t speak - there was no need to speak nor desire to do so from Wild’s side.  

Luna wanted to be angry at her sister, and, in some way, she was - her sister had needlessly hurt Wild. Luna knew it was all to protect her, that it could be justified because spirits often did worse - the biggest example was the Spirit of Chaos, Discord, who had immeasurable power and did not concern themself with such things as caring about how their actions impacted others. They sowed chaos, that was what they did, and they marveled in it.

Luna couldn’t fault Celestia for going through with questioning Wild under the influence of the Truth Spell. In the end, Wild came out in one piece, even though it did not make what was done to him any better.

Luna should have known it was a mistake leaving herself out of the security arrangements. At the time, not too long after her return, she justified it with the fact that she didn’t spend much time at the Canterlot Royal Castle, and when she did, it was with her sister, so there was no need for the security spells to be connected to her. The castle was never really her home, after all. However, now she knew the folly of her decision. When Wild was detected, Luna was closer to him, and she would have gotten to him before Celestia, and everything would have turned out alright. 

Sometimes, Luna wished Starswirl had completed his time-travel spell if only Luna could go back in time and prevent the mistakes she had made from ever happening in the first place. However, such was not reality, and the danger of a paradox was far too great to ignore just for the sake of her own selfishness. She had made her choices, had experienced the consequences, and she could only go forward after having learned from them in one way or another. 

Luna looked at Wild again, taking in his form as he blurred across the dark, star-filled skies. He had suffered the consequences for her actions or inactions, and she wished people she cared about would simply not be affected by her own stupidity. Alas, that was not the way of reality, and she could only do her best to fix it after the fact.  

Had she been ready for an attack during the wedding of her niece, Wild and many others would not have been hurt. She knew it was only luck that no one suffered permanent injuries or death, although she suspected the mental toll was greater than one could see. Equestria was supposed to be safe, and it had been safe for a long time... until Luna returned, and now it appeared every being that wished Equestria and its denizens harm was coming out. She knew not what would come in the future, but she knew something was going to happen, and she would be prepared if she had anything to say about it.

Had Luna not tried to push further before Wild was ready, he would not have run away, would not have gotten into the clutches of the Nightmare. Had she not been a coward, she would have dealt with the Nightmare before they could even think of sinking their claws into anyone else. Had Luna never bought into their promises, the last thousand years would not pass for Celestia without her sister by her side.

Luna had done much despite her relatively short life - and a thousand years on the moon were now a blink of nothingness among her memories. Perhaps she was chronologically old, yet she had not grown, had not changed over the many centuries that passed between her banishment and her return. Her mind was still occupied by those she had known from the past while Celestia had known thousands of ponies that had come and gone throughout her extremely long life.  

Luna recognized Celestia, yet she was entirely different. Less haughty, more serene, and far more distant than ever before even if it didn’t appear so on the surface. Luna wished she had seen her big sister grow, she wished she had had the chance to grow alongside her, to learn to stand together no matter what, yet...

Luna’s actions had consequences, and everything she had ever done came with a price attached, a price others paid, and a price that was always heavy. Had she been less composed, she would aim her eyes at the sky and beg to learn an answer to one simply question.

Why me?

She glanced at Wild again, wondering if he was asking himself the same question even if for different reasons. Life had been extremely unfair to him, kicking him down again and again, yet all she could see was a person who was striving to be better and to find their own happiness. Perhaps Luna and Wild were no different in regards to how the world seemed to want to squash them time and time again.

Luna wondered what Wild would be like in five years, a decade, two, half a century. Would he have a chance to live a long life? Through adversity, one could gain alicornhood, and to Luna, he looked like one of the very few who could achieve it in their relatively short lifetime, earning himself a much longer life to, perhaps, live it far more fully than he would have ever been able to otherwise.

Wild had already discovered something Luna didn’t believe many ponies could do - being an untethered spirit. With proper training, she knew, it was possible for ponies - and not just ponies - to achieve astral projection, yet Wild’s ability was beyond that. It was no projection - it was him in his entirety as far as anything non-physical was concerned. Perhaps it was his circumstances of having traveled between words that led him to learn it, yet there certainly was skill involved, considering that he gained a talent mark for the feat. Or perhaps it had something to do with what happened between he was violently torn from his body and when he returned to it. Luna didn’t know and she wasn’t about to ask.

Luna wished she could let Wild know precisely what she hoped for him, how ready she was to support him no matter where his path took him in this life. He needed guidance as well, and she was ready and willing to provide, to help him achieve his happiness, yet she also knew she must not push before Wild was ready. She had made a mistake once, and this time it wouldn’t take more for her to learn from it.  

However, just because she could avoid repeating one mistake, didn’t mean she wouldn’t make more, and her shortsightedness had cost Wild a piece of whatever innocence had remained in him. For Celestia, the ruler of the country, one of the most powerful people alive - physically, politically, and magically - to have hurt him... he, undoubtedly, would not forget it no matter what apologies she could give. Luna wished she knew exactly what happened so that she could fix it.

Unfortunately, many things would never become truly whole again once broken, and Luna knew precisely what it meant.

***

Wild was silent throughout the flight, wishing he could feel what Luna felt when she soared in the skies. However, Wild didn’t have wings and never would, so he would only be able to fly outside his body.  

He could look down and not fear that he would plummet to his death. From this high up, everything beneath was so impossibly tiny, and everything looked far closer than it was in reality. Wild, before now, had never had the chance to experience real heights. He had climbed trees, was on roofs of low buildings, but he had never been in flight, never been up high almost among the low Equestrian clouds. However, he was in no mood to truly appreciate what he was seeing.

Wild and Luna landed in a small clearing not far from the Royal Orphanage. He inhaled deeply - or, at least, made internal motions that resembled it and almost felt like it. There was a question burning within him even as he knew the answer.  

“Life hates me,” he revealed the answer, sharing it with Luna.  

“Why... do you think so?” she slowly asked, looking at him with worry and concern. He didn’t need her worry, yet he couldn’t bring himself to say so.  

“Since I came here, I... things happened to me,” he replied instead, slowly growing bolder with revealing what had been bothering him for a while, “Bad things. I learned that, no matter where, life hates me and wants me suffer.”

Unbeknownst to Wild, Luna could sympathize, and she desired to reveal her own thoughts on it, yet she knew he wasn’t yet finished.

“Maybe... maybe it is what I deserve,” Wild claimed, looking into her eyes, “For who I am.”

Luna did her best not to let it show on her face how much it hurt to hear. She wished she could hug him right here and right now, but she knew it would not be enough. She didn’t go with Wild expecting to have a therapy session with him, and so she wasn’t prepared. However, he needed her now, and she had to help him. She just needed to find out exactly how.

“Contrary to what many think, most things do not happen to us for any reason,” she began, “They simply happen. There is no sort of system that decides who ought to be punished and who ought to be rewarded according to any kind of rules. Good things don’t always happen to people who are thought of as ‘good’, and bad things don’t always happen to people who are considered ‘bad’.”

“How can you know that?” Wild asked, “Magic is real. It can make things... different. And I thought it did not exist. I thought spirits did not exist, or ghosts, or magical ponies, or... many other things. How can you know there are no rules, no system?”

“Many people around the world tried to find out the rules for thousands of years yet have not succeeded,” Luna replied, “There is no consistency to what kind of things happen to what kind of people.”

“Some people are above the rules,” Wild said, venom in his voice, “Some people... make rules, and they choose who has to follow the rules and who does not. It does not need to be consistent. It just needs to be.”

Luna knew he was right, and he spoke again before she could figure out what to say.

“I deserve what I get,” he declared, “For... who I am. Or was. All of us deserve it. All of us humans. That is who I was before I became a pony - a human,” he paused for a moment as if to take a breath, but he didn’t need it. Were he in his body, there would have been a small tremble in his limbs, and his heart would have been beating fast, hammering in his chest, “Our world is awful. Our world is disgusting. We are killing it. What happens to us is a punishment for how... for how evil we are.”

Luna had hoped to learn more about where Wild came from, but not like this. Not when he spoke with so much hatred in his voice, how much self-loathing was there dripping off of him.  

“You do not know who we are,” he continued, “We can destroy ourselves and the entire world in minutes. We made a... thing that explodes. Not with explosive powder but with a, a thing that poisons if you stand near it. We made many of those things, enough to destroy all seven billion of us. Seven billion. Gone in just a few minutes, wiped. We are capable of this.”

“Magic is capable of great destruction as well,” Luna said, “If all unicorns came together with the intent to destroy the world, they would be able to. My sister, if she ever decided that we must die in a fiery inferno, would be able to do that.”

“But she doesn’t, and magic can create,” Wild retorted, “Humans can’t create nearly as much as we can destroy. We can wipe ourselves off the face of the planet, but we can’t create new life. If someone dies, they die, leaving no ghost, nothing. When they are gone, they are gone and can’t be returned. Time and time again, we destroy and we kill. We had two world wars where tens of millions died for nothing but ambitions of those hungry for power, who did not fight in those wars themselves.

“You don’t know our history, Princess Luna, you don’t know the evil we are capable of. We pollute where we live, we destroy everything in our way for selfish reasons, we kill for fun, and many of us enjoy causing pain without reason and without any rules or restrictions.”

“And you believe you must be punished for what you have not done?” Luna asked.

“I am capable of doing it all too,” Wild countered, “I can kill - and I killed.”

“You killed those who deserved it.”

“And I tortured them first,” he finally admitted, not looking at her but knowing that her eyes widened at it, “I tortured them because they tortured me, and I enjoyed it. And I wish they did not have to die quickly, I wish I had more time to inflict everything they have ever inflicted on me and then more until they were begging me for death, begging me for release, until they knew I was the one who decided their life,” he looked at Luna, “We humans are like that. We like causing pain. I killed those who deserved it, but can you say I will never kill an innocent?

“Let me tell you something. The Changeling Invasion? It would barely be newsworthy there. Our invasions leave thousands dead, hundreds of thousands homeless and displaced. If humans invaded instead of changelings, the Royal Orphanage would be rubble, your sister would be dead, and at least half the population of Equestria would be wiped.”

Luna didn’t want to believe it, but the utter conviction in Wild’s voice was impossible to ignore. She knew and she reminded herself that he was biased, but he was not lying to her, and so she had to take what he said seriously.  

“Changelings invaded for a reason, but humans can invade for no reason at all,” he continued, “Or we can make up a reason, destroy everything, and then say that ‘oops, we should not have done that because the reason was not real’ and leave. And... you know, maybe I am not the only human here. If I came here, someone else could. Maybe even now, someone is planning to take over, to bring more humans here, to destroy all that you have built. To raze your fields, to turn your cities into rubble, to turn your rivers poisonous, to turn the air into toxic fog, to rape those who remain and to bury those that they would kill in unmarked mass graves.

“I am a human. I do not want to do any of it to any of you. I never want to do it,” his voice turned desperate, “I like it here, I love it here, but... but I know who I am. I know what I can do. I know it’s in my nature. Life pushing me down is the way I am... restrained. As long as I am focused on surviving it all, I can’t think of taking it all for myself.”

“Wild, you’re not defined by what species you were born as,” Luna insisted, “If you don’t want to do something that you say your species does, then don’t do it. They have no power over you.”

“If they came here... they would make me,” Wild said, his voice defeated.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Luna assured him, “I promise you I will do my best to not let it happen. We ponies know what it is to be hunted, and we know how to resist and how to win.  

“Wild, you must realize that destruction is not exclusive to your species. We have frozen our ancient homeland, and no one has been able to live there ever since. One day, maybe we would be able to return it to how it was, but we destroyed it. Cities and villages, all gone, buried under snow and ice. I don’t know what kind of destruction your species can do, but I assure you, we can cause a catastrophe of enormous magnitude if we ever wished to.

“Wild, you are not evil. Certainly not because you were born to your species. Your birth circumstances do not decide who you are. You decide who you are, who you want to be.”

Wild stood in place, silently, and Luna didn’t know whether he was accepting her words or if he was doing his best to ignore them and instead punish himself for things not under his control.

“I have known many who were born to those who had done great evils,” she continued, “But they were not defined by their parents. They made their own path. Many of them decided to make amends in place of their parents. If how we were born decided who we are, would it have been possible? Yes, where we are born, to which family we belong at first, it all influences us. But we are not those who came before us. Each and every single one of us is their own person. You are your own person. Please, Wild, ask yourself this - who do you want to be?”

“...I... I don’t know,” he admitted, “I... I will be back in a moment.”

With that, he flew away, and Luna patiently waited, knowing he would return. Minutes passed, and she had to stop herself from following Wild - he would come back. True to his words, a short while later, Luna heard hoof steps. She turned her head and saw Wild making his way to her, now back in his body. As he turned his head, she glimpsed a shine on his face under his eyes.

He stopped in front of her and sat down. He tapped his front hoof against the ground, his whole body slumped, a stark contrast to the stillness of his spirit.  

“I don’t know what to do,” he rasped, “Everything is... I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Tears dropped from his face, and then he lunged at Luna and cried. She embraced him, expecting it, and felt him shudder.  

“I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know,” he whimpered quietly, “I just want... I just want... to be left alone. To be peaceful. I don’t want to hurt, not, not... not like that. I am sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Luna gently stroked his back using her magic, “Wild, it is alright. Let it out.”

“Why do those things h-happen to me?” he sobbed, “I... I died, and I thought... maybe things w-would change. I want them to c-change. B-but... I am still a, a human.”

“Who you are is who you decide to be,” Luna told him, “No one can decide it for you, certainly not people you do not even know who simply share your species.”

“I want to b-be good...” he admitted, “I am tired of pain. I just want... I just want... rest. Peace,” he raised his head, separating from the embrace just enough to be able to look in Luna’s eyes, “I wish I could forget everything and be... a new person. Without... without what I remember,” he looked away, “But I know it is not possible. I have to... I have to do with what I have.”

“You don’t have to be alone in this.”

“I don’t know how you can help me...” he said, “You are... you shouldn’t spend your time on me. It is a waste.”

“It is not a waste,” Luna denied, “You will never be a waste. No one is a waste.”

“Why do I h-have to be the way I am?” Wild asked once more, “I... I am tired.”

“I will help you, I promise. You deserve to have happiness.”

Wild didn’t know if he truly believed it, but... perhaps he could try. However, he had a question he dreaded to ask.

“I...” he swallowed, “I told you I tortured,” and he could not say anymore.

“You tortured those who tortured you?”

“...Yes.”

“It was well within your rights as their victim,” Luna told him, “If the law is powerless, if you had no one to turn to... you did what you had to do. I cannot fault you for wanting to harm them, to return at least a part of the pain that they have inflicted on you.”

“But I can’t return it. It’s still there.”

“It is,” Luna nodded, “But they are dead. They can no longer hurt you.”

“And I must not let them control me anymore. They can’t make me.”

“They can’t. And I will help you move past it. Not to forget, not to forgive. But to accept what happened, and then look to the future.”

“I... I don’t have a future.”

“You will find one,” Luna said with conviction, “Not everyone knows where they want to be and what they want to do. Many do not know it even deep in their old age. But you will not be thrown aside. You will not be rejected.”

“...Thank you,” Wild said quietly, “I... you... no one has cared about me for... for a long time.”

“I do,” Luna squeezed him gently, “I care about you. I want you to be happy. I will help you. You just have to ask.

“...Okay. I will. Somehow.”

“I thank you for your trust,” Luna said, “I hope to continue not to disappoint you, Wild. Even if I may misstep sometimes, I hope you understand that I do not wish you harm.”

“I know,” Wild nodded, “I... I don’t... I won’t share everything.”

“As is your right.”

“But... you are helping me,” he swallowed, “And... I... I need to talk about it. I need to, to move... past. To move on. Because I want it. I want to live.”

“And I will do my best to help you get the life you want,” Luna assured him, “Now, come. You are tired, and I think sleep would do you well. Everything else can be left for later. I am not going away anywhere, and there are more ponies who would do their best to help you if you just ask.”

“...I don’t know who to ask.”

“It is my fault you don’t know,” Luna admitted, “By tomorrow, I will have a list of ponies sent to you, and I assure you that each and every one of them is extremely well-qualified for what they do and will do their best to help you with anything you may need help with, no matter how trivial you may think your issues are.”

“And... what about the ghost?”

“Tomorrow,” Luna insisted, “You should get some rest. It was a trying night for you. If you allow, I will watch over your dreams to make sure you have a restful sleep.”

“...Alright,” Wild nodded, and the two separated, “Thank you.”

Luna led Wild back to the Royal Orphanage, where he returned to his dorm, fell on the bed, and was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. As promised, his dreams did not bring distress, and so he slept.
> Chapter 58: Half-Ghost Zrak
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild woke up after dreamless slumber feeling not anywhere near as rested as he wanted. He blinked wearily, then rolled over in his bed and closed his eyes again. The desire to get up and live the day was entirely absent from his mind, and this day he wanted nothing more than to do absolutely nothing.  

The events of the day before were clear in his mind, and he wished nothing more than for them to never have happened. His brief imprisonment, then his confession, all of it hurt and he... he was tired. He had been tired for a long time. Luna said many encouraging words, but they felt empty despite her clearly believing them and meaning them. All he knew was pain and suffering, and all he would ever know is pain and suffering with some short and insignificant moments of relative calm in between. There was nothing else for him.

He was forced to drag himself out of bed once he realized he needed to relieve himself. Automatically, without thought, he did just that. In the bathroom, he looked in the mirror and saw a face that should never have been his. However, his wishes and desires didn’t matter - he had what he had, and he would have to make do with that. Even if it was futile, even if the only thing he could do was survive until something ended him in one way or another.

He forced himself to take a shower, taking brief relief in the feeling of water going through his fur and across his skin. After drying himself off, he applied the descarring ointment, knowing he couldn’t stop now if he wanted at least something to improve in his life.  

A letter was waiting for him at the door.  

Dear Wild,

I have contacted the Ghostbusters guild, and they will arrive this day at noon. The only thing required of you is to escort them to where the ghost is, and you will be able to leave right after. The meeting point is in front of the entrance to the Royal Orphanage. If you do not wish them to know who you are, come in your spirit form and present a different name. They will not harm you in any way, I made sure of that. 

As promised, I have attached a list of ponies who can help you with a variety of problems should you choose to contact them.

I am sorry I cannot be there personally right now, but I will be there for our therapy session as promised. You have put great trust in me, and I hope I will be able to help you with anything you want. 

Have a good day,

Luna

Wild felt a rising sense of shame and guilt - how could he even think about doing nothing when he promised to help Cave Explorer? At least Wild was alive and not stuck even if it often felt like he was. Cave Explorer was dead and had no future, so who was Wild to complain about his life? He was, after all, perfectly aware that many others had it a lot worse than him.

Wild came down to the cafeteria to eat, not really tasting anything. He greeted Precision, Swingblade, and, after a small while, Artful. Whether they sensed he was not in good mood or were simply mindful of him, no one tried to include him in any conversations, and he was glad for that.  

After breakfast, he went back to his room and lay down on his bed. He attempted to meditate, focusing on his breathing. In, hold, out, and repeat. In, hold, out, and repeat. He felt through his body, becoming truly aware of his limbs, of his horn, of his muscles. The simplicity of being a spirit called to him, yet he remained in his body, desiring to hear his heartbeat, truly taste the air, and feel the bed he was lying on. Without these sensations, being a spirit felt liberating yet also incomplete. Having all those feelings made his life more complex yet also more colorful.  

He lay there on top of his bed staring at nothing and contemplating things he believed would be useless in the end, but he couldn’t help it. Even if his life was just a series of hurts, even if none of it had any meaning, it was still his life. However, for just a moment, he considered that perhaps, maybe, it would be better if he died.  

He was tired and he wanted the struggles to end. No matter who was around him, no matter where he was, no matter when it was, he was going to get hurt, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was powerless and had to rely on those who could squash him if they so wished.  

He was tired. He closed his eyes, wishing that he would simply drift off to nothingness. Let his consciousness fade away, his soul to dissipate into thin air. However, he knew he was too scared to try it, too weak to do it. And, somewhere deep within, he knew he still had hope that things would become better. This pain had to mean something. Unless... unless there was nothing more to it than simple happenstance.  

He could feel the burn in his eyes as tears welled up, his throat constricting as he prepared for a sob that he knew was coming. He was weak, he was powerless, and there was nothing to be done, nothing that could be done. Princess Celestia was over a millennium old with skills and knowledge to back it up, Princess Luna was just as powerful despite missing a thousand years from her life. There was that third alicorn named Mi Amore Cadenza somewhere, who was likely very powerful as well.  

What was he in comparison? A wimpy little unicorn with no real magical talent or power to speak of. The only trick he had, the ability to separate from his body, was clearly not as great as he thought - one spell, and Celestia had him captured. He broke out, of course, but then she got him into her own basement where there was no escape from.  

He let out a single sob then swallowed. No, he couldn’t end his life again. This life was still not nearly as bad as it could have been. It could always be worse somewhere else. It was worse back on Earth. Being captured and being questioned was, by far, the least bad thing to happen to him.

In the end, he wanted to live. There was a possibility that his life could be good. He already saw glimpses of it. Even if he still had no friends, he knew people, and they didn’t mind him being around. That had to be a decent enough start. Even if he still felt a pang of loneliness, more often these times than before, his life was still better. Maybe... perhaps one day, he wouldn’t feel so alone. It was something to strive for, to fight for.  

However, he was still tired, so tired. He just needed a simple small moment to just breathe. And so he did until it was near noon.

He met the Ghostbusters in his spirit form, traveling through the Royal Orphanage by sticking to the shadows, making sure no one saw him. Then he came from an entirely different direction in order for the Ghostbusters not to suspect that he lived in the orphanage. The Ghostbusters were a group of four ponies, two unicorns and two earth ponies, each dressed in identical gray jackets, and each jacket had a white circle on each sleeve. It made Wild pause for a moment before he continued his approach, wondering if there was any connection at all between their circles and his talent mark. There could be, yet likely there wasn’t - a circle was, undoubtedly, a very popular shape.  

The Ghostbusters weren’t alone - there was another pony with them, a unicorn with a talent mark of a steel arch. Wild wondered what their purpose here was.

It wasn’t long until his approach was noticed. The Ghostbusters were eyeing him with undisguised interest, but there was no fear or wariness. The unicorn was, however, anxious and was standing behind the Ghostbusters.

“Ah, g’day to you Mr Spirit!” a unicorn Ghostbuster greeted him, “So, you’re gonna show us where our ghost is?”

Wild stopped not far from them and gave a nod.

“Alright, that’s great!” the Ghostbuster grinned, “So, I’m Spirit Catcher, a he, the other unicorn’s Sei, a he or a them, either works. And these two ladies here are Rock and Roll.”

Wild looked over the group and nodded. As far as he could see, they were not a bad bunch of people. Rock and Roll in particular were giving him friendly grins, although the fact that they were earth ponies made Wild wonder what they did when it came to ghosts. He didn’t think that their obvious muscles would help with wrestling ghosts, but then he didn’t really know much. They did have two packs each, so perhaps whatever they had would be helpful.

“And here with us is Rivet, he’s gonna help us with the cave-in,” Spirit Catcher gestured at the non-Ghostbuster unicorn, “We’re still waiting for two ponies, they should be here any moment now,” he lowered his voice a bit, “They are parents of Cave Explorer.”

Wild nodded once again.

“So, what do we call you?” Spirit Catcher asked, “Wouldn’t want to just call you Mr Spirit, now would we?”

Wild hesitated for a moment. Giving away his name would mean exposure, and that wasn’t what he wanted. Perhaps... he could make up a name for his spirit form, just like Luna suggested. But what kind of name? He was never good at coming up with something like this on the spot. However... maybe he had something.

He was a ghost, wasn’t he? But not quite. Half a ghost, perhaps. There was a word in Russian he knew that meant ‘ghost’, so perhaps he could take... a half of it. Indeed, it would work.

“My name is Zrak,” he said, making Rivet shudder yet the Ghostbusters reacted with nothing but nods and smiles.

“Alright, Zrak, pleased to meet you,” Spirit Catcher said, then turned his head slightly, “Oh, I think I see ‘em.”

Not long afterwards, a pair of older pegasi stallions came to the group, slightly out of breath. Both of them had some silver in their manes and tails, but looked otherwise no different from other adults as far as Wild could tell.  

“Sorry, the train arrived a few minutes later,” one of them explained as they came closer. Then they turned their eyes on Zrak, “You... it’s you who found him, right? You found Cave Explorer?”

Zrak nodded. One of them fiddled with a pack at their side before producing a photograph.

“Is it him?”  

On the picture, there was a young pegasus smiling as some sort of award was hanging around his neck. Zrak could only nod.

One of the stallions turned to the other and whispered, “It’s him. It’s really him!”

“I know, I know...” the other wiped a single tear, then inhaled deeply and turned to Zrak and the group, “Alright... let’s free our son. Let’s... let’s get him out of that place.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Spirit Catcher nodded, “Alright, Zrak, lead the way.”

Zrak nodded once again and then led the group to the cave, tracking the markings he made. The group was silent except for the old stallions, quiet sniffing coming from them every so often. Zrak felt as if something was clenching his heart except he had no heart at the moment.

In this silence, he led the group through the forest, and it didn’t escape his attention when the Ghostbusters noticed the marks on the trees.  

“Zrak, did you leave those marks?” Spirit Catcher asked. Zrak turned around and nodded, “Huh, interesting.”

For a short while, the silence stretched until Zrak heard one of the Ghostbusters started humming a song. It was... strangely familiar. Oddly, impossibly familiar. However, Zrak didn’t think he had ever heard it before, certainly not in Equestria. But maybe it was on the radio in the background? The humming continued, and now words were sung, and even as they were quietly muttered, Zrak could almost recognize them.

“...huyogoaca?” it was Rock who hummed, “Gostbustas!”

Zrak stopped there and then as thoughts spun inside his head. It couldn’t be... He flew over to Rock, the suddenness of it making the group almost stumble.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice level even as he felt like there was thunder inside of him. If he was right... oh, was he not right already? Now that he thought about it, their name was quite obvious. Of course, they didn’t say it in English, but this song... it could not exist in Equestria. It could not exist in this world at all.

“Oh, we’ve a radio at the base, and we tweaked it a bit,” she explained calmly, but there was tension in her body. Zrak could feel other Ghostbusters becoming tense as well, “It catches odd things sometimes, and there was this song. Really catchy, but I’ve no idea what the lyrics are. Do you know what they are?”

Huyogoaca... that was an odd word if one was talking about the language ponies used, but...

Who you gonna call?

Ghostbusters!

Zrak, if he had a physical body right now, would be trembling. He shook his head and silently returned to leading the group further. He couldn’t reveal what he knew, he couldn’t. But now, there was something he had to figure out, something he had to deal with as soon as possible. 

He didn’t know if his warning to Luna would turn out to be true, but it appeared it was. And he... Zrak didn’t think he could process it, not yet, not until he returned to his body, not until he had time.  

He couldn’t do that now. He had a goal, and he needed to fulfill it, and then he would be free to return to his body and do... some thinking. A lot of thinking. And maybe he would need to check something. Maybe he would need to send some sort of a warning. Princess Luna, she could be trusted with this. He couldn’t simply not act.  

Zrak mentally breathed in, held it, and then breathed out. There was no time to panic yet. He would finish things up here and only then he would give himself time for it. He continued making the way until the group came to the cave entrance.

“This is the cave,” Zrak explained somewhat unnecessarily, “It is further down there.”

“Alright, lead on then,” Spirit Catcher nodded, and the group descended into the darkness. The unicorns of the group had to light their horns for everyone to be able to see. As Zrak glided down easily, the group had to be slower, stepping carefully in order not to tumble. The cave continued to snake downwards until a sizable rock with a large X marked on it came into sight.  

“We have to go in here, between the rocks,” Zrak said, then added, “It is tight.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Spirit Catcher shrugged.

A turn, another turn, and then, finally, were the stairs. At the bottom, the cave-in was clearly visible.  

“Alright, Rivet, your turn,” Spirit Catcher gestured.

“Hm, yes, give me a few moments,” Rivet nodded, his horn lighting up in a different color as he made his way down and then walked around, quietly muttering under his breath.  

Meanwhile, the others spread out on the landing, sitting down to wait. The Ghostbusters were patiently waiting, idly tapping their hooves or stretching. Cave Explorer’s parents were huddled together, whispering between each other. Zrak stood in one place motionlessly, unsure of what to do.  

Spirit Catcher walked over to him and spoke in a low voice.

“So, Cave Explorer is there behind the cave-in?” he asked, and Zrak nodded, “Can you check on him? Tell him that we’re coming?”

Zrak nodded once more and then flew through the cave-in. Cave Explorer was still there by his own body, fruitlessly trying to move boulders that he could no longer touch. His form shuddered when Zrak came into view, and he practically leaped up.

“Wild! You came back!” he said, “I’m getting out of here, right?”

“Yes,” Zrak nodded, “We will get you out of here. Your... your parents are waiting on the other side.”

“Oh,” he looked down, “I... I don’t know if... I don’t know if they want to see me.”

“They do,” Zrak assured him, “They would not be here if they did not.”

“I guess that’s right...”

“And by the way, call me Zrak,” Zrak insisted, “Do not call me Wild in front of any of them.”

“Alright,” Cave Explorer easily agreed, “Just... hurry up. Please? And... tell them... tell them I am okay. That I’m waiting. That... I’m sorry.”

“I will,” Zrak nodded, then flew back through the cave-in.

On the other side, Rivet swore as he startled at Zrak’s sudden reappearance, and one of the Ghostbusters let out a quiet chuckle.

“...Cave Explorer is there,” Zrak began, “He said he is waiting. He is... okay. And he wants things to hurry up.”

“You heard the spirit, we need to hurry up!” one of the old stallions spoke up, “He’s been down here all alone for... for who knows how long. We need to get him out of here!”

“And we will,” Spirit Catcher assured him, “Rivet, how’s it going over there?”

“The ceiling seems stable for now, but I can’t say if it will change when we start taking care of the cave-in,” he replied, “I should be able to reinforce it for the duration, though. We can start working in just a moment.”

“Do I need to be here?” Zrak asked, trying not to show it that he wanted to leave immediately.

“We’d appreciate some help in moving the boulders if you can do that,” Spirit Catcher said, “And once we meet Cave Explorer, you should be here in case something goes wrong. Ghosts are generally docile, but sometimes...” he shuddered, “Well, there’s a reason we are here and not just some random bunch of ponies, you know what I mean?”

Zrak nodded, settling down. He could wait if only for a bit longer even when everything inside him urged for him to run and check whether Equestria was in danger.  

Rivet stabilized the cave with a couple of spells, the surrounding stone glowing with his magic. Then the unicorns started moving boulders and, when they were too heavy, the earth ponies used their powerful legs to strike at precisely the right point to crack them and then break them down into smaller boulders. Zrak could help move them with whatever power he had now, although anything big remained immovable.

The work continued for hours with some breaks in between. A sheen of sweat was covering the Ghostbusters by this point, yet there was more work to be done. At some point, when there was silence when everyone settled down for a drink of water, a muffled voice came from behind the cave-in.

“Hello?”

The old stallions jumped immediately, rushing closer, pressing their ears to the remaining rubble.

“Son? Cave Explorer, is that you?” one of them shouted, his voice reverberating around the cave.

“We’re here, son! You just wait!” the other joined.

“Dad? Papa?”

“We’re here! We’ll get to you!” he looked back, “Come on, what are you all waiting for? He’s there right on the other side! We’ve got to get to him!”

Zrak didn’t comment that Cave Explorer was already dead and hurrying up would not fix it. The work continued, now at a faster pace, and the old stallions did their best to push the smaller boulders around with their slight frames, breathing heavily from the effort. Zrak, feeling the frantic energy, did his best to aid as well. There was perhaps no point in hurrying, but he wasn’t going to say that or not put in the effort to help. He didn’t feel tired at all, after all.

Slowly but surely, the cave-in was cleared. The sight of Cave Explorer’s body with his ghost floating above it made his parents gasp and cover their mouths, tears freely streaming down their faces.

“We can help you touch him,” Spirit Catcher quietly told them, “Hold still for a moment, please.”

A spell was performed on the two of them, adding a subtle glow to their fur.

“Dad, papa...” Cave Explorer said weakly, “You... you came.”

“Oh, son...”

The two fathers lunged at him and hugged him tightly as they all wept together. Zrak turned away, wishing he could shed his own tears right now.  

“I’m so sorry, dad, papa-”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” one of the stallions shook his head, “We’re... we’re glad to see you again. Even... even if it’s going to be one last time. We... we didn’t know what happened to you.”

“We hoped you just... needed time away, like young people do,” the other said, “But... but... you’re... oh, son...”

Zrak never got his own reunion, and he wished he had a chance to say goodbye. He was glad at least someone else got the chance to do it with their own family.  

It was no longer his place to be there, however. It was a moment for the family, and they deserved to have it without him hovering over their shoulders. With one last look at them, two living pegasi embracing a ghost of their son, Zrak left.
> Chapter 59: Everfree Forest
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the day passed like a blur of nothingness that stretched for too far yet was also gone in a blink. Wild returned to his body, he ate, he went to the self-defense class - where, once again, running away was trained at first, as well as various methods of escape from sudden attacks. Then he had his swords training, which went about as well as it usually did.

During dinner, Artful looked at him worryingly.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

Wild turned his head and blinked at him. He then returned his eyes to his tray of food, a third of which was now empty yet he couldn’t even remember the taste of anything he ate. Then he looked back at Artful. What could he say? It wasn’t like he could admit that he was from a different world and had just found evidence of his origin world still connected to this world. He couldn’t then continue on and claim that it was dangerous, that this connection had to be severed or else ponies would suffer a terrible fate. He couldn’t disclose his plans to Artful, plans that included searching the Everfree Forest for his place of rebirth so he could see if there was anything going on there, if there was... anyone else.

Wild simply shook his head, then gestured that he was not fine but he would be. Then he lied, claiming there was nothing to worry about, he simply had one of those days. He did not specify what kind of days, but Artful nodded anyway as if he understood.

“Alright,” he said, “But if there’s anything I can help you with, tell me, okay?”

There was nothing Artful had the power to help him with, but Wild nodded. There was no harm in these little lies. He did not plan to ever reveal the reality of this situation to him, after all. Artful did not need to worry himself over Wild or Wild’s concerns. They might be... acquaintances, but they weren’t anywhere close enough to share secrets. Even if Wild already knew one of his - being friends with a changeling. Wild, however, wasn’t obliged to make even, to give away a secret of his own. Not now, possibly not ever. Ponies would never understand him, would never accept him if he revealed the entire truth. It was better to let them believe whatever they wanted, and leave the truth just to himself... and to Princess Luna, although he still didn’t know whether he would ever have chosen to confide in her if not for her discovering who he was by herself first. It was proven that she cared about him, too, and perhaps... perhaps there was no harm in her knowing things about him.  

If only he stopped trying to unload his every worry, every deficiency, every fear, every hate and anger on her. Surely she had more things to worry about? Surely his self-loathing and hatred of his own species, justified as he believed it all was, wouldn’t be anywhere near the top of her priorities? She had a country to rule, and he was just one tiny pony who held no power, had no friends, and was essentially just a speck in the sand.  

Wild sometimes wished he could go back and make sure that his lies that he wanted to protect him were more solid, that his actions did not reveal his true nature. He wondered what his life would have been like if Luna didn’t make her discovery. Of course, she would not have been close to him in any way then, and their interactions would probably be boiled down to language lessons and little more, although even that could be delegated to someone else. It boggled Wild’s mind that the princesses didn’t get a proper teacher to make him learn the language - did they really have this much free time to dedicate it to someone like him?  

After finishing the food he didn’t taste, he carried the tray away to be cleaned, and then went on his own back to the dorm. He had an important goal, and he couldn’t delay working towards it. Not if he wished to find out what was going on before it all turned into a disaster, and he could feel that it would, in time, do just that.

As day turned to evening and evening turned to night, the sun setting as the moon rose to replace it, Wild’s spirit rose from his body, and now he was Zrak. He found he liked this self-picked name, especially since, in English, both his names consisted of the same number of letters and the same number of consonants and vowels. He liked this sort of symmetry.

It would be safe to go to the Everfree Forest as a spirit... or, at the very least, safer. Zrak now knew that nowhere was safe no matter what form he had.  

The Everfree was not far from the Royal Orphanage, and it was a stark contrast to everything around it. There were other forests touching it, but they never mingled, never became one, as if someone drew a line between regular forests and the Everfree forest.  

Zrak stood there, eyeing it from a distance. He did not like it, and it was uncertain whether he felt it because of himself or because the forest itself exuded an aura of some kind. When... when he was there last, he wasn’t particularly keen on learning more about it and neither did he pay much attention to what was going on. Now, however...

He moved closer to the forest, and then suddenly had a feeling that could only be described as hair rising on his body. However, he had no fur and no hair now - the only explanation was that this was pure feeling, and this feeling was one of fear.

Zrak couldn’t say he feared the darkness specifically. However, being outside after dark was... unpleasant. He remembered the times where he had to find some especially dark corner to hopefully safely - or at least more or less safely - sleep in. Darkness was his friend then, but it was also his enemy because he could never know what was coming towards him. Being roused multiple times from sleep had taught him that, no matter the place he picked, someone could always come across it and spot him. Homeless people were, generally speaking, disliked, and he was among their kind then, and so when someone saw him sleeping, they didn’t think of how vulnerable he was, they didn’t think that he had no choice but to be where he was. They only thought of him as a disgusting little pest and so dealt with him in ways not much better than one dealt with unwelcome insects in their house.  

Zrak steadied himself, doing breathing exercises even when he had no lungs to physically do it with. However, the remembered motions and the phantom sensations were enough to calm him down, and so he continued on.

The Everfree Forest seemed even darker than it could naturally be. In this darkness, the twisted trees could be seen as anything, and the fact that Zrak felt like he was being watched didn’t help. He did his best to move swiftly and silently - not that his form ever made noise unless he wanted it to. He had to stop and look around fairly often, and he would have shuddered and shivered if he still had a body - the trees, sometimes... they looked like shapes of living beings. A pony or a human, but, on a closer look, revealed themselves to be just a strick. There were no ponies and there were no humans.  

The Everfree Forest was quiet. The natural evening and night noises of critters were absent, although sometimes Zrak could perhaps hear some distant rustling. The air stood still as well... perhaps too still.  

Zrak jumped back as some sort of a rodent skittered across the ground and climbed up a tree right in front of him. Had he a heart, it would have been racing. He did not like this place. However, he had to find where he was reborn. The fact was, unfortunately, that he didn’t really remember it anymore, certainly not where it could be.  

Zrak flew up above the trees and looked around. He had seen the Everfree Forest on a map, yet the map didn’t seem to have accurately shown the scale of it. The forest seemed to stretch on and on in all directions except one he came from, and he wondered whether magic could have something to do with that. Close to the center, the towers of the abandoned Summer Palace stood, unnaturally straight and even for this place. He was not going back there, certainly not this night, and hopefully, simply never.

He had much ground to cover, and it all seemed hopeless. The first thing he looked for from his far above was any sign of flames or any artificial light - there was none. If there were humans here somehow, they did not give themselves away. Or perhaps they weren’t there yet. He had to find his place of rebirth to make sure. If anyone else came through the same way he did... he would know. The difficulty, of course, lay in finding that place.  

Zrak needed a plan. He knew - or at least remembered - that it couldn’t have been too far yet it also wasn’t at the edge of the forest. He knew it was also hidden, so spotting it from above would be a futile task. And yet, he had a feeling that he would simply know when it was nearby.  

The Everfree Forest was spread out in all directions from the center where the Summer Palace stood more or less evenly, forming a wobbly sort of circle. The best way for Zrak to search it would be to start and the outskirts and go around it in a circle, slowly tightening it as he searched further and further to the center.  

He got to work. He moved smoothly and silently, disturbing not a blade of grass as he glided along, making sure to check his direction every so often. It would certainly not be difficult for one to get lost within this forest, and he suspected magic could play a hand in it as well. This forest was most definitely cursed in some way or another, and Zrak did not wish to test it any more than he was already doing.  

The surroundings seemed to blur around him more the longer he spent inside the forest. All of it looked the same: the gnarly, crooked trees, the dirt and the short and rigid grass, the various vines hanging from the branches here and there. So far, Zrak hadn’t even seen many animals aside from that one rodent. The timberwolves, wherever they were, seemed to be far enough away that he could neither see them nor hear them.  

The first circle was complete in what seemed like forever. There was nothing that indicated any sort of hidden place of rebirth. Without a doubt, Zrak had to go deeper. He did not want to go any deeper, but he had to if he were to keep... to keep himself safe. To keep ponies safe from more people like himself. He knew he wasn’t the worst out there, and if someone cruel enough and smart enough came to this world... they would destroy everything Zrak liked about Equestria. They would destroy everything, kill and rape and pillage and raze it all to the ground.  

This world did not deserve to be turned into toxic ashes and clouds of smog. This world did not deserve to become nothing but another wasteland.  

Zrak had completed about a third of his second circle when he saw blue glow in the corner of his gaze. Or, at least, his mental gaze - he didn’t think he had a limit on where he could look, but it was easier to process information when he could imagine using physical eyes. He swiftly moved towards it, although he suspected it wasn’t any sort of human activity.

In a small glade, unobstructed by the canopy, grew a batch of beautiful blue flowers, and they were in bloom under the moonlight. The petals were smooth, somewhat velvety in appearance, and Zrak saw some insects flying along the flowers, their somewhat furry bodies covered in specks of blue. Were they moths? Zrak didn’t know much about insects, unfortunately, so he couldn’t identify them. However, he could admit that this scene he came across was... beautiful.

Zrak, he could feel, was stressed, even if there was no tightness or tension anywhere that could be felt physically. He sat there at the edge of the glade and observed the insects pollinating these odd night flowers. Slowly, he felt himself relax, and it was as if all his stress was taken away bit by bit. Perhaps one day he would come there in body, but he would have to make do with how he was now.  

A hum sounded from afar, making Zrak tense again. There was a hollow in a tree at the edge of the glade - he flew to it and hid inside. Thankfully, the hollow was unoccupied.  

The humming was definitely coming from a sapient being of some kind, and so Zrak froze in place, waiting anxiously for whoever they were to come forward so that he could see them. Could they be a human surviving in this forest, believing that it was everything that there was to this world? Or... perhaps someone else lived in this forest?  

He saw a shadowed figure moving through the forest across the glade, and he immediately guesses that they were quadrupedal. So, not a human... or, at least, not a human in flesh and blood. They seemed to be moving perfectly well too, although Zrak couldn’t see much because they wore a brown cloak. From what he could glimpse, this being had a muzzle and two hoofed front legs. As they came closer, Zrak could see that they were... pony-like, perhaps. A... zebra? He hadn’t seen such stripes before. Unless they were tattoos or other sort of self-made markings, this being was a zebra. Zrak mentally kicked himself for not knowing if zebras existed.  

Their humming continued as they emerged from the trees and into the glade. Zrak noted they carried a small wicker basket on one of their sides. They continued to hum as they opened the lid on the basket and then used their maw to remove the flowers here and there, putting them inside the basket, making it glow blue.

Zrak continued observing for some time, and he figured out there was some kind of a pattern to this flower gathering. However, what this pattern was and why it had to be this way, he didn’t know. When the being seemed satisfied with it, they departed the glade. Zrak moved to follow, doing his best to remain unnoticed. The silence with which he moved, the silence that would never be there if he was in his body, helped him a great deal. The being remained completely unaware as he shadowed them.  

When he looked closer, he realized there was a path they were following. The ground poked through here and there, and the grass was even shorter than usual, clearly trampled over fairly often. Now that he knew what to look for, he knew exactly where this zebra was going.

Were they human or were they not? He... didn’t think they were. They moved with a grace and purpose that only a born non-human could have... unless this zebra had been here for many years, perhaps. And if they were, and nothing bad had happened yet... perhaps Zrak would leave them alone. Perhaps they, like him, needed peace and quiet, and... Zrak could understand that.

After a while, the zebra led him to a house in the tree. Various colorful liquids were in glass containers that hanged from the strings attached to the living tree’s thick branches, each of the containers emitting a glow, and combined they made it look far more welcoming than this forest had been so far. Zrak looked up and realized that it wasn’t just a particularly wide tree - it was a stump of a once giant tree that was now growing again. He wondered where the rest of it was now.

Above a simple wooden door that was made to fit the hole in the tree - perhaps it had once been a hollow - hang a wooden painted mask that was the shape of an equine head. Zrak suspected it was magical in some way, and from the mouth of the mask came two thin stalks to which narrow and long leave of bluish-green grew. Next to one of the thick roots, a bigger wooden equine face stood, although it looked more like a shield than a mask. Whoever this zebra was, it didn’t seem like they were ever a human. Zrak stood back as they opened the door, revealing a relatively spacious room inside, in the center of which stood a cast iron cauldron. Zrak didn’t have a chance to find more as the door closed behind the zebra, although he could still hear them hum.  

This discovery would need investigation, but perhaps it would be for the best for Zrak to return to his body now. Next night, he would return to the glade he found and work his way from there. Or, perhaps, he would see what this zebra was up to. For now, it seemed that they were content to finish whatever it was that they were doing in their odd living tree house and then go to sleep.  

Zrak had concluded that there was much more to this forest than he expected. Without a single doubt, it was yet another thing he lacked knowledge in, and this needed to be remedied if he hoped to find what he was looking for without aimless wandering.  

He retreated from the hut, flying up and then away, back to the Royal Orphanage. Unbeknownst to him, as he left, the zebra was looking out of the window, their eyes narrowed in suspicion.
> Chapter 60: Dreams of Destruction
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Everfree could seem completely lacking of any life as it stood still in silence one could deem unnatural. The stars above seemed bleak, and the moon couldn’t be seen through the canopy. The clouds were gathering by themselves, coming together without any aid. For ponies, it was unnatural, freaky, scary. For Wild, it was what he was used to. Weather could only ever be predicted, not controlled.

He walked through the forest, searching and searching. He had to find that place, he had to see what it was now. If it were open, if there was a way through back to the other side from which he came... he needed to close it somehow. Whatever was going on, it had to be stopped before it grew out of any control, before it rose up like a horrible tidal wave and crashed on them all, leaving behind nothing but destruction and death.  

He circled the forest, not feeling his steps, not smelling the air, not seeing the surroundings. His place of rebirth, he knew, had to be there, and he just needed to find it. He racked his memory for how it looked, but those early days were now blurry in his mind, unclear and uncertain. Yet, despite his failure to recall what he needed to recall, he would not stop until it was found. There was nothing more important right now than this.

A sudden gust of wind brushed past him, feeling the air with the noise of rustling leaves and creaking wood. The wind seemed to have a smell, and it was of... smoke?

Wild followed the direction where this smell came from, needing to know what it was, having a bad feeling about it. Another gust of wind brought more of it, and he followed it to its source. He was now certain he needed to find it, to learn what it was. He moved hurriedly yet feeling like his hooves stuck to the ground more and more with every step, as if the air became as thick was water. He struggled on, pushing forward even as something pushed back. He needed to know.

The forest opened up before him, revealing the ruins of the Summer Palace. He stopped, gazing fearfully at it. He was brought to it once again, and he wondered, scared, if some other evil had taken its place in those ancient ruins. He stopped there, yet there was no more any force that pushed him onward or backward. His heart was not beating rapidly in his chest.  

The earth rumbled, and the forest came alive in a cacophony of sound. Birds flew up into the sky, cawing and squeaking and twitting, escaping the epicenter of it all - the Summer Palace. Insects and snakes and rodents crawled and slithered away, paying Wild no attention as they hurried past him.  

A bright flash of blue light shone through earth and stone, coming from deep beneath the palace. The ancient spires broke and fell down, turning to dust as impossible brightness expanded, swallowing the masonry whole. The palace was was crumbling inwards, disappearing into the gaping maw left behind.  

Wild could barely see the sky anymore as clouds of dust rose into the air, shining blue in reflection of the searing light. The glow dimmed until there was nothing, and silence reigned after the last bricks fell down. The palace, a monument to a costly and lengthy mistake, was no more, ruins of ruins of ruins, nothing but dust and scattered, barely recognizable pieces of stone that were now little more than rubble. With time, they would be nothing but oddly-shaped rocks.

A sheet of what looked like water was hanging in the air like a curtain, barely touching the ground at the center of where the blue light had come from, the ground underneath smooth like glass. The sheet shivered and wavered in unseen wind. It stretched in a way that water never could, and then...

A figure, a humanoid figure walked out, then another, and then more. Wild recognized them - they were soldiers. Backpacks and vests filled with ammunition, their arms holding rifles, masks and goggles and helmets obscuring any human facial features. There was no camouflage to be seen - the uniform was simply gray and black.  

Wild knew what he had to do even as he watched more and more soldiers emerge marching out of the portal. He raised his hand, and in it was a revolver. He aimed, he breathed, and he pulled the trigger.

The sound of his revolver firing was like a cannon in the stillness of the surroundings. The angry red and orange flash of light seemed to illuminate the world, and the smoke from the barrel rose up to the sky.  

One figure fell soundlessly, and others marched over it without a care in the world. Wild’s hands shook as he aimed his revolver again, his aim true even as he felt himself become unwound.  

It clicked.

Wild pulled the trigger again and again and again.

Click, click, click.

He looked inside - there was only the spent cartridge.  

The air was filled with the uniform sound of marching. Soldiers moved forward, uncaring about Wild, as if they didn’t even see him.  

Sounds of heavy machinery filled the air as a tank drove through the portal, bricks and pieces of stone crunching under the threads. Even if Wild still had ammo, he couldn’t destroy a tank that way.  

A deafening rushing noise exploded into existence, and a jet darted out of the portal, flying over Wild quicker than he could think. He reached out with his magic, knowing what the jet was there for, yet it easily slipped his grip, the sound of its engines fading as the jet flew farther and farther away.  

Time ticked by, and Wild knew, knew it wouldn’t be long. There was nothing he could do now. He failed again, all because he wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t prepared, wasn’t-

An impossibly bright flash of light filled everything around him, and he could feel the searing heat burning everything in its path. The clouds above disappeared one by one, the stars going out with them.

Everything around him was burning, the smell of ash, burning flesh, and smoke clogging his nostrils. He screamed yet there was nothing but silence. From the ground far from him, a cloud rose, forming the shape of a mushroom. He could see and feel the mountain on which Canterlot stood crumble, brittle like glass.

“None of it is real.”

Everything stopped. Wild blinked, then realized... he didn’t blink. This sensation was not true. What he saw was what he didn’t see - his eyes were closed. The sense of touch existed, but it was just a memory.  

He was dreaming.  

He slumped, then collapsed.  

He was dreaming. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t happening.

Steps sounded from behind him, making him turn around. Princess Luna was standing there, a worried expression on her face. She surveyed the surroundings, taking in the flame-wreathed trees, the soldiers and tanks, the portal among the destruction, and the fiery mushroom cloud in the distance. 

“It’s not real...” Wild whispered, relief filling him. He then stood up and faced Luna, “But... but it could be.”

“Why?” Luna asked him.

“This,” he gestured at the soldiers, “Is who we are. Humans. I...”

He then proceeded to explain what he heard from the Ghostbusters, how it connected to him, and the way he appeared in this world.

“I...” he swallowed, “I died, and then I was there. And now, I know that... our worlds have a connection.”

He paced, and even this not-motion made his brain work again.

“The song, it is from a movie we humans made. I know it. And now I came through... to this world,” he turned to Luna and looked into her eyes, “There could be more humans. There could be... a portal. I don’t know. It has to be stopped,” his voice rose, “Our worlds shouldn’t be connected, they can’t be, because humans will come here and destroy everything!”

He breathed hard, feeling sweat rolling down his body.

“See what they have? See those tanks? See that... that cloud?” he gestured rapidly, “It is all for killing and destruction. Look, look at how everything burned! Look at... look at what’s left! We have thousands of these bombs, yes, thousands, and all of them can do this, all of them can turn a forest into, into a pile of ash!”

Wild paced again, now not looking at Luna. He needed her to understand.

“What I dream, it could be reality. There’s nothing impossible about it!” he ranted, “Do you want it to happen? Do you want to see ponies die or be enslaved? You can’t let our worlds be connected! You can’t!” his voice broke then, and he had to pause for a second to regain his bearing, “I... what more can I say? I have to find where I was... where I was reborn, and then close that connection, destroy it,” he then turned a pleading look at Luna, “Do you believe me? I am telling the truth! None of this is a lie. Please, just...” he looked down, “Please just believe me.”  

Silence reigned for a short while.

“I believe you,” Luna nodded, and some sort of relief washed over Wild, “If this destruction is what humans are capable of, we must be prepared for the possibility.”

“For certainty,” Wild corrected, “You are weaker. You will all be killed. All your resources will be taken!”

“Is there no diplomatic solution?” Luna asked, “I can’t believe all of humans would be willing to destroy us.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s you, Wild.”

Wild blinked in confusion. Him? Did she forget who he was? Did she forget that he liked pain? He was perhaps not as bad as others, but...

“Wild, you are a good person,” Luna insisted, “A good person who was forced into bad situations. If you held those weapons, would you use them to kill us?”

“No!” Wild frantically denied, “Never!”

“And do you think you’re alone in this?” Luna asked, “Among all the humans, do you truly believe you’re the only one who wouldn’t want to see us dead?”

“You don’t understand,” Wild shook his head, “People in power... they don’t care. They will force everyone to fight. Those people, they only care about getting more power. They lie, they kill, they... they destroy everything because they don’t care about anyone!”

“But they’re not everyone.”

“They’re not, but they may as well be,” he snorted derisively, “Only power matters. You don’t have the weapons we do, and so someone would attack you for what you have. They don’t need a reason to justify themselves to anyone - they can just make up a reason. And people would believe it.”

Luna frowned, yet didn’t stop Wild as he spoke further.

“The only thing that matters is power,” he reiterated his point, “If you are stronger, others will bow to you and listen and obey. If you’re of the same power, you can... make an agreement,” he snorted at that, “But if you’re weaker... you will serve or you will die. There’s nothing else. And... and magic, it is powerful, yes, but it won’t - it can’t - save you. We have so many weapons of destruction, of mass destruction. We could kill everyone and still have plenty left. We can destroy everything and still have some left. And I mean everything. This all... greenery? Forests, lakes? It can be destroyed and turned into a desert.”

Wild slumped again, and the surroundings faded into nothingness, leaving just him and Princess Luna.

“Please...” he begged quietly, “Please understand. It’s not worth to connect to us. For every... for every stupid song, there are thousands of weapons. For every beautiful thing there is destruction. We humans are... not good. We don’t deserve help after all that we’ve done, all that we’re doing. I... I am lucky that I got here. It is nice here. It is peaceful,” a humorless smile stretched on his face, “Aside from... some painful exceptions. But it’s better here. It’s all... cleaner.”

Wild shook his head, looking down at the ground which remained under him even as everything else disappeared.  

“I can’t... explain it all properly,” he admitted, “There’s just... so much. We had two World Wars. I think... sixty million people died in them overall? I don’t remember. I wish I could forget. All this death, and for what? Sixty million people, probably more, just... killed for nothing. And there are still bombs and mines lying somewhere in wait, armed, ready to explode. Over seventy years passed since the last World War, but we’ve learned nothing.”

Wild sighed deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. He let the silence fill everything. There was little more he could say, certainly not with how jumbled his mind was right now.

“Wild,” Princess Luna called to him, “None of this is your fault. You can’t be blamed for what others do. I must be honest with you as well - you should not condemn everyone just because many are evil. What about those people who need help? People like you, Wild.”

He winced.  

“I...” he said, “I am lucky. I guess... I don’t want to destroy you. But I could want it. Others could want it.”

“Many people have wanted to destroy us over our existence,” Luna said, “Until they act, what they want can be addressed peacefully, redirected elsewhere. War is costly and war is awful - not many want it.”

“We are perfect at war,” Wild shook his head, “Many demand it.”

“But do they know what war is?”  

“Yes,” Wild said passionately, “They know. Everyone knows what war is. We are told, constantly, about wars. But it doesn’t stop. It never stops.”

“Wild...” Luna sighed, “I understand where you’re coming from. But... your perspective is biased. I know you believe what you’re saying, and you have reasons, good reasons for it. But I can’t see every human being evil. If our worlds are connected, there must be a reason for it, and maybe that reason is so that we can help each other.”

“We can’t help!” Wild jumped and glared at her, “We can’t! Don’t do it, don’t try to widen the connection! You’ll die!” he yelled, “You don’t understand, princess! If, if you make contact, you won’t be able to stop! They’ll know, everyone will know, and then people will try to, to take advantage of you, to take everything away from you!” he snorted in frustration, “Argh, why can’t I, why can’t I just convince you? What more do you need to understand?” a sob escaped him, to his horror, “I don’t want Equestria to die!”

He broke down into harsh sobs, hiding his head behind his magical hands. He wished he could just explain it all properly, to make Luna understand exactly why trying to contact Earth was an extremely bad idea, but he just couldn’t.  

It was all useless. Princess Luna was more powerful than him, more knowledgeable than him, smarter than him. She didn’t need him to figure things out, she didn’t need to even listen to him. Whatever he said, it was just not enough, and it would forever be not enough because he wasn’t enough.  

“Wild,” Luna called to him. He made himself turn to face her, “I am not disregarding what you told me. There will be an investigation into it all. You’re saying that there’s a connection point between your world and ours?”

Wild nodded.

“Then we will find it and we will secure it,” Luna nodded, “You are saying humans can be dangerous - we will be prepared for that possibility. We will not be idle. We ponies didn’t manage to build Equestria by ignoring the world and neither will we survive what is to come if we ignore your warning. I can promise you this much - we are not ignoring this.”

“That’s... good,” Wild nodded, “But will it be enough?”

“I do not know,” Luna admitted, “I do not believe there is a way to know. We will do our best to be prepared and hope that it will be enough if it comes to having to defend ourselves.”

“Alright,” Wild nodded again, and some part of him was relieved, “But I need to know. I need to know what you’re doing. We humans are... strong and persistent. We are the only sapient species on our planet, and we are dominating everything. You must be very careful.”

“And we will,” Luna nodded, “But we don’t need to continue discussing it now. You, I believe, need rest. The future will come, yes, and you need your strength to face it, and strength can only be replenished with rest.”

Wild nodded, and then he drifted off to sleep, as difficult as it was after this dream and this conversation. At the very least Luna listened and understood some of what he was trying to say. He hoped it would be enough.
> Chapter 61: Steps Forward
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild fell into an odd dream after the nightmare was done and over with. There was a sensation of softness like a bed, temperature of it not too hot and not too cold as he lay on top of it - in fact, it was as perfect as it could ever be. Next to him on the sheets was someone, an impression that he could not decipher but was pleasant. Wild was close to whoever they were, and they were touching, and it felt nice. There were motions, there was pleasure, yet there was nothing concrete.

Wild woke up with that pleasure and warmth clinging to him, lingering past the moment he opened his eyes and started coming to awareness. He closed his eyes again, unwilling to face the day just yet. He clung to the dreamy sensations, rolling on top of his bed until he was hugging one of the pillows close to him. He let out a long sigh, and his mouth stretched in an easy smile as he embraced the feeling. For a long moment, there was nothing but him and remembered impression of pleasure and comfort.

As he became more aware of the world outside of him, there was a sensation he recognized and, in part, dreaded. It was exactly the reason why his eyes shot open and his face flushed red. He kicked the comforter he was lying under aside and then scrambled out of bed.  

Wild breathed in, held it for a moment, then breathed out, trying his best to make his... whatever his feelings were disappear. They were a confusing mix of fear, shame, and, most importantly, desire.  

He knew it was just morning wood. He already had it once, and it wasn’t a surprise - shouldn’t have been a surprise - this time, and yet it was. Once he was in the bathroom, however, he managed to calm down. The sensation between his legs was not... unpleasant, he had to admit. Ever since he was thrust into this world, his body carried no aches from the past, after all. Perhaps he could... take a look. For a long time, he did his best to ignore that region of his body, which seemed like the safest route to take. However, things have changed.

The scars that bothered him were now certainly visibly faded, and the difference was obvious enough that he knew those scars would disappear very soon. The mark of ownership on his stomach would likewise go away as if it was never there. The last physical reminder of ever having been... abused would be gone.  

Wild breathed in, held it, breathed out. He could not give his very dead tormentors any possible satisfaction of still controlling his life. He, once again, reminded himself that they were now dead because of him. He had taken his revenge, he was satisfied with it - even if he could have prolonged their suffering, especially now that he knew it wasn’t wrong for him to feel pleasure at their pain. It was what they deserved, after all, even Princess Luna agreed, and that had to count for something. She was, whether she realized it or not, the highest authority in Equestria - he doubted anyone else’s opinion mattered nearly as much as hers, and... he had come to view her as an ally.  

He ripped out his feeling of shame. It was of no use, it was only holding him back. What his tormentors did to him could never be forgotten, but they held no control over him anymore. He wish he could torture them once more to remind himself that he was in control, that he took over them and then made them his victims, a role reversal that was simply right.

Wild could not be ashamed of himself, not anymore, certainly not for something that was not his fault. Luna told him it was not his fault, she was sincere about it, and he couldn’t help but believe her.  

If he could accept the mental part of himself that he believed was wrong, then why would he have difficulty with accepting a natural part of his own body? Despite that logic, however, he had to sit down and just breathe for a short while because his heart was beating faster than normal, because there was still a sense of anxiety rolling all over him.

Fortunately, he was all alone, and his bathroom had a lock that could not be opened from outside. Well, perhaps a skilled sorcerer could open it, but that was not important at the moment.

He finally looked at his nether regions, steeling himself for it. Then he paused when his eyes came upon them, and he blinked. He had known it was different, but to consciously and willingly look at it... it was now sinking just how different it all was. This... was helpful, he had to admit. This was not the body that was abused and defiled even if some scars carried over. The difference was as striking as it was important.

Wild, of course, had known for a long time that he was reborn as a male. And a mammal, of course, meaning that he had a penis. He huffed at the thought because of course, what else could he be? That was what he was used to, and he didn’t exactly know what he would feel like if he was instead put in a female body. He would probably feel... odd, but then he had no idea. He knew of people who had wrong bodies, but he had never felt that way, and he never really felt that it would be wrong for him to have a female body. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t care much about what kind of body he had as long as it was reasonably familiar. In truth, he was becoming more familiar with not having a body, when he was just a spirit, and spirits simply did not have any sexual characteristics. As far as he knew, at least.

His erection still hadn’t died down, so he examined what he actually had. The entire shape was... different, that was the description he decided to stick with. No foreskin - or, at least, not in a way that he recognized - was the first thing that came to mind. Then there was the head - it was far flatter than he was used to, and also less... separate, in a way. The color was obviously different - it was more of a dark blue, darker than his fur but not black, and it was certainly not white - not human white, at least, and that was not the same color as a pony white, which was actually white and not... pinky-beige color that ‘white’ human skin was.  

Wild shook his head slightly, returning from that thought to his... equipment. It was longer, thicker, and he had no idea where it stood in terms of either. He had never particularly cared about his size, though, like many other boys, he would pronounce himself big. He knew it had been foolish - it was not like he ever actually showed it to anyone.  

As far as Wild was concerned, his current size was alright. It did not seem particularly big or particularly small, at the very least. Not that he expected to put it to use anytime soon... although he... he could perhaps admit that he did dream of it. Maybe someday, he would have... sex. It was a nice thought, to be able to do it willingly, consensually, and for pleasure.  

Wild kept looking at it, even touched it a few times with his magical hands, but he decided he could not go any further, not that day. Instead, he went through his usual morning routine, bringing back some normalcy to his life. As water ran down his body, it washed away his concerns and worries, at least for the time-being.  

This day, he had no martial arts classes of any kind and neither did he have to go with Artful to the arts club. Wild was fairly certain drawing or painting wasn’t for him. They required too much sitting in one place while needing too much focus. Perhaps he would start painting faster without having to pay much attention to it if he got good enough, but he didn’t believe this kind of art was what he wanted to do.

However, he had heard of a music club, and there was something inside of him that thrilled at the idea of joining it. He couldn’t exactly play an instrument, but... he wished to sing. His mother was a good singer, and he was, or at least had been some time ago, decent enough at it that he could improve further quickly. Perhaps what little he had managed to learn back then would return to him if only he put time and effort into it. Unfortunately for him, he was painfully aware of his difficulties with speaking to others. Going from that to singing, especially in front of an audience? He... was uncertain if he would ever accomplish it.

Wild straightened in resolution - even if that was beyond him now, he could try. He had to try. He had to overcome his weaknesses, and that could not be done without doing something about them.

He made his way to the cafeteria for breakfast, got his food, sat down, and waited. If he was correct, his... acquaintances would be there soon. He still did not know whether he could call them friends, and he wondered whether it would ever change, if he would ever... tell them of who he truly was. Friendships could not be built on deception and avoidance, and one day he would have to admit to who he was and await whatever would come next. If... if they went to refuse to know him then, then perhaps... perhaps they would be the wrong people to turn to for friendship. Wild could do nothing about what happened to him, could not turn back time to change his very essence, could not tear apart himself to throw away parts of himself that he did not like or parts that others would condemn.  

Wild knew where this bout of energy and willingness to do what he would otherwise avoid came from - it was the reminder that humans were not far despite the seemingly infinite distance between this world and the Earth. If they ever came here, he would need to be without weakness, and he would need allies and friends so that others would believe when he came to them with explanations of what humanity was and what it could do - would do given the chance.   

He never thought himself a savior of anyone, but perhaps his knowledge, his experiences, everything that made him him could be used to help someone, to preserve this world he found himself in. If he struck back against that which he hated and despised, all the better. If armies came, he would stand against them in body and in spirit. He might be insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but he refused to give up now, no matter what bleak end to this world his dreams told him was possible.  

To his luck, the first of the people he knew who approached him was Precision. He breathed in deeply but not loudly in order to avoid her noticing something was going to happen. He could hear his heartbeat in his head, and it took him everything not to deflate and surrender to the rising desire of being somewhere, anywhere but where he was. He had to do this.

“Hello,” he greeted her shyly, quietly, and he had to let out a small cough despite nothing being stuck in his throat. That singular word would have to be enough for now.

Thankfully for him, there was but a small pause in Precision’s steps as she reached his table and sat down near him.

“Hi, Wild,” she greeted him, “How are you?”

He knew what the words meant, but it still took his brain an embarrassingly long time to process them. It was a short pause, but certainly not one regular people would ever have in a conversation as easy as this one.  

“I am... well,” he replied, his mouth forming words with difficulty only partially stemming from still being largely unfamiliar with forming the proper sounds and their combinations. He swallowed, then decided to elaborate despite how much he wanted this conversation to end, “I am doing good with everything. But my language is bad.”

That much was clear to anyone who heard him, of course, but speaking it out loud was... something. He couldn’t yet decide what it was.

“I think it’s fine,” Precision shrugged seemingly nonchalantly, “You’ll get better like with everything you do.”

“I... will,” he nodded and turned to his food. For now, he was spent. Silence was what he needed for the time-being, and Precision understood it - she didn’t push, deciding to eat as well. Wild was grateful for it. 

Next person who came to his table was Artful, probably his favorite person among everyone Wild knew. Except perhaps Luna, although he did not think he had a place for her on favorite acquaintances list. He liked her very well for her help and guidance, but he couldn’t easily imagine himself eating with her like he was doing now. Knowing people, all those relationships, were... complicated beyond belief sometimes.  

“Hello, Art-ful,” he greeted him. His name was just easier to say than Precision’s.  

“Oh,” Artful blinked, then smiled, “You’ve a nice voice.”

Wild nearly sputtered, his cheeks heating up as any and all words died somewhere in his chest before they could be breathed out into words. His voice was nice? As far as he was concerned, it sounded somewhat ugly, definitely awkward, and very unpracticed. Nothing like a much more refined way of speaking everyone else had.  

If he were entirely honest with himself, it had been a very long time since he thought about anything of his that was nice or had any beauty to it. He knew he wasn’t particularly good-looking or good-sounding or good... anything.

He blinked at his food. Maybe... he wasn’t seeing something. If... if he could only ask.

And he could. He would.  

He gained Artful’s attention when he turned to him.  

“You...” Wild swallowed. Word by word, he would claw his way up from the pit of silence. His heart was beating fast, but it only meant he was alive. He was alive and he would remain so, and his life belonged to him, and that meant one thing - he had to fight for it. He cleared his throat, “You think... my voice is...” he then almost whispered the last word, “Nice?”

“Um, yeah,” Artful nodded with a blush on his face, “The more you talk, the, um, the more I... like your voice. It’s just... nice.”

Wild had no idea what to say to that, and he turned to Precision. She simply gave him a grin, which answered nothing.  

Breakfast was spent in a sort of awkward yet warm atmosphere, and Wild was glad Swingblade decided not to show up - he felt like he was done with this entire day there and then already.

***

Unfortunately, while he was perhaps done with the day, the day wasn’t done with him. He was reminded - not by anyone other than himself, thankfully - that he had to finish the sexuality education book. At least he had already the fact that he was not a sexually healthy adult out of the way.  

Not much further into the book was yet another list of things Wild would need to adhere to if he were to become sexually healthy. He steeled himself and started applying each point to himself, ready for disappointment, knowing it would come.

A sexually healthy adult will:

- Discriminate between life-enhancing sexual behaviors and those that are harmful to self and/or others.

Wild was certainly very aware that some things were not to be done and were, indeed, harmful. However, beyond the stark difference of consensual and non-consensual, he didn’t really know much else. It was not a complete failure, but he was certainly deficient in it.

- Express one’s sexuality while respecting the rights of others.

That one was easy for Wild. He would never force himself on others in any way, and he did not care what anyone else did as long as it was all consensual. How other people did things, it was their business, not his. He could perhaps give himself a pass on this one.

- Seek new information to enhance one’s sexuality.

Wild had to giggle at that. Was this book suggesting him to look up pornography? That was probably not what they meant, but it could be included. Wild had not really looked up any porn in a long time, and... he did wonder what ponies had, even though the idea of looking at it was... he didn’t really know. It was not disgusting since it was not animal porn, but it was... unusual to him. Ponies were, of course, sapient, and so there were no issues with him perhaps someday having sex with them - he was physically a pony as well - but there was still doubt in his mind. Perhaps he didn’t yet fully believe himself to be a pony, did not trust this knowledge completely. It was something... to work on.

- Engage in sexual relationships that are consensual, non-exploitative, honest, pleasurable, and protected.

Wild would never have an objection to that. If he ever found himself in doing anything contrary to that, he would gladly cut his own throat and choke on his own blood, for it was the least he would deserve.  

- Practice health-promoting behaviors, such as regular check-ups, teats and testicular self-exam, and early identification of potential problems.

He would be working on that. His health, he knew, was important. Although he was not particularly looking forward to anyone other than himself doing any sort of examination. He would still have to look into it later. This was a point that he would definitely follow... as soon as he could.  

- Use contraception effectively to avoid unintended pregnancy

That certainly did not apply to him, and he chuckled at that. Pregnancy and what he wanted were two very incompatible things.

- Avoid contracting or transmitting a sexually transmitted disease

He knew he would be very careful with whom he had sex with - provided he would ever be able to go that far. He wondered what the situation was with STDs among ponies and if... there were cross-species... things. He decided not to think of that yet.

There was yet another point about unwanted pregnancies which he skipped. And then another one after that. He knew he would not be having kids anyway, and he was not attracted to women at all, so he simply didn’t need to worry about it.  

- Help prevent sexual abuse.

He... would need to look up and find out how. If he could help someone avoid what he had gone through, he would do that in a heartbeat.  

- Demonstrate respect for people with different sexual values.

He could do that. This was, fortunately, an easy point. As long as no one bothered him, he would bother no one in turn.

- Exercise political responsibility to influence legislation dealing with sexual issues.

Wild’s experience with politics so far had been a singular visit to a debate club and signing the petition to prevent the branding of changelings. With time, he could perhaps go further, although he had never really been political, so he could see there would be many difficulties ahead of him.

- Assess the impact of family, cultural, media, and societal messages on one’s thoughts, feelings, values, and behaviors related to sexuality.

That one was pretty obvious to him. Gay people were hated by society - or at least disliked - and so he had to hide his own sexuality for the fear of being hurt or killed. He hoped he would not have to fear that now, and there were good signs that he could be open about himself. There was probably more to it, but this one thing impacted him most of all.

- Critically examine the world around them for biases based on gender, sexual orientation, culture, ethnicity, and race.

Wild... was not sure how to do that aside from spotting obvious hate and dislike and distaste. He would need to find out more about it.

- Promote the rights of all people to accurate sexuality information.

He nodded to himself - that much he could do. He didn’t want to be one of those people who believed one could get ‘gregnant’ or ‘pregante’ or whatever because of holding hands or something.  

- Avoid behaviors that exhibit prejudice and bigotry.

As far as Wild was aware, he was not prejudiced or bigoted. This point was... covered, perhaps. He never hated black people or Jews or other minorities, so he was probably fine.  

- Reject stereotypes about the sexuality of different populations.

In truth, he wasn’t even aware such stereotypes existed in the first place. Another topic he would have to look into it.

There was, finally, one last point he had to read in this list.  

- Educate others about sexuality.

This... he was not ready for. Even after he learned what he could about it, he doubted he would be able to easily repeat it. Sexuality was just not something he was very open about, and he didn’t think it would change anytime soon. Others could do the job better than him anyway, and so he would let them do just that.  

He put the book down after making sure the list was over. At least he was done with figuring out how sexually healthy he was. And, in truth, it was better than he expected.  

Unfortunately, there was still a large part of the book to finish, but he had made progress. He would get through it all, he would take control over his sexuality, he would not be afraid anymore.  

It would just take time.
> Chapter 62: Goals
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild finally received the list of ponies that could help him with practically everything he wanted, from picking what to study to job searching, from solving small interpersonal issues to developing himself into a leader. Simply put, if it could be named, it was on the list. It was honestly mind-blowing just how many options he had, how many paths he could take. In truth, it was quite overwhelming. For all the difficulties his life had had, it was relatively simple and straightforward. Now that he was presented with far more options than he honestly knew what to do with... he decided it would be best if he retreated, at least for the moment.

Wild put the list away, taking a mental note to review it later down the line. Aa part of him whispered that he would never pick it up again but he brushed it away. He would, but... just not now. There was still time, and he didn’t need to do everything right away. There were more important thing anyway, like the first item on his agenda - finding a job. After all, he was actually an adult - even if he didn’t feel like it at all - and an adult needed to have a job. Or, at the very least, he knew he was supposed to have a job as an adult, to pay for his own life. He was told he wouldn’t be kicked out of the Royal Orphanage, and he did believe it despite the skepticism he felt, but he would much rather be independent. This independency, however, was not something he could easily achieve, certainly not with how he was at the moment.  

Wild was perfectly aware he needed help. Humans - and ponies - were not made to act alone, to live a life without companionship or assistance. But he felt he had already taken far too much without giving anything in return. For plenty of people, taking it all without a second thought would be natural, but he wasn’t like that. He had asked for more than he felt he honestly deserved to get, and even this far he was no longer sure he would ever be able to repay for it all in his entire lifetime, however long it would turn out to be.

Wild met with Artful, who shared good news with him - the proposal for the branding of changelings was struck down completely and utterly with just a small minority of ponies supporting it, which a nation-wide survey showed clearly. The most vocal proponents of this measure were people Wild considered the most detached from reality and the concept of empathy - the wealthy and the powerful. Thankfully, Princess Luna and Princess Celestia both opposed the branding of changelings, and Wild was very glad for that.  

Wild asked Artful to remember the names of those who wanted to brand the changelings.

“Why?”

Wild swallowed, then forced his answer out vocally: “Because they... will not stop. They want it. Even if... even if not with changelings,” he grimaced, then signed that he wasn’t explaining it right, and what he meant was that it likely wasn’t the first time they wanted something awful done and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. Thus it made sense to keep an eye on those people so that anything evil could be spotted before it became reality. Wild, after some hesitation, spoke up again, “And it does not matter law not allows it. If they can do it... they will do it. Even if law not allows it.”

Artful nodded slowly.

“I guess it makes sense,” he frowned, “I just... don’t want to think some people don’t have anything against something as bad as this.”

“Many people are evil,” Wild said with conviction, “They do what they want no matter what.”

Artful decided not to comment on that, and Wild was thankful - he suspected Artful was smart enough to recognize that Wild had personal experience with it.  

“Well, even if the changelings aren’t going to be branded, there’s still stuff about restricting their movement, jobs, all that,” Artful continued, “But that doesn’t help anyone. Don’t they understand that if they make all that into law, it will only drive changelings back to people like Queen Chrysalis?”

Wild signed that perhaps it was what they wanted.  

“Why?” Artful blinked at him in confusion.

Wild explained that if they profit from this in any way, then that was the reason why.  

“That’s disgusting!”

Wild nodded - it definitely was. He then signed that many people just want to see others suffer, and they would not stop at trying to get more from it.

Some time later as they continued to talk about politics, Artful spoke thoughtfully.

“You know, you’re pretty good at pointing all these things out,” he said, “I think you’ll do really well in the Politics Club.”

Wild grimaced and shook his head.

“No,” he said, “I... am not good in talking a lot. And, in the club, it is a lot of talking in...” he then made a gesture of a circle because he forgot the word for it, “I do not want that.”

“It’s not always like this, but...” Artful deflated, “It often is. It can be pretty frustrating, yeah, so I understand. Just, I think you’d be a great politician.”

Wild knew it wasn’t intended as an insult, but him, a politician? That sounded like a joke. He tried to imagine himself wearing a suit and a tie, standing there with a polite but fake smile doing... things politicians did, like lying and ignoring what people wanted. Even if he had a chance to be a honest politician, which he could probably be if he ever somehow got the job, he barely knew anything about what it all entailed. In all fairness, that didn’t exactly make him any less qualified than many others. However, he firmly believed it would not be a good idea to give him power. Perhaps he was right when it came to the changelings, but what about anything else? It was entirely possible for him to mess up and cause more harm than good.  

However, there was a certain appeal to make things run like how he wanted them to run. Unfortunately, he had no idea what solutions he would propose to various problems, what policies he would want to make into law, and how to enforce that law. It made his head spin just thinking about the law, considering just how many laws there were - or, at the very least, he expected many laws to be there. After all, he knew only the basics like no murdering and stealing, but there were taxes and some other things that he knew precisely nothing about, and those topics were very far from being simple.

In the end, thankfully, Artful distracted him with another, entirely different topic.

“Are you going on a Canterlot trip?” he asked.

“What... trip?”  

Wild silently cursed himself for being so unaware of things that he had completely missed something that Artful obviously expected him to know. He needed to pay more attention to things around him, that much was clear.

“Well, just a trip to Canterlot,” Artful shrugged, “We’ll ride on a train and then visit places. I can’t wait to take a look inside the Royal Canterlot Art Gallery! They have so many beautiful pieces, you know! I saw pictures of them, but to see them in person, to look close and see the brush strokes...” he blushed, “It’d b-be amazing, that’s what I’m saying.”

Wild remembered how he wanted to discover more of the world around him, and perhaps... perhaps this trip would actually be just what he needed to start. He had already seen Canterlot, but he would rather not have a repeat of that night. A peaceful visit during daytime would be much preferable, and he would also be able to see the details of the city and not just the general outline that he knew from his memory. As the capital of Equestria, Canterlot would undoubtedly have many things of interest for him to look at.

Wild decided to ask if there was anyone else he knew that would be going. It didn’t hurt to know, after all.

“Not sure, I don’t think so?” Artful flicked one of his ears thoughtfully. Something inside Wild tingled at the display, and he didn’t know what it was. He suspected what it was, but he decided not to look any closer, “The trip is also for everyone who’s over thirteen.”

Wild asked why the age limit was there.

“Well, it’s uh,” Artful’s face reddened, “It includes possible visits to, uh... like, more adult parts, you know? Not foal-friendly.”

Wild’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but ask if Artful was joking.

“No, why?” he looked at Wild oddly, “It happens all the time.”

Wild knew for a fact that something of this sort would never happen on Earth. Whether it was for a good reason or not... he wasn’t exactly sure. He decided to ask Artful what it all entailed.

“Well, there’s the Museum of Sexuality,” Artful managed to say with more or less a straight face despite his blush, “It’s, uh... well... history of intimacy and stuff in our, um, society. Like, did you know Starswirl the Bearded was really, um, promiscuous, and, uh, used magic to erase pretty much every STD?”

Wild asked what STD meant.

“Uh, sexually transmitted diseases.”

Wild nodded slowly at that. Magic, it appeared, could be... definitely quite neat. If he was calmer, he’d probably found this historical fact amusing.

“So yeah, that whole thing sparked a bit of a, uh, sexual revolution,” Artful tried to shrug casually but his face remained red, “So yeah, this stuff and that stuff. And... well, more stuff. You’ll see.”

A younger version of Wild would probably be sold on the idea. As he was now... he wasn’t sure. Sexual things continued to bother him, and not in a good way either. However, he knew he would have to deal with sex somehow if he wished to overcome the trauma of his past. Safe exposure would... likely do him good. He wasn’t entirely certain, but he was willing to try, and that had to count for something.

Wild asked when the trip would take place.  

“Eleven days from now,” Artful replied, “You also gotta sign up. I guess we can do that right now if you want?”

Wild hesitated for a brief moment before giving a nod. If he declined, he knew he would be thinking about it way too much and way too hard. It would be easier to get himself signed up now so that he wouldn’t have to worry about making a decision about it later.  

“By the way, did you pass the, um, sexuality education test yet?” Artful asked as they walked. Wild shook his head, “Well, you should pass it. You, uh, know everything, right?”

Wild signed that he wasn’t that far ahead but knew the basics already, and he would take the test soon. He then admitted that he knew about sex, and he felt his own cheeks heat up a bit.  

“Oh, uh, good then.”

They didn’t talk for a while as Artful led Wild to the pony who would lead the trip. They were called Summer Winds, a dark-gray pegasus with a long and messy mane and tail of blue and cyan, and they had a couple earrings on each ear as well as a ring in one of the nostrils. Their talent mark was some kind of a geometric pattern Wild couldn’t tell the meaning of. The name seemed familiar but he couldn’t place where he read it, and he was certain he read it and not heard it.

“Hi,” the pegasus was in the middle of filling some paperwork when Artful and Wild entered, “You’re here to sign up for the trip, right?”

“I’m already signed up, my friend Wild is going with me,” Artful said. Wild felt something warm up inside of him at being called a friend, and... perhaps he could call Artful a friend too. It seemed right.

“Oh, Artful, right?” Summer Winds looked at him, “Yep, remember you. So,” she turned to Wild, “Who might you be?”

Wild licked his lips and opened his mouth.

“Wild,” he said, loud enough to be heard, but he knew he wasn’t quite loud enough to come off as confident.  

“Wild, uh huh,” the pegasus nodded, not commenting on Wild’s tone at all as far as he could tell. They then scribbled his name on the list, then eyed him for a bit before adding the appropriate colors next to his name, “You’re lucky, not many spots left for that day. Alright, done. Anything else I can help you with?”

Wild shook his head.

“Alrighty, then I’ll see y’all there!” they gave both Wild and Artful a beaming smile.  

Wild sighed internally in relief - now with that out of the way, he could only wait. And, of course, there was still the matter of passing his sexual education test, and he hoped he would be able to go through the entire book about it soon despite how much trouble it had been giving him. Introspection was not something he was often willing to do, yet it appeared he had to do it if he was to learn all that he needed to know.  

Life was going forward, and he had to move alongside it.

***

Wild had another session of swordsmanship training and, if he were honest with himself, he was growing bored and less enthusiastic about it. He was strong, he was agile, and he, no boasting required, was the best at it among everyone else in the club. Of course, his skills were a lifetime commitment, so he was still improving day by day, but... something was now missing, and he believed it was the difficulty. It hadn’t been particularly hard ever since he joined, but it had become an absolute cakewalk recently. Now that he could utilize his thought-catching ability, he often could feel where exactly and how his opponent would move. It was more difficult the more his opponent relied on muscle memory, as Wild didn’t have much time to react there, but it still gave him enough of an edge that he was just a tiny bit faster than he would otherwise be, and that was enough for him to consistently win every spar.  

Wild thought that perhaps he could pick up a different weapon to train with, something new that would force him to learn, to adapt. He preferred his saber, which he was the best at, and his second weapon of choice was a longsword, which he was also good at if not to the same degree. Perhaps he could pick up crossbow training or even a bow - whichever would prove to be more difficult. Perhaps he could train with a spear, but spears were generally universal weapons that anyone could use without much training, so he didn’t expect he would like it very much. He could probably pick up dual wielding: a sword and a shield or a sword and a dagger, something of that sort. Not having physical hands to get in the way did somewhat allow for dual wielding of identical weapons, but the weapons themselves could get in the way of each other, so it was not the best option. He could admit that it did have an appeal in terms of dramatics, but Wild didn’t think he was a particularly artistic person. Of course, as a child, he did all sorts of spinning and other tricks after seeing Star Wars, but that was hardly anything that could be used in a real duel. Swordsmanship, he had learned, was not nearly as flashy as anything he had ever seen in the movies.

Fortunately for him, it appeared his boredom would be alleviated soon - after his latest swordsmanship training, he was approached by his trainer Swift Strike.

“I am recommending you to represent our club in the nation-wide tournament,” he declared without preamble, “I’ve never seen a student as skillful as you, and I am proud to say that you deserve to represent the best of us to the entire country. Do you accept it?”

Wild nodded - he was looking forward to another tournament, and he might as well get into something as important as this. Besides, it would be a great test, allowing him to put all the effort he possibly could towards winning. 

“Good,” Swift Strike nodded, “It will take place in Canterlot in around forty days from now - the exact date isn’t specified yet. There will be a monetary prize as well as access to the Royal Blacksmith who will forge a weapon of your choice for you - should you win, of course. You will be fighting against many opponents from all corners of Equestria, including Canterlot nobility. They have been trained in dueling since they could walk, and if you know anything about how ponies grow up, you know it’s very nearly from birth. Without a doubt, you will not find it easy to win - which, I imagine, will make victory even sweeter. I will send you a list of rules as well as guidelines over how participants are graded. Any questions?”

Wild thought for a moment, then shook his head. He would figure things out if problems arose, but everything seemed relatively straightforward so far.

“Good. This is a great opportunity for you, and it will bring honor and glory to our club should you do even half as well as usual,” Swift Strike nodded, “And I hope you will go above and beyond in order to win.”

Wild left with a spring in his step and a goal in his mind - winning that tournament would surely put him closer to achieving something in his life, and having some starting money would, at the very least, make it easier to set up his life once he was out of the Royal Orphanage. If the sum was great enough, perhaps it would act as a starting point. He had a feeling that this tournament would not skimp on rewards, considering how large it would be and how important it was.  

Wild would be ready.
> Chapter 63: Learning to Understand
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day Wild was dreading yet also was looking forward to had finally arrived. Now that political things had calmed down somewhat in Canterlot, Princess Luna made her return to the Royal Orphanage alongside her sister Princess Celestia.  

Wild, after having breakfast, did his best to avoid Princess Celestia, unsure of how well seeing her again would feel like and not wishing to find out, at least just yet. He could perhaps understand why she did what she did, and she supposedly offered apologies, but... he simply wanted to stay away from her for a while. With time, the events would grow distant enough that, hopefully, he wouldn’t react too oddly to her when they inevitably saw each other again and, possibly, talk about him in length. He had not forgotten that it was Princess Celestia who initially took care of him, and it would definitely be too much to hope for that she had forgotten about him.

All things considered, it would simply be better for him to put as much distance as he could between her and himself, and so he visited the hospital wing with the intention of seeing Lina, perhaps to have a game of checkers or chess. This would serve as a nice distraction from everything. However, when he arrived, he was told she was undergoing treatment elsewhere and wouldn’t return for a few days at the very least. He was disappointed yet he also wondered if she was finally getting what she wanted - a new body. If that was indeed the case, he could only wish her the best of luck.  

His own body was fine enough, and now that the scars were fading, it was becoming better by the day. Soon, the only physical reminder of his past life would be the scar on his left ear. Perhaps his eye color could count as well - as far as he could tell, the color was identical, and the pattern of fibers or whatever made up the iris of his eyes was also the same. However, there were no negative associations to be had with the color of his eyes - they were just gray, nothing terribly attractive yet nothing particularly ugly. In short, they were unremarkable, and he couldn’t remember a single instance of anyone ever commenting on them.  

He considered himself fortunate for not having any serious body image issues. With somewhat grim humor, he thought that it was one thing he didn’t have to get therapy for, so that it was a small blessing. However, he knew he was not mentally well, and so he showed up on time for his therapy session with Princess Luna. In part, he was dreading it, and yet he was also looking forward to it. One day, perhaps he would fix everything that was wrong with him, and then everything would be alright. Distantly, he knew it was too much to hope for - one did not return to what they were before the trauma no matter how good the therapy would be. However, this was a thought he did not dare approach, not yet.

“Hello, Wild,” Luna greeted him as he entered the room, “Please, take a seat,” once he did, she asked, “How have you been? Just in general.”

Wild hummed for a moment, made an aborted gesture, then deeply inhaled. He had been speaking more and more, and there was nothing to fear about speaking to her, especially when she was the first person he had spoken to in this world. Everyone had so far said nothing negative about his voice despite his own dislike of it, fortunately, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that. Artful even called his voice nice, which he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around, but... it had certainly been pleasant to hear that. It was baffling, considering that Wild was well aware that he did not sound anywhere close to nice, yet he also couldn’t detect any hint of a lie in Artful’s words. This was an odd conundrum he decided to put off until... someday later in the possibly future.  

Despite the fact that speaking didn’t give him as many issues as before, he still had to steel himself in order to open his mouth and form the words he wanted to vocalize.

“It’s... alright,” he settled on saying, “Despite... everything. I am doing better,” then, without having to be prompted, he told her about what was going on: the political club he had taken a part in once, the nation-wide tournament he intended to fight in, as well as the planned visit to Canterlot. In the end, he also mentioned sexual education. It took a feat of his strength of will to admit to anything relating to the topic, but he managed it.

“I am so proud of you, Wild,” Princess Luna positively beamed at him, making him both warm inside and slightly uncomfortable at the praise, “I am glad to see you talking about such things.”

“Yes,” he nodded, “I must do it. I... can’t avoid it. It is best to... head on, on this,” he then launched into the explanation of what he had learned and how it applied to himself, forcing himself to say the words even if he wanted nothing more than to be silent about it. Princess Luna was trustworthy, she had proven it time and time again, and so Wild decided to confide in her. She had not chosen to harm him so far, so he doubted she would choose it in the future. Besides, it felt... good, to reveal parts of himself to someone. It made him feel oddly lighter. Luna had also not shown any sexual interest in him - thankfully - and so he felt comfortable with sharing the general things he learned about the topic of sexuality. Of course, he knew he would never tell her of... any time he actually had sex, if that time ever came. Ponies were more open about this sort of stuff, he had learned, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable with it personally.  

“And...” he prepared himself mentally for something he knew wasn’t likely to come, but it didn’t hurt. It would hurt if he was wrong, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it... or, hopefully, if he came to it, “I am gay. I... do not need to know about pregnancy.”

“Why do you think so?” Luna asked him with a frown.

“Um... think what?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t about-

“Why do you think you don’t need to know anything about pregnancies?”

Wild felt relief at her not questioning why he thought he was gay. He knew he was gay. No amount of pretty girls could ever change it, although he had once tried... just to see if he could be ‘normal’. However, girls simply could not excite him whatsoever.  

He had heard of the so-called conversion camps where children were sent to be tortured into normality, and to this day a shudder went up his spine each time he remembered it. He would forever be grateful that his parents had never sent him there and never would have. He knew who he was and he learned to accept it, and his family had known who he was and accepted him in turn. It was the best outcome he could have, one that many never got to experience.

“Because... uh,” he said, “Because I like stallions. They don’t get pregnant.”

“Some do,” Luna gently corrected him. At his confused expression, she elaborated, “There are stallions with a female reproductive system, and, if they didn’t choose otherwise, they can get pregnant.”

Wild’s brain short-circuited a bit. Males getting pregnant... did not make sense. But then... perhaps someone who’s a man having a female reproductive system wasn’t the most outrageous thing to exist. He was, after all, in an entirely different world filled with many sapient species, and there was also magic. So, in a sense, something like men getting pregnant was not out of the ordinary.

It was not out of the ordinary, Wild told himself. Equestria wasn’t Earth, and ponies weren’t human, so...

“At one point in the past, it was, of course, not thought so,” Luna continued her explanation, “It was thought that only mares could get pregnant and only stallions could get others pregnant. Our understanding of gender and sex at the time was, unfortunately, limited. I would wager a guess that your own world’s understanding of that topic is not far from that, correct?”

Wild nodded, then said, “Yes, and... most of the world does not accept gay existing.”

“That’s awful,” Luna frowned, and Wild couldn’t exactly disagree. Not having to hide who he was certainly made his life easier here, although he had yet to openly proclaim himself gay anywhere. In fact, only Luna knew he was gay, at least for now. And... it appeared she indeed accepted him. That was certainly a relief, and Wild slumped slightly in his seat, his body losing the almost painful rigidity he had been holding ever since he spoke the words that, in many other places, would condemn him. Luna continued, “I hope you know that you can be open about who you are here. It is no one’s business who you like or dislike sexually or romantically or any other way, and it is likewise no one’s business whom you choose or do not choose to have sex with provided there is clear consent.”

“I would never break consent,” Wild said, vehemence in his voice, “Never.”

Luna paused, thoughts roiling in her head. She probably realized that telling this to a survivor of repeated sexual assault was... not exactly necessary. However, Wild wasn’t about to point it out, considering that most people probably needed a reminder once in a while because they simply didn’t know how it would feel if... things went wrong.  

“But I need to know more,” Wild continued, breaking the tension somewhat, “I... am not a... sexually healthy adult. And... I will learn about pregnancy,” he decided not to voice the thought that he was unlikely to have sex with someone who had a vagina. It would certainly be... awkward. He knew he needed time to get used to the idea that stallions could get pregnant. It was also only logical to assume that mares could also have a... male reproductive system. Another somewhat odd idea, but he was a problem there, not others. In truth, and it was a bit painful to admit, he was the odd one in this situation.

It was somewhat ironic that he wasn’t normal by either human or pony standards. However, he was perfectly willing to become at least somewhat close to pony standards of normal. He felt he would fit far better there.  

This therapy session continued, and Wild found himself without much more to say.

“I think... I will be fine,” he said, “I am making things better. It is... difficult, but I can do it. I know where I am... not good. But I will be better.”

“That’s good to hear,” Luna nodded, “I have a question for you, Wild, and I would ask that you answer it honestly. Do you hate yourself?”

Wild didn’t have to think much about how to answer this.  

“Less than before,” he said, “I now know I am not bad because I am a... a uh... a person who likes making- causing pain.”

“But you still hate yourself to some degree?”

Wild looked down away from Luna’s eyes, shamefully. There was only one answer he could give to that, and he knew it wasn’t normal.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I told you before,” he said, “Because I am human.”

“Wild, do you remember what I told you about circumstances that are out of your control?”

“...Yes,” he admitted, “But it doesn’t change anything. I am still human. I am still... like them. Bad humans are everywhere, so there is something bad to being a human. What... what we are, it is... natural.”

“I do not know anything about humans that didn’t come from you, but do you truly believe that you are irredeemably evil because of the species you were born as? Have you not met good humans?”

“Good humans are good in spite of humanity,” Wild argued, “You have to fight against nature to be... better. We hurt each other always, all the time. Everywhere, in any place, in any... group. In any country, any land. We are the same everywhere.”

Luna closed her eyes for a moment and slowly breathed out. Wild’s own breath was faster, his heartbeat not quite racing but raised all the same.

“What would it take to prove that you are not defined by your circumstances of birth?” she settled on asking.

Wild frowned and turned thoughtful, gears turning inside his head. He didn’t want to be a human, yet he was, but maybe there was something that would... make him better, maybe prove that he wasn’t like the others. It was perhaps a futile hope, but he wanted it, needed it, and...

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice defeated, “I don’t know...”

Silence reigned for a while, Wild’s eyes downcast as random incoherent thoughts swirled inside his mind, unsettled. Luna looked thoughtful, and Wild knew she was also looking sad, and he hated that he made her look this way. However, there was nothing that he could fix it with.

“Let us try something,” Luna finally spoke up, “Let us say we will meet again in two weeks. Between now and then, I want you to do a couple of things for me - think of it like homework. I know it may prove to be difficult, I know it may grow frustrating, but are you willing to put in the effort for those two weeks at the very least?”

Wild wanted to be better, so he nodded, even if he didn’t expect this to work.

“Alright. First, I would like you to journal your thoughts. At the end of each day, write down your thoughts on what happened during it. It doesn’t matter what it is, you simply write it down. See if you can figure out what you feel as well, describe it in as much detail as you can. For example, if you got angry, write down why, write down if anything made you calm down, and so on.”

To Wild, it sounded painful enough already. Write his thoughts down? However, it wouldn’t last for very long, so he kept his complaints unspoken.  

“The next thing I want to do will no doubt sound difficult, but I would like you to be kind to yourself.”

Wild looked up at her, confusion clearly plastered on his face.

“Try to treat yourself like you would treat a friend,” Luna elaborated, “Would you want your friend to suffer, would you beat them down for how they were born?”

“No!” Wild protested immediately.

“Then try to apply that to yourself as well,” Luna nodded, “Try to write down your strengths or positive traits. If you find it difficult, ask your friends what they think your positive traits are, what they like about yourself.”

Wild was nearly horrified - ask other people how they see him? He may as well demand an execution right away. People had been... nice to him, but if they were honest, and he would know if they were... perhaps they would finally reveal that they didn’t like him and speak the reasons why. He knew he wasn’t likable, and he expected others to easily see why. But to actually know what they thought... He didn’t want to.

Worst of all, he would also know if their words were truth or lie. He didn’t know if he would handle them lying to him about how they liked him only to privately think that he was worthless.

“Next, I would like you to be mindful about how and what you feel,” Luna continued, “Take your time to recognize what you are feeling and why. If you are facing a problem, first acknowledge how it makes you feel before you start searching for a solution. Can you do it all for me, for just two weeks?”

Wild hesitated but nodded. He was... willing to try. Perhaps not fully willing as he thought it was likely a waste of time and would do nothing, but then he was perfectly aware he understood nothing about psychology. Maybe it was some sort of trickery that would, for the lack of a better word, unlock something within him, maybe even set him free. It was... a nice thought.

“Now, I have something for you,” Luna put a small book on the desk, “This book will help you identify the emotions you feel. If you do not know what you feel, you can look it up in this book. You may keep it for as long as you like.”

Wild took the book - perhaps he would now have fewer times when he felt something but couldn’t really describe it. Looking back, he could see that it happened quite often.

“Thank you,” he told Luna sincerely. In truth, this was... a very thoughtful gift.  

“You’re welcome,” Luna smiled at him, “Now, I believe our session is coming to an end... unless there is something you want to speak to me about?”

Wild thought for a moment about discussing Doctor Fay with her but, if he were honest with himself, he wanted to leave and have some time for himself, time to think things over as well as start on the things Luna wanted him to do. Doctor Fay and the way she helped him with taking his first steps towards figuring out a job was important, without a doubt, but he thought it wasn’t particularly relevant, so he decided not to bring it up. He could always do it later if he ever needed to, and he didn’t think he needed it. The topic of getting a job and anything similar could be done with Doctor Fay in the first place anyway, and anything concerning his feelings could be done with Luna. It made sense to him, so that was the path he decided to take.

Thanking Luna once again, Wild exited the room. He breathed a sigh of relief as he did, and then decided he would do well to lie down and not think about anything for a while. If he deserved anything, it was a moment’s reprieve from everything, and he intended to take it.
> Chapter 64: New Experience
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the end of the day, Wild was back in his dorm. A notebook was in front of him, and a pen was in his magical grasp. He tapped the end of it against his mouth, his expression thoughtful, a light frown on his face. On the open page of the notebook, there was one simple sentence.

The day was fine.

It was, in part, truth. The day could have been worse... a lot worse.  

Luna asked him to think about how he felt, and... perhaps he could think about why he felt the day was fine. Was it just because it wasn’t worse? He was aware that this was quite a grim outlook. However, for the longest time, that was how he approached days, how he approached his entire life. Suffering was his companion, and he judged everything through its lens.  

The day was fine because it was not worse than it could be.

Writing his feelings down felt awkward and unnecessary. What use would thinking about it all be? Besides, what if someone found this notebook? Fortunately, he was smart enough to write his thoughts down in English - as far as he knew, he was the only one who knew this language now. He hoped there were no universal translation spells that could simply lift the meaning of the writing right off the paper and translate it perfectly. Perhaps he should have checked that first, but there was still a good solution to this issue - burning it all once he was done with it. He decided to settle on that, for the moment.  

Next, he could question himself about why he thought the way he did. Why did he approached his entire life with the attitude ‘if it’s not worse then it’s good enough’? He... had no good answer if he were honest with himself. He thought this way of thinking was self-evident. After all, if something wasn’t worse, then that was good. However, could he really call something good because it wasn’t as bad as some other thing? This was thinking in degrees of bad, not in degrees of good.  

Wild knew he was not a person with a positive outlook on life. There were reasons for that, good reasons, and he would stick to them.  

I am a negative person.

This seemed harsh despite how true it was.  

I am a pessimist.

He could not be an optimist, probably not ever. He had suffered too much and had gone through too many hardships to ever consider being an optimist. If anything, he was a realist.

I am a realist because bad things happen to me.

This much was truth. His reality was often negative, so what reason would he ever had to be an optimist? Things always became worse, and it happened again and again and again no matter where he was.  

Things always become worse.

Wild swallowed, tapping the end of his pen against his head. He couldn’t exactly say this was taxing - he had barely written anything - but it wasn’t easy either. In truth, he knew very few things were ever easy, if any at all. Everything required effort, without exception. Wild powered through things even when he didn’t feel like doing them, and it left him feeling drained, and yet he could only march on in hopes of... what, exactly? Of something better? If things always become worse, then why was he expecting them to become better?

I expect things to become better anyway.

He knew it wasn’t rational. He knew it wasn’t logical. He knew this way of thinking was foolish.

It doesn’t make sense.

He shook his head slightly - was he not trying to think about how his day passed? Why then was he covering nearly everything with such broad strokes? He refocused his mind on this day in particular. He had an urge to cross out what he had written before, but he decided to leave it. Maybe... maybe it would be useful to come back to later down the line.

I had an average day and it was fine. The only exception was my therapy session with Princess Luna. It was fine.

Wild wanted to hit his head on the table - all of what he wrote sounded so awkward. At least no one else would ever read it, so he was safe from the shame of being judged by it. Or, at least, as safe as he could be as long as he could ensure this journal didn’t get into anyone’s possession. Having a different language unknown to anyone but him was a good layer of security, but he could never be too careful. Besides, now he suspected he could be not the only human around. Or, at the very least, there was a connection between this world and Earth, and he had come through that connection, so it was entirely possible someone else could do that too. Did it require death? Did it require the death to happen at the specific place, at the very lake he died in? Did it require a certain pattern of thinking, of having been... a victim? Wild wished he had at least one answer to any of these questions, but he didn’t.  

Fortunately, Luna’s promise turned out to be true - there were news about Royal Guards being seen setting up a perimeter around the Everfree Forest.  

“We are not at liberty to reveal the purpose of these movements,” the new Captain said, the one that replaced Shining Armor after the latter’s marriage to Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, “However, I can assure that there is no danger at this moment aside from the regular dangers of the Everfree Forest. As usual, we are asking to refrain from visiting it, and now doubly so as it would distract us from our mission. Thank you.”

Wild knew the truth - there was danger. How much, he wasn’t sure, but with humans, there was always danger. He could only hope that no one else made their way into this world since he was reborn. He also hoped that, should Luna find anything there, she would tell him. If they found the site of his rebirth and secured it... he would rest a little bit easier.

Wild decided not to write down anything relating to this or relating to his origins. He could not take that risk, even if he did have support of Princess Luna. For now, he lived a life in relative obscurity, and he did not want to be singled out. He was already undoubtedly odd and weird by pony standards, yet all of this could be chalked up to something else. Did ponies have autism? He didn’t know, but he believed some of the odder human behaviors stemmed from that. If ponies did have autism, then he was fine with being recognized as autistic. It was certainly far better than being recognized as some otherworldly non-pony intelligent being who, for some unknown reason, had a pony body.

Considering how dangerous the Everfree Forest was, he wondered whether his body was made out of whatever bodies ponies who died there left. It would make... an awful amount of sense. It wasn’t like bodies could easily be grown like plants, but he could certainly see magic being capable of making living bodies from corpses.

That would raise the question of whether he was even alive. In truth... he wasn’t exactly alive. He existed, at least as a spirit, but he wasn’t, strictly speaking, living. His body perhaps was, and, as far as he could tell, it wasn’t some undead reanimated monstrosity. It felt warm, it had a heartbeat, and, as far as the doctors were able to tell during his health checkup, his body was in a pretty good condition and definitely living - they would have said something had he organs that didn’t function or something of that sort.  

He heard a knock come from the entrance door, pulling him from his thoughts. He closed the journal and stuffed it under the mattress of his bed, wondering just who would actually come knocking. Was it Princess Luna? He went to open the door and peep outside and, to his surprise, it was Artful.

“Oh hi!” the pegasus greeted him with a smile, “So uh, me and Jade want to play a board game and I thought of inviting you. Wanna come?”

Wild blinked. He needed to write things in his journal, but... this reprieve was welcome, and so he was going to take it. He nodded, then signed if he needed to bring anything.  

“No, we already have everything,” Artful replied. Wild nodded again and exited his dorm, closing the door behind him. If Artful saw some of the inside of it, he didn’t comment. Instead, Artful led him to his own dorm, which wasn’t that far off.  

Wild passed by a number of doors, all of them decorated in one way or another that showed off the personality of whoever was living there. His own door had remained unadorned so far, sticking out among the populated dorms while looking like a dorm that was cleaned out and empty. Wild... could change it. Perhaps he should change it.  

Artful’s door was certainly accurate to his name - it was painted over with scenes that flowed into each other, combining into some kind of a fantasy world - or perhaps it was some sort of real place, considering magic was real - which had tall mountains, floating islands in the air, colorful forests, and many other things that Wild just didn’t have time to register.  

Once Artful opened the door, it was revealed that the living room was certainly different than Wild’s - instead of the default furniture, it had a couple of beanbag chairs of different colors as well as a sofa and a low table between them all. He could see shelves in the closet were bursting with painting supplies, and the shelves outside were filled with what Wild presumed were Wild’s artworks sorted from earliest to latest, considering that their quality improved when looking at each from left to right. The walls were a nice shade of green, and the hardwood floor was covered by a rather thick and colorful carpet that had an elaborate geometric pattern.  

“Make yourself comfortable!” Artful invited him, “Jade should be here soon with the game.”

Wild nodded and picked one of the beanbags. It was pretty comfortable as far as he could tell, and he decided to sprawl all over it, lying belly-down on it. After a few moments, he had to adjust his position - there was some pressure on his crotch that he didn’t like feeling. However, he had to stop moving eventually because, if he rubbed enough against the beanbag... he was afraid he would cause a bit of a scene that he did not want to cause. That was definitely a downside of being nude all the time. Wild could probably prevent it by lying on his side or his back, but he didn’t really feel like it.  

Artful was humming some kind of song to himself as he put a tray with three cups and a kettle on the small low table.  

“Would you like some tea?” Artful asked Wild, “It’s mint.”

Wild nodded hesitantly, and Artful poured him a cup. Wild took it and took a careful sip - the temperature was hot but not scalding. The tea... tasted good. He inhaled its smell, and he liked it as well. It was... calming. He was already calm, or so he thought, but it was... better now, somehow.

A thought entered his mind - what if the tea was drugged? He banished it immediately - Artful would never do that. Sometimes, Wild had the oddest of thoughts and the lowest of expectations for people. Where did that even come from?

Luna told him to be thoughtful about what he felt, and now... why did he feel this way, even for a fleeting moment?  

“Is the tea not good?” Artful asked, pulling Wild from his thoughts.

“It is good,” Wild replied, “I was... thinking.”

“Oh, okay,” Artful said, “Um, you could add sugar if you want?”

“No, thank you,” Wild shook his head. As a kid, he loved plenty of sugary things, but now he didn’t have much taste for it, certainly not to any excess. Sweet drinks in general put him off a bit, and he couldn’t exactly tell why. He took another sip of the mint tea, simply enjoying what he had.  

Soon enough, Jade arrived.

“Hi, come in!” Artful greeted them, and they paused when they spotted Wild.

“Hi,” Wild greeted them somewhat awkwardly.

“Um, hi,” they greeted him in turn just as awkwardly. Fortunately, they entered the dorm and settled down, and Wild didn’t think that they put any deliberate distance between themself and him. He could also detect no thought floating around that would point to Jade being truly uncomfortable with his presence. As far as he could tell, both Artful and Jade were a bit nervous, but that was about it. In truth, he was nervous as well - he had never really done any sort of... tabletop game. Aside from that one from the book about medieval castles.  

“Alright, now that we’re all here, let’s go over the rules,” Artful put the game on the table, “This is Epic Fights of Battle Mages. It’s a fun game about fighting each other as mages, and-”

He went on to explain the rules of the game, including that each player has a certain amount of life they begin with as well as mana that starts at zero but can be gained and then spent for extra effects. There were three kinds of cards that could be combined to form a spell, although any amount of cards out of three could be used, and the spaces that were not used were to be substituted with something creative but which wouldn’t actually affect the game. There was a special kind - chaos magic - that could be used to place instead of any card and would give some random effect depending on what card the player got from the stack. There were, of course, more rules, but that was the gist of it. Wild, Artful, and Jade each picked their mage hero, although it didn’t exactly matter which it was. Each of them got eight cards, and the game started. Wild could definitely chuckle and perhaps even giggle at some of the card names as he assembled a spell.   

“I have three cards,” Artful declared once everyone got a spell ready.

“Three too,” Jade said.

“Three,” Wild nodded.

“Okay, what about initiative number? Mine’s seventeen.”

“Thirteen.”

“Two.”

“Alright, then I am first, then Jade, then Wild,” Artful said, and everyone nodded, “I cast demonic sharknado by Swirlyswirl the Beardless!”

The game was on from then and Wild, despite his awkwardness, was pulled in. Unfortunately, he did not look closely enough at his own card, so his face reddened as he read out his spell.

“I cast explosive quartet of diamond dog nobles by... by Lustlestia.”

Artful and Jade both giggled at that, and Wild could only look down at his cards with his face burning. He should have known this pose the character was drawn on the card was... suggestive. Perhaps he would have noticed it sooner if a stallion was depicted instead, but what was done was done. At least he didn’t have any other similar cards left.  

Lives were lost, mana was gained and used, and in the end, Wild, to his surprise, wasn’t the first to be out for the round - it was Jade. Wild didn’t have much of a strategic mind, but it appeared he was good enough not to be defeated easily. As Artful and he faced off against each other, Wild could honestly say that he was having fun. The spells were funny, the graphics on them adding to that effect, and the game in itself was entertaining. Slowly but surely, he began to relax and get more into the game, forgetting any of his worries.

Or at least he would have forgotten them all if he didn’t feel a certain warmth in his crotch. With horror, he realized that he unconsciously rubbed himself enough for... some excitement to take place.  

“Um, I uh... bathroom,” he managed to say before placing his cards - thankfully, face down - and getting up from the beanbag. He managed to not look like he was in a terrible rush, but he was definitely aware that his face was a bit red. When he looked into the mirror, that was only confirmed.  

Wild did indeed use the toilet anyway, then splashed some cold water on his crotch. Thankfully for him, that was managed, and it didn’t seem like anyone noticed anything, so he returned from the bathroom and took his place on the beanbag again, and the game continued.  

After the first round was done - with Artful winning - there was a pause. Artful brought out some sandwiches, so the three ate and chatted.

“It is fun game,” Wild said. It was easier and easier to speak the more he did it, and he was glad for it. Now, when it was just the three of them, and Jade didn’t really expect him to be silent, he felt... freer than before. Since Jade didn’t expect him to not speak, he didn’t need to worry about seeing their reaction to it, although he was aware that his speech was far from perfect yet, plus he had a very noticeable accent that, no doubt, no one would be able to place. Fortunately for him, no one had questioned him about it so far, “We... could do it again.”

“Yeah, it’s fun,” Jade nodded, “I really thought I’d burst into laughter at the,” they giggled, “the ‘Destructive Friendship Ray by Evilton the Evil’. Just... you know, friendship ray, destructive, and Evilton the Evil!”

“Yeah, that was funny,” Artful agreed.

They chatted some more about their game , and then they heard a crack of thunder, followed by another and another and another. They looked outside and saw that it was raining - not a surprise considering that it was scheduled.  

“Oh hey, I remembered something,” Artful said as he gazed thoughtfully out the window. It was already darker than usual because of the clouds, and it wouldn’t be long before the sun was made to set, “There’s a small log cabin in the woods here, how about we head over there for the night? It’s gonna be cozy, with a fireplace and all.”

Wild... was not as averse to the idea as he would have been before. This game session made him relax, and, if he were honest, he liked the company. It was... nice.  

“A log cabin?” Jade asked.

“Yeah, someone built that some time ago,” Artful replied, “It’s not used often, but it’s still there, and it’s nice inside. I’d say we grab some food, something we can cook on the fireplace, and head there.”

“I... I wouldn’t mind,” Jade nodded, and then the two turned to Wild.

“...Okay,” he nodded, deciding to go all in this time. He had to become better, and for that he needed to do things he otherwise would not have. He would control his life, he was in control of his life. And this... this was an opportunity for... for something good. Or something hopefully good, at least.

It wasn’t long before they gathered some potatoes and some vegetables for the food, a cloak each in order not to get too wet before they got there, some drinking water, and some other things so that they could spend good time in the cabin without getting bored. Of course, they could always return - the cabin wasn’t exactly far - but they wanted to dedicate the rest of the day as well as the entire night to it.  

Wild volunteered to carry the basket with their things, and so the three set out. Once outside, it was clear to them that the rain wasn’t too strong just yet but would soon be, so they had to hurry. The ground was mostly dry, and they followed a narrow path to the cabin somewhere within the forest inside the Royal Orphanage grounds. Wild wondered just how big the entire Royal Orphanage was, as he had never properly explored it, but it appeared it was quite big indeed. If he were to estimate, the forest itself was at least one square kilometer, perhaps a couple, and the entire Royal Orphanage was even larger. However, now was not the time to wonder about it.  

As the rain strengthened, drizzle turning into light shower, the cabin came into sight. It was a squat building with a triangular roof and a couple of windows. There were a couple of sheds as well, one of them with a sign that showed it was a toilet. Wild did not particularly look forward to having the toilet room separate from the main building, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. At least he wouldn’t be forced to relieve himself in the bushes and behind trees, hoping no one would see him.  

“Seems like no one’s here,” Artful said, “The cabin is all ours!”

“Yay!” Jade replied, and Wild almost chuckled at the joyful tone of their voice.  

First they stepped on a small porch under the roof and opened the door to the cabin. It opened with a soft homely creak, revealing one small room, perhaps five by five meters. There was a brick fireplace with a stack of dry logs, both whole and chopped, as well as sticks and dried grass and leaves to start the fire with. There were two small windows on one wall opposite the fireplace, a table under that window with a pair of soft chairs and a couch, and then there was a big bed that could comfortably fit at least four ponies.  

“Wild, there’s a pack of matches in the cabinet over there, can you light up the fireplace?” Artful asked, and Wild nodded. The cabinet above the stack of logs did indeed contain a number of matches in a bunch of boxes, and there were some steel cups as well.  

Wild got the matches, then went to arrange the fireplace. He didn’t know much about how to build a fire, but he built a somewhat organized stack of logs, put dried plants and thin sticks underneath, and lit it up. His first attempt was, thankfully, successful, and soon the fire was growing, cracking merrily, casting the surroundings in a warm red-orange glow.  

Meanwhile, Artful was adding vegetables to a skewer, and Jade was looking around in wonder.

“It’s nice here,” they commented, looking at carved wooden tableware hanging off nails on one of the walls. It was all clearly made with love and attention, Wild could practically feel it.

Wild suspected that had this been back on Earth, the cabin would have already been trashed by idiotic teenagers that didn’t know the value of such a place. However, everything here looked neat and tidy, although plenty of ponies carved their names into the logs. However, it didn’t look ugly - if anything, it added to the charm of the cabin.

“It’s tradition to carve your name into logs if it’s your first time visiting,” Artful explained when he saw Wild looking at it, “Mine’s over there,” he gestured, and indeed Wild could see his name, one of the fresher ones, “You could add yours if you want.”

Wild shook his head. He was fine with not leaving his name somewhere. He never did it before, doubted he would do it in the future. This place wasn’t his, anyway, although... he probably wouldn’t mind going there from time to time.  

Wild inhaled deeply, the smell of burning wood pleasantly tickling his nostrils, and there was no smoke escaping back into the room, going up the chimney in its entirety instead. As the fire grew in strength, Wild could practically hear the air roaring upwards as it heated up. The cabin, which was a bit chilly on the inside when they entered, was warming up nicely as well.

In comfortable silence, the three did their own things. Artful prepared the food and set it to cook, Jade was helping him when not looking around, and Wild was inspecting all the various carvings.

Steel Wing x Forest Runner x Whitehoof forever


Advice - get some mushrooms if you can, they’re delicious

^Of course they are delicious

^Don’t take too much, leave some for others

^But they’re so delicious

^Yeah, but everyone else wants them too


I want Princess Celestia so bad

^No chance bro

^I am not a bro

^Still no chance

^She’s like great-great-great-great-grandma to everyone, she’s not going to look at us as anything more than foals

^Yeah but she’s like a hot grandma

^Still no chance

^I am gay, I wish Princess Celestia had a brother

^Don’t we all

Wild was, in truth, fascinated by all that he could see carved into logs. Conversations spanning years, perhaps decades, the cabin definitely looked old enough for that. Wild changed his mind - he would leave something of his own. He spotted a short knife lying on the table, and he grabbed it. He found a corner near a piece of furniture, down low where not many carvings were and, in small letters, he carved a short sentence in English.

Wild was here with two

He paused there. Then, after some thinking, he finished it.

Wild was here with two friends.

That felt right.

Now that he had carved what he did, he wondered if he would find... possibly someone else's writing in a language he could understand that was not of this world. The thought was alarming, but he kept it in control as he scanned all the nooks and crannies, finding various different carvings but, thankfully, nothing that would show that someone else from Earth was there before. All the script that he had seen was entirely Equestrian in origin, and so he allowed himself to sigh quietly in relief.

“I think the veggies are just about ready!” Artful called.

Not long after, the food was prepared. While potatoes would be baked once there was enough ash at the bottom and fire was no longer a concern, the vegetables on the skewer were already cooked. Artful got them off the skewer and on the plate, then served Jade and Wild. A bit of salt and pepper, and it was perfect. The vegetables were still juicy enough, and the smoky flavor added to their taste marvelously. Artful and Jade both moaned in pleasure as they ate, and Wild added his own soft moan to that. It was truly delicious.  

The rain outside was now even stronger, generously showering everything with water. Without a doubt, it was going to be muddy and wet in the morning, which would be unpleasant to walk through once they went to return to their dorms. However, for now, Artful, Wild, and Jade were safe, warm, and dry inside the cabin.

The potatoes were baked shortly afterwards, and were enjoyed by everyone in the cabin. With all the food gone, the sun having set, everyone was also yawning, their eyelids drooping. Any plans for another tabletop game were thus gone.

“Well, dunno about you all, but I’m ready to sleep,” Artful said, yawning widely. Wild was looking at his tongue for a bit too long before he realized he was doing it and averted his eyes, trying not to think about that.

Artful took the central position on the bed, and Jade wasn’t far behind in... lying down beside him. Wild was left standing, blinking at them in confusion even as a realization set in.  

He would have to sleep with them. 

“Are you coming?” Artful asked. There was... nothing improper about it. Only an innocent question, and Wild knew that. It appeared ponies didn’t exactly have a strong association between sleeping with someone and having sex with them. Perhaps Wild shouldn’t have been surprised - had he not been invited to a sleepover once where everyone would be in a pile together?

Wild hesitated, something inside of him wanting to go away, to deny himself this. And yet...

Wild steeled himself - he was willing to try this. It was hardly the end of the world, after all, and it would certainly not be anywhere close to the bad things he had experienced, this world or the previous one. The worst that would happen was... just him going back to the Royal Orphanage building alone. If he were entirely honest with himself, he knew it was not something that he wanted. He had had enough loneliness for a lifetime, let alone two.

Wild moved somewhat stiffly over to the bed and then laid down. So far it wasn't bad, which was a relief, even if a small one. He took a deep breath and silently told himself that nothing bad was happening and, logically, nothing bad would happen. He wasn't even surrounded by a bunch of strangers - he had two friends around him, even if he hadn't spend all that much time with them. Besides, he would've been able to sense ill intent if there was any, and there was not. However, even when he logically knew things were alright, that didn't mean it worked to relieve his anxiety perfectly. With much hesitation yet remaining, he got himself closer to Artful. 

Artful was warm. Of course he was warm, he was alive, and Wild knew mammals were warm-blooded creatures, and warm-blooded creatures, naturally, felt warm to the touch. Wild banished the rambling thoughts from his head, simply accepting the fact that he was... surprised. Even if he couldn't exactly describe what he was surprised by.

There was some movement, and soon the three ponies were all covered by a blanket. It was... comfortable. Wild realized he was comfortable. It was... nice. He wished he had the words to describe the sensation, but at the time, they completely escaped him. 

He could... he could do it. He could accept this. He would accept this because he wanted to accept this, certainly not because he had no choice. He reminded himself that, if he so wished, he could easily leave. He could throw away the blanket and jump to his hooves and away from Artful and Jade in little more than a blink of an eye. 

Wild closed his eyes and allowed his body to relax.  

"Alright. G'night, everyone," Artful muttered as he shifted slightly, taking the most comfortable position that he could.

"Night," Jade replied in turn.

"...Good night," Wild ended up quietly saying a few moments later. The last time he wished someone good night or had it wished to him, it was... so long ago he didn't remember. It wasn't really anything that great or important, but hearing those words made him feel better.

Wild didn't know what it was that he truly expected, but everything remained calm, quiet, and peaceful. Before long, he found himself drifting off to sleep to the sound of his friends' steady breaths. 

When he was asleep and the last of the tension disappeared from his body, he dreamed pleasant
> Chapter 65: Positive Emotions
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild’s eyes opened slowly, his being coming back to the waking world in a pleasant warmth. He became aware of a small smile on his face, and one of his cheeks was pressed against something warm, something living and breathing. Wild found himself snuggling closer before realizing he was doing it, and then he was hit with the reality, his mind almost bowled over with the realization as he put two and two together.

For a moment, all was still, his eyes were wide, and his breath became faster. He was pressed against Artful, who was still sleeping soundly and deeply.  

An impossibly long moment passed, and then Wild’s racing heart started slowing down, his breathing moving to match Artful’s own. Slowly in, a pause, then slowly out. As his proper awareness returned, he realized that Artful also smelled a bit, though it wasn’t anything unpleasant. It was a mix of, as far as Wild could guess, the natural smell of his fur and feathers. It wasn’t a smell Wild would want to inhale constantly but neither was it something anywhere close to repugnant. Perhaps it was weird that Wild was smelling him at all, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything... improper.

Wild knew he had taken a step forward when he agreed to a sleepover, when he laid down next to his, his... friends. And now, there was... it wasn’t regret that he was feeling, no, he was certain of it. It wasn’t even discomfort, but... it was something else, something he couldn’t recognize. Luna’s book about emotions and their definitions would have been useful to him, but he knew it would not do him any good if he had taken the book with him when he went with Artful and Jade to this log cabin. It would raise some questions, and he would know it even if neither of the two asked him.

He lay there, eyes open, seeing Artful’s chest rise and fall with the rhythm of his breathing, and this movement pushed his own face slightly. Wild knew he was far too close, yet he couldn’t bring himself to retreat from this warmth, from this comfort. He, against all that he thought he would do, snuggled a bit closer and closed his eyes. Soon, his own breathing fully matched Artful’s, although he was not back asleep. He could perhaps say that it was close, that there were no worries, no fears, but his mind continued to work.

This was not just a step but a leap, a leap forward. He took the chance and now reaped the consequences, and these consequences were... pleasant. He had never slept with someone before barring barely remembered scraps of memory of sleeping next to his parents when he was very young. Now... he realized just what he had been missing. He shivered and snuggled even closer, even daring to place one of his front legs on top of Artful to feel more of his pleasant body heat. He let out a long sigh and smiled.

Time passed by as he lay there, simply enjoying the moment and not worrying about anything. He didn’t know whether his aversion to touch was yet overcome, but he didn’t feel repulsed, didn’t want to shy away from this. Artful was a friend, not a stranger, and lying down with him was something he could not only accept but enjoy and cherish. It helped that it was nothing sexual - he knew he was far from ready for that step. However, if he allowed to think about it for just a little bit, he knew Artful was the first and, so far, the only person on the list of people Wild would be willing to have sex with. Even thinking about it brought heat to his cheeks, but he allowed that heat to be pleasant and not shameful or scorching. As relaxed as he was now, Wild could afford not to treat anything as potential danger. 

Wild did not think Artful was dangerous in the first place. He was a shy artist, good-spirited and usually so full of joy Wild could practically see the glow of it coming off him. Artful had expressed anger before, anger at the injustice to the changelings, but Wild simply couldn’t imagine him picking up a knife and going to stab someone. He didn’t have the will for it, and Wild hoped he would never have to.

Artful stirred, then rolled over, dislodging Wild from his own place, and then he was eye to eye with him. His eyes were half-lidded, the spark of awareness in them only now waking up. Wild felt Artful’s breath tickling on his nostrils and brushing by his mouth. Artful’s eyes seemed impossibly close, as blue as his mane, and they seemed to shine particularly brightly without glasses in front of them.  

In that very moment, as Wild gazed at Artful’s easy, lazy waking smile, Wild realized that he wanted him. Their physical closeness felt intoxicating, making everything inside him swirl in anticipation of a dream come true. It would be easy to lean it, just a little closer, and taste the pegasus’ lips against his own.  

“Good morning,” Artful greeted in a groggy voice, making something inside of Wild flutter.

“M-morning,” he stammered out, aware of his heated face, imagining how red he had to be looking right this moment.  

“I... I wanted to ask you something,” Artful admitted, his own blush easily coloring his face.

“Yes?” Wild perked up, as much as he could while still lying on the bed. His heart was beating fast, yet he knew it wasn’t bad.

“Are you... do you like, um, stallions?” he asked.

“In...” Wild knew his coming question was entirely unnecessary, yet he needed to know, needed to see, needed to hear, “In what way?”

“Well, um... romantically. Sexually,” Artful elaborated, and now both their faces were so red it couldn’t be ignored by either, yet neither of them was willing to mention it aloud.

Both of them knew the answer to the question, but Artful needed to hear it, needed to be sure, and Wild... needed to confirm.  

“Yes,” he said, in near-whisper. He suspected where it was going, he knew where this was going, and he didn’t look further because then everything would fall apart, would crumble and turn to dust because...

“W-would you like to... to see if we can be a couple?” Artful asked, his voice hopeful yet, somehow, not expectant, “I, um, like you. You are, ah, nice, and... well, I like you.”

Wild didn’t know how to react to being called nice of all things, so he only blushed harder, as difficult as it was to accomplish. Not that he was in control of it, of course, but... Either way, it was, indeed, nice to be called nice. But this raised the question - what did Wild do in order to deserve such praise? He was... perhaps not bad, but what did he do in order to be called nice? He wasn’t particularly sociable and neither did he really go out of his way to be nice to people. He simply hadn’t really had reasons to act nasty towards anyone. He knew he could, and he knew it very well, and it was a small blessing that his time here at the orphanage had passed without him ever growing so angry he could see nothing but the cruelty he would want to inflict at the object of his ire.

Despite what Artful thought of him now, there was a lot more about Wild that he didn’t know, something that would surely change Artful’s opinion of him without the possibility of return.  

“I... need to think,” Wild ended up saying, then explained, “I do not think I am ready for... romantic things. Or... sexual things. I... I have some... things I need to, to... to figure out. Before I do this,” he closed his eyes not to see Artful’s expression at what he said, then swallowed. He needed to admit to one thing to explain why he was not ready, “I have... I am doing a... therapy. To be better.”

“Oh,” Artful said, and Wild couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or something else. The moment after this seemed to stretch on and on, but before he could think too much about it, Artful continued, “That’s alright. I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I went to therapy too, and it was hard, but I’m definitely better now.”

Wild opened his eyes and was greeted by Artful’s earnest expression. No hint of disappointment, no anger, nothing that could cause Wild to feel guilty in any way that he could tell. Artful was simply being... honest.  

“Okay,” Wild nodded, “I do not know if... if I will ever be ready for, for this. I... I like you too, but...”

“But you need time to sort yourself out?” Artful suggested knowingly.

“...Yeah.”

“Makes sense, yeah,” Artful then smiled sheepishly, “Sorry for springing this on you.”

“It’s... alright.”

It was this moment when Jade stirred. Whether they heard anything, Wild couldn’t tell, but they certainly announced themself waking up loudly enough that he had no doubt that they did indeed wake up and were aware.  

Wild excused himself to the toilet, partly to help himself process what had just happened and partly because he actually needed it.  

***

On their return to the Royal Orphanage proper, Wild went straight to his dorm, a bit of a bounce in his step. At first, he didn’t know why he was feeling so... springy, why there was a smile on his face. He reminded himself to be thoughtful of his feelings, and when he was finally behind the closed door to his dorm, he sat down and focused on what exactly he was feeling. He decided to open the book and see if he could find what exactly he was experiencing.

The book was called `Atlas of Emotions` and it begun with listing five categories called Universal Emotions: Disgust, Anger, Sadness, Fear, and Enjoyment. Wild ruled out anger immediately, sadness as well, disgust and fear following suit. What he was feeling was certainly Enjoyment.

Enjoyment contains both peace and ecstasy. The intensity of these states varies: We can feel mild or strong peacefulness, but we can only feel intense ecstasy. All states of enjoyment are triggered by feeling connection and/or/sensory pleasure.

There was a chart, listing a feeling on the scale from least intense to most intense, and descriptions of each feelings were provided. Wild went from the lowest to highest, searching for what exactly he felt. First was Sensory Pleasure, which was enjoyment derived through physical senses. Wild was certain it was not quite it, although... perhaps it could be called a pleasure through sight? Perhaps sound as well. And... maybe touch. It all lingered, and it all connected to Artful. The sight of him, how nice he looked, how cute and... desirable. The sound of his voice, neat and nice and pleasant as well, and... the warm touch of their bodies together when they slept. A part of Wild wanted to be disgusted at himself, wanted him to hate it all, to hate how he felt, but it wasn’t quite strong enough this time, easily dispelled and banished.

After Sensory Pleasure was Rejoicing, which was a warm, uplifting feeling that people experience when they see acts of goodness, kindness, and compassion, which was also called elevation. If Wild thought about it, perhaps he felt Rejoicing too - he saw Artful acting with kindness and compassion to him, telling him outright that everything was fine and there was no rush, that Wild wasn’t some freak because he was in therapy, and that Artful respected that Wild wasn’t ready for any close relationship. The same part of Wild that wanted him to be disgusted at himself whispered in his ears, telling him that Artful was faking it, yet... Wild couldn’t bring himself to agree. Artful was not like the person who lured him into sexual slavery. If he was, Wild would have known by now, considering the powers he had. Artful hadn’t had a single thought about doing something bad to Wild, and so, logically, he was not going to do anything bad to him in reality. At least, not knowingly, certainly not deliberately.

Wild was so glad for his ability to catch thoughts, it made understanding others much easier. At least he could now be certain when his fears were unfounded and when he needed to be cautious and aware. With Artful, it appeared he did not, in fact, need to approach it like a possible hostile situation but... only how one would approach a friend.

The next feeling was Compassion, which was enjoyment of helping to relieve another person’s suffering. This was certainly not it, although Wild knew Artful was perhaps feeling it. A part of Wild suggested he was undeserving of compassion, but he didn’t listen to it, not now.

The feeling after that was Amusement - light, playful feelings of enjoyment and good humor. This was certainly not it, but the negative part of him hinted that Artful was perhaps feeling amusement at Wild’s awkwardness and the fact that he was getting therapy. This did not stick, not this time. Wild reminded himself that he would know if Artful was amused at Wild’s... inadequacies.  

Then was Schadenfreude, which was enjoyment of the misfortunes of another person, usually a rival. Wild knew how it felt, and he had felt it plenty of times to know this feeling intimately, but this wasn’t what he was feeling. Right now, he had no serious rival, and no other person he would glad to enjoy the suffering of... at least not close enough for him to see them suffer.  

After that was Relief - when something expected to be unpleasant, especially the threat of harm, is avoided or comes to an end. Wild realized that there was indeed relief that he was feeling, relief at not being rejected, relief of not being insulted for who he was, relief that he could come out as gay, at least to one person, and not be harmed for that, relief that... that he could be liked. The darker part of him suggested that others would be relieved when he would finally disappeared, when the burden of his existence would be gone from their shoulders. He did not allow this thought to take over him.

After Relief was Peace, an experience of ease and contentment. Wild... was feeling that. He knew it wouldn’t last, but he was determined to enjoy it while it did.

Then was Pride, which was deep pleasure and satisfaction derived from one’s own achievements or the achievements of an associate. It was not what he was feeling, and he was reminded that he had nothing to be proud of because he was nothing. His skills didn’t matter, his existence didn’t matter, and... he banished that thought. This day, he would not consider it.

The next feeling was Fiero - enjoyment of meeting a difficult challenge. He... was unsure of this one. He definitely had a difficult challenge ahead - getting better so that he could, perhaps, one day, someday, say yes to Artful’s question, to allow himself to be pulled into a relationship and enjoy it. However, he was not sure he enjoyed that challenge. He would really much rather have completed it already, overcome the obstacles and became whom he wanted to be.

Then there was Naches, which was joyful pride in the accomplishments of one’s children or mentees. Wild was absolutely certain he would never feel that one because he would not have children, although he didn’t know what the last word meant. He found a dictionary in his room and searched for the word, and it wasn’t long before he found the definition - a mentee is one who is mentored; a person who is being mentored. Then he looked up what ‘mentored’ meant, and finally knew. In truth... perhaps he would feel it one day? However, he couldn’t really see himself being a mentor or a teacher or a guide. After all, he hardly knew anything.

The feeling Wonder followed Naches and meant an experience of something that is very surprising, beautiful, amazing or hard to believe. Wild... he was certainly feeling that, considering Artful’s acceptance of him, and how Artful called him nice. It was definitely hard to believe and... even amazing. Without a doubt very surprising.  

The second to last feeling was Excitement - a powerful enthusiasm. Wild... likely felt it, but he couldn’t tell. Was he excited to become better through therapy? Perhaps. Was he excited to, one day, be in a relationship, a relationship he had never expected to be in before? Maybe. In the end, it was hard to tell, so he moved to the last feeling.

Ecstasy - rapturous delight. A state of very great happiness, nearly overwhelming. He was... not quite there, he thought. Maybe one day he would feel it, when... when he was finally alright, when everything broken inside him was fixed, when he would love and be loved. Then, he would feel ecstasy.

Wild put the book down, satisfied with it for now. Unfortunately, his mood was slightly soured when he realized he still had his journal to fill. However, now that he knew what he was feeling, it was going to be easy. Well, perhaps easy was far from the right word, but it would, at the very least, be easier than he would have expected the day before. He would also need to go over the events of that day, but he felt it wouldn’t be - or, at least, hopefully wouldn’t be - particularly hard.

Wild disregarded his earlier writings and continued anew.

Artful invited me to a game, I agreed. I was uncertain but it turned out to be fun. Jade was there too, I didn’t mind her. We had fun, and then rain started, and Artful suggested we spend the night at a cabin in the nearby forest because it would be cozy. It was. We made food, it was tasty. I

Then there was a long pause as Wild debated within himself how to write it all down. What he had already written was, without a doubt, awkward to the highest degree, but then he knew he wasn’t a writer. In truth, he hadn’t had to write anything creatively or elaborately in quite a long time. Last time was... when he was still at school, perhaps? It was probably an essay of some kind, he didn’t really remember anymore.

I went to bed with Artful and Jade. I was uncertain. Apprehensive. Maybe fearful. But it was nice, I slept well, didn’t have any bad dreams. I woke up, and it was pleasant. Artful proposed to me. Not marriage, but a possibility of a relationship. Looking at him was nice, I wanted to agree. In the moment, I also wanted to wanted him. But I said no because I’m not ready. It would be unfair to him if I agreed. Maybe I will agree in the future when I’m better, but not now. Not for a long time.

Wild thought for a moment, then added one last line.

There is hope that I will live a nice, peaceful, joyful life.
> Chapter 66: Trust Given
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild put his pen down, a groan of frustration escaping past his lips. He looked at the page in his journal, where his own words sat, almost taunting him with their presence.

The day was fine.

What more could he honestly say? Aside from the first day when he had at least something to write about, days that followed were not as rich in experiences as he would have hoped for. He was, as he was told, mindful of what he felt, but a lot of it simply was not fit for putting down on paper. Most of it was inconsequential, just useless musings that would be forgotten the next day or repeated again and again to the point of nausea.  

Wild wasn’t a writer. Creative writing assignments were not his thing at all whatsoever. He could not describe the sky as anything other than what it was, a blue all-encompassing thing up above him between him and space, and there were clouds of different kinds and shapes sometimes, and there was also the sun. He could not assign an emotion to the sky, he could not see anything more to it than what it was. Metaphors and such were, simply put, not his strong suit.  

Without a doubt, Artful would have been able to describe emotions in flowery language... or, at least, he had the capacity for it, Wild thought. He hadn’t seen if Artful had ever actually written anything, but he had the mindset for creativity - Wild... not really. Unfortunately, he couldn’t exactly ask Artful to help him describe his own emotions properly and put them on paper.  

Wild looked out the window - the weather was cloudy but not rainy, and rays of sunlight peeked from behind the clouds here and there. The greenery was turning into an assortment of colors: brown, yellow, red. It was enjoyable to look at as far as Wild was concerned, but he couldn’t find any proper artistic words to describe this autumn in an emotional way. There was, of course, the obvious theme of death and rebirth, with the leaves disappearing from the trees, with the plants withering until spring, but it was hardly worth talking about, in Wild’s opinion.

The only distraction from this frustration was the response letter from Steady Hooves.  

Dear Wild,

Thank you for reaching out to me! I know how difficult it is for many young ponies to figure out what they want to do in life, especially when their talent is uncertain or not very sought after on the job market. However, there is always work that needs to be done, and so a pony is not often left without a choice as long as they are willing to take a job that can seem undesirable. 

But if you want to enjoy life, picking a job that you won’t enjoy would only bring misery. I would like to talk to you personally, to see what path you could take and be not only content but happy with. I am coming to the Royal Orphanage in a few days under a week after you will have received my letter, and I’d like to take an opportunity to discuss things with you face to face. Unless you would prefer to discuss it all in writing? Either way works for me, let me know what you decide!

Kindest regards,

Steady Hooves

Wild had been tempted to reply that it would work better in writing, but in the end he decided to send a confirmation that he would like to meet her personally when she was in the Royal Orphanage. As much as he didn’t like it, he realized it would be easier, and considering how long her response to his initial letter took, he didn’t want to wait for that long each time they exchanged letters, it would simply take far too long. He lamented the absence of internet - instant messaging was certainly a huge improvement over physical letters. Ponies, to his knowledge, had a telegraph and, of course, radio, so some long-distance communication could be done instantaneously or close enough to it, but most ponies still used physical letters because they were cheaper and easier.  

Wild could probably suggest to Princess Luna the idea of internet, but he had zero technical knowledge about how it actually worked aside from that it involved many servers and a lot of internet cables, some of which lay at the bottom of the ocean. But how to put it all together to make the internet, he didn’t have a single clue. There was also the entire basis on which it was all built, which was computing, and he didn’t know a single thing about how computers were invented and how they evolved over time to become what he had once used on a regular basis. However... perhaps the idea itself could lead to some new inventions if ponies knew it was possible in the first place.  

Unfortunately, even if the idea was taken seriously and actually put into development, it would be quite a number of years before any sort of internet would be available to anyone publicly. So, in the end, it wouldn’t solve his immediate problem with no real viable instantaneous long-distance communication available.  

Wild now had to wait until Steady Hooves was at the Royal Orphanage to find out exactly how he would be able to get a job. Until then, he decided to put it out of his mind, away from his day to day concerns. He knew he had a tendency to overthink things, and he had to put in the effort not to do that. Journaling, as much as he disliked it, was a good distraction even if a frustrating one.  

Another day meant another simple line with very few additions. It meant Wild sat with a pen in his grasp and looked at the page in his notebook, hoping that words would simply spring from his mind right on the paper in perfect order, putting what he thought on paper without any language or expression barrier.  

There was a solution to be found, of course - asking for help. Princess Luna was around again, so he could go to her and ask. However, it felt like admitting to failure, almost like saying that he couldn’t do what she asked him to do. If she told him to do it, then he had to do it. Not in a sense of obligation demanded by her but his own. If Luna thought he was ready for this, then he had to be ready. However, just because he wanted to be ready, wanted to be good at it, he was simply neither of those two things. He knew how to write, and using his native language helped immensely because he didn’t have to search for words in a dictionary, but knowing how to put words on paper didn’t mean he knew what words to put on paper.

It was a circle of frustration that kept building up and up until... fortunately, he managed not to come to that point - instead, the day of his therapy session with Doctor Fay had finally arrived.

This, however, raised a question and a concern once he cast his mind back to his first session with her. It appeared he would have to make another difficult decision, one he wasn’t sure he was ready for but one he suspected - maybe even knew - he needed to make.  

***

Doctor Fay took note of how punctual Wild was. It was just his second time seeing her, but he arrived just on time. Not too early and certainly not a second late. She idly wondered why that was, as ponies had their reasons for being as punctual as they were. She put that thought aside, however, focusing her entire attention on Wild. He was there, and that was the important thing.

This was her second time seeing him in person, and she silently compared what she was seeing now to what she had seen during his first visit. He looked just as healthy, and there were no outward signs of chronic stress as far as she could tell. There was some wariness to him, but it was less than before and yet also... there was a sort of tension to him, something anxious, which made her wonder why.  

“Good day, Wild,” she greeted him, “Please, take a seat.”

Wild nodded and, with little hesitation, sat down on the beanbag chair in front of her desk. His position was more relaxed than the first time, which Fay counted as a positive sign.  

“What would you like to talk about?” she asked just like the last time. She could continue from where they left off, talking about Wild’s concerns about his future and getting a job, but Fay had a feeling he wanted to bring up something else. This gut feeling was one she had learned to trust, and so she went with it.

Wild flexed his hooves, then looked down at them in something like.... frustration? There was something odd about it, but Doctor Fay didn’t know what it was exactly. Then there was a gathering of resolve in him before he spoke.

“I... was thinking. About... things,” he began haltingly. Doctor Fay noted that his voice wasn’t as weak as she would have expected from someone with a history of silence like him. It likely pointed to him talking to others before her. Before she could think about it further, he continued, “And... to be better, to become better, I... I need to reveal things.”

He then let out a sigh that was almost shaky. He licked his lips, his eyes looking at Doctor Fay but focused elsewhere other than her own eyes.  

“I learned that... my history is important,” he said, “And, to become better through... through this,” he made an encompassing gesture, to which Fay nodded - he meant his therapy, “I need to talk about... what I am and why I am... me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again and now looking directly into hers.

“Princess Luna knows what I... want to say to you,” he continued, “She told me you can be trusted. What I want to tell... I want it not to be told to anyone.”

“Nothing you say will ever leave this room unless it reaches the limits of confidentiality. The limits are five things, no more and no less. I am obligated to act on them. First is suspicion of child abuse of any kind, be it physical, sexual, verbal, neglect, and others. Second is suspicion of elder abuse of any kind. Third is suspicion of abuse to a disabled person of any kind, at any age. Fourth is a credible threat to harm oneself, and the fifth is a credible threat to harm someone else. All of these limits are there for the sake of the patient’s safety, in this case yourself.”

There was silence as Wild absorbed the information.  

“I... do not think any of those limits will be reached,” he said, and Fay noted the uncertainty in his voice. She mentally prepared herself - she knew it was not good news.  

There was more silence as Wild gathered himself. He eyed a pitcher of water and a glass situated on the desk, and Fay made a welcoming gesture. He poured himself a glass of water and downed it in one go. After he put the glass down, a tiny amount of tension in him loosened.

“I am going to say truth,” he declared, “I am not lying. I am not... making things up. I am not - I did not, um, see it... fakely? I did not dream it. It is all real. I can prove it is real.”

“Very well,” Doctor Fay nodded. She had a bad feeling about it, and perhaps she would have to move her other appointments in order to deal with whatever Wild was going to reveal now.

“I am... from another world,” he said, and this was not what Fay expected to hear. She didn’t let any disbelief show on her face, instead waiting for him to elaborate as she believed he would. Wild’s horn lit up, and a pair of magical hands appeared in the air, “I used to have these. Magic allows me to have them, but... not real? I was a human. Humans walk on two legs and have... these. The arms. We are like monkeys but no tail and... not much fur.”

Doctor Fay peered closer at his magical hands. Now that she was looking, she could see that they were rather detailed. They looked like minotaur hands but more delicate, not quite as wide, and nearly completely hairless. She had a decent understanding of anatomy, and she could see how these hands were certainly no imaginary construct but as real as they could be without being flesh and bone. Skin stretched and loosened as Wild flexed his fingers, and Fay could see not only obvious wrinkles but tiny lines in the skin. The nails were all slightly different from each other, and there were obvious signs of them having been clipped at one point.  

This was certainly not something one could easily dream up, it was far too detailed, and there were too many natural imperfections for someone with little knowledge in anatomy to make. Of course, Wild could be a prodigy or have savant syndrome, but Fay ruled it as extremely unlikely based on what she knew.  

“I can too speak two more languages,” he said, then said a sentence each in what were clearly two very different languages, his voice shifting noticeably as he said the words, and those words flowed far smoother than with Equestrian language. Now that Fay listened, she realized that he had a noticeable accent that did not come from lack of speaking but from his other two languages, “I can write them too. I can show, I need... writing thing. The... paper. I need paper to show it.”

His voice rose ever so slightly in volume, gaining a note of desperation, the desire to be believed, and Doctor Fay decided it would be for the best if she stopped him there and then.

“I believe you, Wild,” she said gently and honestly.

At that, Wild slumped in relief, breathing just a tad too heavily. He nodded, swallowed, and closed his eyes, breathing in and out in a steady, calming rhythm in silence. Doctor Fay waited patiently even as thoughts raced inside her head, questions appearing one after another that she was dying to ask of Wild but knew it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Many ponies were aware that different worlds existed, especially in academia, but to see someone who was in one... that was once in a million years sort of occurrence. However, it was not for Doctor Fay to explore, not there and then, and it was not her job. She was there to help Wild, not exploit him for the knowledge she personally had little use for.  

“Alright,” Wild finally spoke again, “Alright... And... and this is important. Because... because many things happened to me then. When I was not here,” he visibly swallowed again, “Those things are not happening anymore, but they are... they are here,” he tapped the side of his head with his magical finger, “I remember them, I went through them. And I want to become better. To, to fix what... what was broken by, by others.”

Doctor Fay wished to reassure him, to offer him comfort, but she could see he hadn’t yet finished speaking, and she had a feeling that, should she interrupt him, he would not bring anything more up for a long time. Instead, she continued to patiently wait for him to spill everything he wanted out.  

“I... I went through...” he hesitated there, but she could see him steeling himself and pushing forward, “I went through abuse. Not, not by my parents. My parents were wonderful. They... they died early,” he fell into silence again.

Doctor Fay took a mental note - children losing their parents, especially early on, was not an easy thing to overcome. This sort of trauma tended to linger, to influence all one did for a long time after it had set in. Depending on exactly what followed their death, Wild could have developed various behaviors which, by this time, would have become ingrained and difficult to change.  

“I was alone,” he continued, “I was... without a home. I could not... could not study. I was never good at studying. And I needed to work, but no one would take me.”

To Fay, this certainly explained his anxiety over getting a job as well as getting kicked out of the Royal Orphanage. Another mental note to take that she would later write down and review alongside everything else. Not to mention that not having a home even for a short while was known to be traumatic, especially if further misfortune fell upon the person. Home was safety, surety, and security - to not have a home meant not to have those three very important things.

“Someone took me,” his expression darkened, “Not for a job. But... but to, to...” he let out a shaky sigh then, physically curling in on himself without seemingly noticing it, “To use me. To violate me. Again and again and again and again,” he let out another sigh even as a horrible realization of what exactly it entailed came upon Doctor Fay, “They took away my, my freedom. And... and my body was, was not mine anymore. Not, not for... for a long time. But I broke out, I escaped,” he looked into Fay’s eyes then, “And I killed them. For what they did to me, I killed them. Not... not long after, I was dead, and then I was here, in this world. That... that is all.”

Wild looked away again, looking down on the floor, and Doctor Fay struggled to process what had just been revealed. She, of course, had studied various cases of varying severity, but this was certainly something out of this world in both literal and figurative senses. She did not miss the implication of how exactly he died, yet she did not want to ask for the fear of confirming it. Besides, she already knew what he meant, and dragging it out of him would help no one.  

“I am glad you put this much trust in me,” Doctor Fay settled on saying first, “May I ask you why you decided to take this step?”

“Because I want to be better,” he replied, “And I can’t be better if I do not... if I do not approach what happened to me. And you are not Princess Luna. You are not a princess. You are... you are a regular pony. You know life how it is for us. Princess Luna knows and helps me, but I know she is too old and not, not a regular pony. I thought... I thought I needed a different view. From someone who is a regular pony.”

“Very well,” Doctor Fay nodded, “I will certainly do my best to help you. Now, I must ask you - what do you want? Try to describe it as best as you can. What do you want to get out of these therapy sessions? What exactly do you want to address? Take your time to answer these questions.”

Wild nodded, then turned thoughtful. An ear twitch here, a tiny flex of a muscle there, a tightening around his mouth, a tap of his magical hands against his legs.  

Doctor Fay then took her time to categorize what she had learned in simpler, medical terms. Wild was from a different world, meaning a different culture and different values and beliefs. Wild had childhood trauma related to the deaths of his parents. Wild had trauma from unjust imprisonment and repeated sexual assault. Wild had trauma from killing others with purpose and clear intent. Wild had at least one suicide attempt - although labeling it as attempt was technically wrong, considering that it was successful and, from what Doctor Fay understood, ended up bringing him over to this world. As Wild described, he was not a pony at birth, so his old body was somehow discarded and replaced by a pony one. This could result in body image issues, but so far Doctor Fay did not see any signs of it - Wild, by all accounts, seemed perfectly comfortable in his new body. However, what he thought on the inside was not something that she would bet anything on, and it would be her job to help him reveal those feelings, to himself if not to her, and she would also need to teach him how to deal with those feelings.

Finally, Wild spoke up again.

“I want to stop avoiding touch,” he said, “I... I recently had a, had... someone ask me for a relationship. To try a relationship. And I want it. But I know I can’t be... good at it. Not until I stop fearing I will be hurt. Some things, they help with that, but... but I want more. I want touch, it... I tried it recently, just being close, and... touch is good. And I want more. But there is fear, and I... I don’t know how to get over it. I know I have this because... because of what happened to me. And... this is what I need to get over.”

“Alright. Would you like to address it first right now or do you want to discuss something else?”

“...right now,” he nodded, “I fear, but... but I must. I must go through. Because... because otherwise, it gives them power over me. They are dead, they do not... they will not have power over me.”

“This is a good attitude to have,” Doctor Fay nodded, “They indeed do not have power over you. You are your own person and your body belongs to you. Only you can decide what others can and can’t do with your body. You can always retract your permission if given, and no one is owed permission to your body.

“Now, it is good that you recognize what happened to you. It may not seem like it, but it is the first step towards recovery. Can you tell me what you feel about it? You don’t need to answer it, I will respect it if you say no, as anyone should.”

“...I felt powerless,” Wild admitted, “Now, I feel... I feel like I should have fought better. I feel... I feel dirty, every day, even when it is not... a strong feeling. I know I am not, um, dirty, I know it is not because I did things that, that this happened to me. But I feel dirty, like, like there is a thing about me that I can’t get rid of, can’t wash clean. I... I hoped that, by killing them, it would wash clean what I feel, but... but it’s still there,” he said with a frustrated huff, “I do not know how to get rid of it.”

Doctor Fay was certainly no specialist in how to help sexual assault survivors, considering just how rare it was, but she knew enough about it from her studies, and she had a generally decent idea of how a sexual assault survivor could feel. This was a good starting point, and she had to project confidence in order for Wild to feel like he could rely on her. She would have to do some intense research after the session, but that was for later.

“I believe it will be helpful to remind yourself that this body, the new one you gained after you traveled to this world, has never been violated in that way,” she said, “Your old body is gone, and everything that happened to it is gone as well. Perhaps you are not as connected to your new body as you need to be. I would suggest practicing mindfulness - you should simply focus on what you’re feeling in the present moment. Not what you felt before. Feel your own body, feel where it begins and ends, feel how it moves. You can do it anywhere, even while walking or eating. Connect to it, feel it as a part of yourself.”

“I am... already trying to do that,” Wild nodded.

“That’s good to hear,” Doctor Fay gave him a smile, “A thing that may help is rhythmic movement. It could be dancing, for example. It could also be just walking or running if you concentrate on the movements of your legs. Anything that combines rhythm and movement can work.”

“I... never thought about it.”

“It is something to keep in mind,” she nodded, “There are also various movement arts like yoga, they combine body awareness with relaxing, which can help you relieve your anxiety and fear.”

“I... I will try that,” Wild nodded with some uncertainty, “I stretch too. Does that work?”

“Of course, especially if you’re mindful when you’re doing it,” Doctor Fay said, “And lastly, you should practice consensual touch. Touch is very important to our well-being, it is vital for our mental, emotional, and physical health. I know it may sound difficult, but by choosing when and where and with whom you make contact, you will regain control over your body.”

“I am... doing that,” Wild confirmed, “It is difficult, but... but touch feels good. I just... I do not know if I can do it often.”

“As often as you can,” Doctor Fay insisted, “You may also try out a massage. I know it may feel uncomfortable to open yourself up to this, but touching and being touched is an important way we give and receive affection and comfort. Getting used to it will be good for you.”

“I do not know if I can do that,” Wild admitted, “I... is there... is there someone that is trustful? Someone I can trust not to... not to do anything bad?”

“There is a spa salon in Ponyville that I know has a perfect record over more than a decade,” Doctor Fay said, “I have visited it myself on a couple of occasions and have no complaints. They specialize in beauty treatments, but they are licensed to provide massage therapy. Ponyville Day Spa is run by twin mares called Aloe and Lotus Blossom. Would you be comfortable with mares touching you?”

“Yes,” Wild nodded without hesitation. There were no... uncomfortable associations between touch and women.

“Alright, then I can give you a referral so that the cost is covered,” Doctor Fay said, “Of course, if you feel uncomfortable, you can leave at any time. At any time, no matter what.”

“Okay,” Wild said, then simply breathed for a short while, “I... I think it’s done for this day.”

“Very well,” Doctor Fay agreed immediately, silently relieved that it was over, “Would you like to schedule another meeting? I would say around two weeks should give you plenty of time.”

“Yes, please.”

After Doctor Fay marked a day in her schedule for him and told him when to come see her again, Wild left.

Doctor Fay finally allowed herself to slump in her seat and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. This was mentally and emotionally exhausting, and she knew she would need some time to come to terms to what she had learned about Wild. She congratulated herself on not losing her composure while he was there, but now she could allow herself to feel the tiredness and the shock of what she learned.  

Without a single doubt, this was not going to be easy.
> Chapter 67: In the Eyes of the Beholder
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I decided to tell Doctor Fay about myself, I felt fear. I wanted to tell, but I didn’t want to tell. Because there would be no coming back once I did it. 

I already told Princess Luna and I thought it would be enough. But I needed to tell Doctor Fay because she is not a princess, she is just a regular person with no great magical power or status. 

I regret telling but I also do not regret. She now knows, and it is scary. Scary because of what she can do with that knowledge. But, logically, it is nothing - Princess Luna is a monarch, she is a ruler of Equestria, and there is no one above her except maybe her sister. There is nothing anyone can do to me that is worse than Princess Luna can do to me if she ever wants to hurt me. 

Princess Luna told me I can trust Doctor Fay. I guess this is a test of if I can trust her. And if I can, maybe she can help me. And if she can help me, I will become better.

Wild put down his pen and closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply, feeling as if he had just climbed a mountain. He silently congratulated himself on figuring out that his fear of others knowing about him was irrational. Princess Luna could make his life hell if she so chose. But she didn’t, and he, if he thought with logic and not irrational emotions, knew Doctor Fay would not betray his confidence either.

Knowing it all, however, did not make it all that much easier to trust. Nevertheless, the words were out, his secret revealed to another person, and there was not taking it back.   

What Wild did not put on paper was his ability to catch the thoughts of others. During his therapy session, he was attentive and careful, doing his best to see what Doctor Fay thought. There were many things, including a certain amount of disbelief, horror at what he told her happened to him, and a huge desire to help him. Among all those swirling thoughts, there was not a single one that promised him harm.

Wild would take comfort in that.

***

Things between him and Artful were normal, surprisingly for Wild. He expected some awkwardness - he certainly felt a bit odd about what happened between them - but there was little that actually changed. Perhaps Artful smiled at him more and was more thoughtful, but Wild couldn’t really pinpoint exactly how. Artful did not treat him like a fragile thing that could break at the softest touch, which Wild was grateful for because he was not fragile. He could cry sometimes, of course, and there was still a lingering sense of shame and weakness because of it. However, crying felt good, felt like a release, and Wild would not give it up for the sake of desired strength that he didn’t feel anyway.  

Wild managed to speak more and for longer. It often felt like trying to drag a heavy rock up a steep mountain, and his throat hurt if he spoke for too long, but overall... it was inexplicably good. It also helped that no one actively thought that his voice was ugly. Some considered it odd, some silently wondered where his accent came from, but no one had any disparaging comments about it, which was surprising although not unwelcome. Not once did he get a sense of ‘please shut up already’ from anyone, certainly not from his... acquaintances.

Or could he call them friends already? Artful was a friend, without a doubt. Wild found he would not particularly mind if a hug happened between the two of them, but Artful was respectful of Wild’s desire not to be touched, and Wild was not sure how to go about it. Just asking for a hug, especially in public, was... not exactly what he wanted. He knew that ponies would not really pay attention to it because they touch each other in many different ways all the time, he knew that, but he still felt like any public show of affection would... hurt him, somehow. As if someone would grab the opportunity to call him dirty, nasty, and undeserving of it. This thought overwhelmed him once, and he did what he didn’t think he would ever do - he asked for another therapy session with Doctor Fay. It was far too soon after his last one, but he needed to... he needed it, and the sooner the better.

Doctor Fay found time for him, thankfully, and so he entered her office once again and took his seat. For a short while, he was silent as he gathered his thoughts. In the meanwhile, he paid attention to what Doctor Fay thought - she was ready for an emergency, there was a lingering sense of horror at what she had learned last time, and there was still a strong sense of determination to help him. The last feeling was enough to get him to start speaking.

“I want to know,” Wild began, “About... about age. I am...” he paused, considering. He was certain he was at least eighteen, but anything past that was a blur with an uncertain timeline. He was likely nineteen already if not twenty. His highest priority at the time was far from tracking time aside from keeping an eye out on the time of day and the day of the week, and those days tended to... blur together somehow, become uncertain as to whether it was Tuesday or Thursday because it simply stopped mattering after a while, “I am older than I look. I am over eighteen years. Maybe nineteen or twenty. I do not know. And... I want to know if, if... if I should be there. Here. If I should... have relationships with anyone.”

“I see,” Doctor Fay nodded, “You are afraid that any relationships you may have with other young ponies in the Royal Orphanage may be inappropriate because of the age gap?”

Wild nodded.

“Can you tell me how... humans grow? At what age are humans considered adults? Physically, mentally, socially.”

“It is... different,” he settled on saying, “In history, it was... younger. Twelve or fourteen, I do not remember. But now it is too young. Now it is eighteen or twenty-one. It is mostly eighteen around the world. In... uh, law, in my country, you are an adult at eighteen. With exceptions. Then you are full adult at twenty-one. Physically? Um... I think humans become adults physically at twenty-one? When we stop growing and start aging. Maybe twenty-five? I do not know,” he looked down shamefully, “I... did not study well.”

“That is alright,” Doctor Fay assured him, “Let us compare, then. First, ponies can start walking within weeks or a couple of months from their birth.”

“Um, humans... can’t,” Wild blinked at her in surprise. Ponies could do that? “I think... humans can walk when we are two? Three? I mean years,” he then remembered a fact, “Oh, we do not form... uh, permanent memory, until we are around three years. I think. I may be wrong, but I think it is right.”

“For ponies, they can often remember the first year of their life,” Doctor Fay said, “Ponies can understand spoken word within that same year, and learning to read is done at two or three years of age.”

“For humans, it is... different. I do not remember how, but it is later.”

“It appears so far that ponies age faster than humans do,” Doctor Fay said with a nod, “What is the average lifespan of a human?”

“Uh... it... depends?” Wild shrugged uncertainly, “Sixty-five years? Seventy? Could be eighty if, um, things are good.”

“That is surprising, I would think humans would live at least thrice as long considering the aging differences,” Doctor Fay replied, “Ponies, on average, live to over a hundred years, most easily pushing one hundred and fifty. Some are known to live up to two hundred. Ponies stay relatively the same appearance and with the same physical abilities for at least thirty, sometimes fifty years past reaching adulthood at fourteen.”

“We... age... all the time?” Wild said, “I guess we can be physically similar for, um, until forty, but you can see that twenty and forty are... different ages.”

“Well, then let us summarize it,” Doctor Fay said, “Humans age consistently while ponies age fast at first, then slow down. It is said that, at one point in history, and it was before written history as we know it, ponies were much more short-lived, but with the help of magic, it changed. I am not an archaeologist or a historian, so I do not know the details, but it is an accepted fact that skeletons of ponies from prehistoric times are all below fifty years of age.”

Wild nodded thoughtfully. Would he live up to one hundred and fifty years? He had never expected to live to his mid-twenties, and now he was told he could easily live more than any human ever did? That he would live for over ten times what he had already lived through? He honestly didn’t know what he would do with all that time.  

“So, with that comparison now clear, it seems that you are, physically and mentally, not very far from ponies of age fourteen,” Doctor Fay continued, “Of course, your own experiences mark a stark difference between you and them, but I do not see an issue with you having a relationship with someone who is only chronologically younger than you. I would also like to know how you measure age. Our year is exactly four hundred days, and each day is twenty-four hours long.”

“Um, our year is three hundred sixty-five days long, but every four years it is one day longer. Each day is twenty-four hours long too.”

“Well then, let’s see...” Doctor Fay grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and started calculating, “Let’s say your age is twenty of your years. If we multiply it by the amount of days... then we do this... It appears that you would be not much over eighteen in our years. That, of course, leaves you with a four years of age differences between yourself and other ponies here, but it is only chronologically,” she put the paper and pen away, “Physically, you are certainly comparable. Mentally, it is difficult to judge considering your circumstances and experiences. However, the biggest issue when it comes to age differences in relationships is power. If you have power over someone, trying to make a close relationship with them could be problematic or outright illegal if, for example, you were a teacher and they your student.”

“I would never do that!” Wild denied, his muzzle wrinkling in distaste at the idea.

“Very good,” Doctor Fay nodded, “Now, I must paint a clear picture - ponies of age fourteen are capable of giving informed consent. They know what consent is and they know how to apply it. They can, and will, say no if they do not want you. So, I would say that there is, ultimately, no issue with you being chronologically older. It will, of course, remain your choice whether you pursue someone younger than you, and it would also remain your choice whether you will accept anyone younger than you pursuing you.”

Wild nodded. That... put his mind at rest, if he were being honest. He did not hold any power over anyone, that much he knew. He might be physically stronger than many, but the thought of using that strength to make someone do anything... close with him was repugnant to the highest degree. He could understand the word ‘no’ and exactly what it meant.  

“I... understand,” Wild nodded, “I think... I think it would be okay.”

“The golden rule in life is doing what makes you happy without infringing on the happiness of others,” Doctor Fay said, “Thank you for bringing this up with me, even on as short of a notice as this was. I hope that I was able to lay your worries to rest.”

“Yes... thank you,” Wild nodded once again, “I... um, I will go now.”

“Very well. I wish you good luck in your endeavors, Wild.”

***

After this short session, Wild felt a lot better about even considering having a relationship with anyone. Consent was important - his chronological age did not. Of course, he doubted he would ever consider a relationship with anyone much younger than him if he were, for example, forty. Anyone under the age of at least thirty if not more would be off-limits. Not that he ever had any experience with relationships anyway.  

However, all of this opened a door to having a relationship with Artful. Wild was still bewildered by the fact that it was Artful who suggested it. What was there to like about Wild? He was awkward, he didn’t speak well, he didn’t have much talent in anything worthwhile, and he was just overall weird and maybe even at least slightly off-putting. What could Artful possibly find desirable in him? Did he initially approach Wild to see if Wild would live up to his expectations? Looking back at it all, it did seem like Artful’s intention was always to ask him out on a date. But why? It wasn’t like he knew who Wild was. Did it all start because of simple physical attraction? Wild could admit that, perhaps, being physically fit was enough for him to be considered... decent-looking, at the very least. And, as far as he knew, his face wasn’t particularly ugly by pony standards.

Perhaps Wild would learn what it all meant once he sorted himself out. Perhaps his lack of understanding of how relationships worked stemmed from the fact that he was broken. Others didn’t have these difficulties, now did they? He was, once again, unfortunately unique in that regard. 

Wild replayed the conversation he had with Artful during that morning in the cabin.

“I, um, like you. You are, ah, nice, and... well, I like you.”

That was exactly what Artful said. Wild was, by him, somehow, considered nice. Wild desperately wanted to know what it meant, because he knew Artful wasn’t just humoring him, he knew Artful was honest. Missing Artful’s sincerity would be like missing the sun shining during the day, and Wild had been so physically close to Artful that there was absolutely no denying what he felt and heard and how Artful’s words were truth that came from within him. So, why did Artful say that? Why did he mean it? How did he mean it? He didn’t know what question to even ask to find out the truth, the real reasons behind why Artful thought Wild was in any way whatsoever... wanted.  

Wild decided to find out the hard way. By asking.  

By chance, he and Artful were alone as Wild mindlessly browsed the library while Artful was returning a book. Wild steeled himself even as his brain screamed at him to stop and turn around and leave.

“Artful, hi,” he greeted the young pegasus. He wanted to grab his own body and drag himself out of this situation, but a stronger part of him willed him to stay and to say the words that he wanted to say.

“Oh, hi,” Artful returned, “Good to see you.”

A tiny bit of warmth bloomed inside Wild at hearing it, and this warmth grew into a weak but steady fire when he felt that it was sincere.  

“I, uh... I want to know a thing.”

Wild felt like an idiot. Could he not speak like regular ponies spoke? He inwardly cursed at still having trouble with the language, it made everything far too awkward.

“Oh?”

“Um... why do you like me?” he said, not too fast yet still fast enough he didn’t have a chance to stop himself from saying it. Now it was out, and the only thing he could do was wait for an answer.  

“Ah, um...” Artful blushed. The two went to a quiet and private corner of the library where they settled down, “Well, um... when I first saw you, I thought you were, well, handsome.”

Handsome? Him, handsome? Wild could... perhaps see it. Not very well, but he could. He was no longer a malnourished balding human with an unfortunately-shaped face. But that, by itself, couldn’t have put him in the ‘handsome’ category. As far as he could see, he was maybe around average for a pony. Taller, yes, and more muscular, of course, but that didn’t really do anything, did it?  

“Handsome?” he couldn’t help but say, and Artful caught his skepticism.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Like, um... you take care of yourself, so that’s good, you know? Your fur is, um, nice, kinda shiny in a good way, you know? Your mane and tail are, uh, nice too. Brushed. And, um, you have... nice muscles. Like, I can see, you know, their shape, and those shapes and nice and all. Your eyes, they ah, they are, um, the color of a nice, cloudy sky. I could gaze in them. Yeah. So um... yeah.”

Wild was sporting his own blush now, his face redder than anything red he had ever seen. To hear himself described this way, to see that, despite what he thought as the minimum amount of effort put into being decent, he looked nice... it felt validating. And his eyes described like that? He always considered his own eyes a bit dull and mostly lifeless.  

“O-okay,” he managed to say, “That is, um... my looks. But... uh, there are, um... others. Better than me.”

“Maybe, but I decided to see who you are,” Artful said, and this struck a chord with Wild. His heart seemingly skipped a beat, and he found himself speechless, “And I, um... I like what I see. You’re not, you know, rude to anyone. You respect boundaries. You, um, don’t push, ever. You know what’s right and what’s wrong. You don’t want bad things to happen to others if they didn’t deserve it. So, um, as far as I’m, uh, concerned... you are perfect.”

You are perfect.

Wild could kiss him right there and right then.

You are perfect.

This was not what he ever expected to hear.  

“Thank you for, for telling,” Wild said, getting up from his seat, lamenting putting any sort of distance between himself and Artful, “I, um... I will think.”

“Okay,” Artful nodded, and Wild went away.

You are perfect.

He wasn’t, he knew he wasn’t, but...

You are perfect.

He could help but, for the moment, feel happy and joyful.

You are perfect.
> Chapter 68: Steady Hooves
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steady Hooves finished her lecture to the ponies of the Royal Orphanage. A small smile was on her face as she watched discussions continue as ponies made their way out of the hall. Some were animated and full of passion, others were quieter yet no less lively, it was a joy to see. She gathered her lecture material and, with a hum of a song under her breath, walked out of the hall herself.

She remembered this exact hall - it wasn’t infrequent for her to participate in a game of tag, and this specific hall was the best for gaining speed. It was relatively wide, even tall enough for her to fly if she wished, and it was long enough for her to gallop. While she was not that young and extremely energetic filly anymore, the memory brought a smile to her face anyway. Around the corner, further down a couple of halls, were the workshops that she frequented once she grew up. Woodworking, metalworking, carpentry, plumbing, she had tried it all once upon a time. However, the simplicity of a job well done wasn’t quite enough for her, and neither did it give her a talent mark. At the time, it puzzled her, but as she grew up, it became clear why.

Having a job was, without a doubt, not an easy thing. Some had it better than others, and the effort one could put into a job varied from sometimes too little to many times too much. That was not all, however, and that was what she dealt with. Her job was, perhaps, on the more difficult end of the scale and would oftentimes take her many hours, weeks, and months to do, and yet this was where she thrived, what she had chosen to do, and it was where her talent mark led her. It was, without a doubt, a job more stressful than most yet far more rewarding than anything else she tried her hooves on. From making sure young ponies got their desired jobs where they were happy to putting rich snobs in place when they wanted to get a much larger slice of the pie than they were owed, Steady Hooves enjoyed every moment of it.

As she walked through the halls of the Royal Orphanage, a rare yet often inevitable thought cropped up in her head. For yet one more time, she wondered who her biological parents were. Were they a young couple not ready for having a foal but, for one reason or another, too fearful to get an abortion? Or were they a couple who found out that taking care of a foal is more than a full-time job? There were many questions she could ask, but she had made peace with not knowing. She held no resentment towards her biological parents, wherever they were now. She was simply thankful for the opportunity to realize herself as she was.

Steady Hooves had held plenty of jobs over her life, and she dedicated time and effort to each and every single one of them to do the best she could. Every characteristic from every workplace she had ever been to described her as a dedicated, disciplined, and reliable worker. That, however, did not mean she was a pushover who would be there to lick the hooves of bosses or business owners. If needed, she could raise hell - and she had, on more than one occasion. Seeing their faces scrunched in distaste as they were forced to accept that others would not simply lie down and take it was quite something.

Aside from those little problems, she knew the ins and outs of how to get a job, how to work a job, and how to make sure everything surrounding the job went as it should if not better. Safety and health regulations needed to be followed, pay needed to be both fair and paid on time without exception. The most important, however, was the well-being of workers. If they were stressed, the cause of it needed to be found and dealt with.

However, today she was not acting as an inspector nor was she investigating any sort of impropriety within a company. Today, she was there to help ponies take their first steps towards finding and keeping a job where they would feel fulfilled and be happy.  

The key to it was finding a perfect match between a pony’s talent and work that others needed to be done. Usually, it was easy - talent marks were generally not very ambiguous, and most talent marks corresponded well to the jobs available. There were always plenty of carpenters, cooks, masons, janitors, artists of various kinds, and so on and so forth.  

Steady Hooves knew the history of talent marks better than most. While she had no idea how and why they were what they were, she knew what they did. Most ponies got their talent marks a couple years before reaching adulthood at fourteen. All ponies, without a single known exception, got a talent mark before hitting their third decade of life. At least, that was the case now. During stressful times of war or famine or extreme poverty, ponies could go without reaching their talents for far longer. Thankfully, Equestria had not seen any of it for centuries, and so the timeline of getting talent marks had remained steady for just as long, and any deviation was a cause for concern.

Wild, the person she was personally meeting with today, was unique, just like other ponies who asked her for help. As she waited for him in her office, she considered the implications of him reaching out to her directly. It was relatively uncommon to see a pony who didn’t know how to proceed with their life when it came to finding a job, and so she needed to pay close attention. She had long since discovered a pattern - foals with difficult childhoods were almost always late bloomers and had trouble finding their talent. She had read the file on Wild, and it was... something. It didn’t make much sense, but from what she managed to understand, he had only recently been given the opportunity to have a regular life. It would make sense to put him in the ‘difficult childhood’ category, at least until she knew more.

A knock sounded from her door. Wild entered, and she finally had the opportunity to take a good look at him. He was lean and muscular, which would help him if he did any sort of physically intensive job, although most of such jobs were done by earth ponies who were naturally stronger. When it came to Wild, he was perhaps average or slightly below average in physical build if he were an earth pony, but he was up there when it came to unicorn physiques. Unicorns, as a rule, didn’t do much physical activity beyond the necessary. Heavy lifting and such were done using magic instead which, crudely put, was a muscle on its own, and the only one unicorns usually exercised.  

Wild’s talent was, at a glance, ambiguous and vague, and, from what Steady Hooves learned, he had only very recently discovered it. His age, while officially not identified, was thirteen at the very least and fifteen at most. That would put him as a mid-late bloomer when it came to his talent. This, combined with a talent that was not easy to find a job for, made the situation difficult.  

“Alright, so let’s start off with this - there are always plenty of jobs available,” she told him just like she told many others. It was a good place to begin for ponies with a rare talent, to assure them that they would not be left jobless, “And many of them can be taught as well. There is rarely a perfect number of talented ponies available for every job, after all. However, I would like to ask first - what does your talent mark stand for?”

Steady Hooves got a weird feeling while looking at it. A perfect circle of black was not something she had ever encountered before. That wasn’t to say she had never encountered geometric shapes - architects, designers, mathematicians, and others could have them, it wasn’t uncommon. This one, however... there was something about it. The combination of shape and color, as well as the feeling she got from it, it painted an odd picture that she couldn’t even begin to figure out. She hadn’t had anything like this ever happen before. Talent marks were usually quite clear and simple and never felt like anything to her. She decided to keep this observation to herself as not to spook Wild. He was already anxious enough about getting a job, there was no need to call his talent weird.

Wild gestured that he would rather not talk about it. Steady Hooves knew that, in past times, one who had difficulty with speech would also have a very difficult time finding any kind of job. Thankfully, that was no longer the case, even if the job pool would be somewhat smaller.  

“May I ask why?”

Wild visibly hesitated before shaking his head. Steady Hooves frowned slightly. A pony rejecting their talent mark was not exactly unheard of, but it was extremely rare. In her lifetime, she had only seen it exactly once. All such cases, from what she knew, stemmed from parents disapproving of their foal’s talent and pushing them to somehow get a different talent mark, which was completely and utterly impossible. The foal, attempting to please their parents’ stupidity, would try anyway and fail. This was not Steady Hooves’ area of expertise, however - a therapist was needed instead.  

However, every talent had worth, every talent had a purpose, and every single pony had their talent for a good reason.  

“There is nothing shameful or wrong with the talent that you have,” she settled on saying first, “Whatever it is, it is a part of you, and it stems from you.”

Wild just shook his head, then added that he did not think his talent was wrong. He, with hesitation, stated that he simply didn’t want others to know what he could do.  

“Are you afraid someone will judge you for your talent?”

Wild was thoughtful for a short while, then settled on signing that he thought ponies would avoid him and think of him badly because of his talent.  

“Over the years, plenty of ponies faced ridicule because of their talents, but that was never on them. That was on the ponies who made fun of them. Every talent has a place in Equestria, without exception.”

Wild was, once again, thoughtful. Steady Hooves sometimes wished she was better at reading body language or even had an ability to read thoughts. It was rumored that some ponies could skim the minds of others and see what they thought in the moment, although Steady Hooves herself never really believed it. It was, without a doubt, probable, considering that true limits of magic were yet unknown, but whether it was actually possible wasn’t clear. Steady Hooves’ job would certainly be far easier if she could ascertain whether ponies she talked to were honest or not.  

Steady Hooves had seen plenty of various talents throughout her life as well as just as many ponies. More usual talents like carpentry gave ponies who had them little trouble finding their place in life, but there were also somewhat less usual jobs of various natures that left ponies... uncertain. Some got talent marks in historical but otherwise not very popular forms of art, which could make earning money difficult; others had a specific talent in a niche of a niche of a profession. There were, of course, also sexual talents, which, depending on a person, could cause issues. Steady Hooves knew her history decently well, and there were times when ponies were, in her opinion, not getting laid enough while doing too much judging others for doing it in different ways. Such attitudes were rare nowadays yet not non-existent. However, she didn’t think Wild’s talent was of that nature.  

Wild finally gathered his thoughts and started gesturing. He explained that his talent is very rare and would not land him a job. He stated it with absolute certainty, signing that he could not see anyone having a job for him except in very rare circumstances. He added that showing his talent, especially in public, would likely scare ponies and make him an outcast. Lastly, he stated that he would like to have a normal job where he would not have to use his talent.

“Alright,” Steady Hooves nodded, “If that is what you want, then I will help you,” she brought forward a list of jobs in the area around Ponyville. A lot of it was work helping on the farms, which paid for physical labor, “Here, you will be competing with earth ponies, who are, on average, stronger than you and have more endurance than you. Some anti-unicorn sentiment is also present, plenty of earth ponies treat magic as a lazy shortcut unicorns have that allows them to not do physical work. Ponyville is pretty rural and doesn’t accept strangers easily. Although you, as a pony from the Royal Orphanage, would be more welcome.”

Wild asked if those jobs had any requirements. Steady Hooves could feel that it wasn’t the job he would specifically like, but one he would be willing to tolerate. It was not exactly the best attitude, but if his talent didn’t allow him to find an easy job, this sort of attitude wasn’t surprising.

“No, you just have to show up,” Steady Hooves said, then explained the pay and the hours, as well as bringing up what he could get for that amount of money. It wasn’t anything particularly impressive, but the pay was definitely not bad for this kind of job, “Want to see other options?”

Wild nodded, and Steady Hooves continued. In Ponyville, there wasn’t much work to be found for someone who didn’t live there - it was a close-knit community that helped each other in times of need. For some real job opportunities, Wild would need to look towards other, bigger settlements, especially cities. As he was not an earth pony, farm work in rural settlements would not be very attractive to him and neither would he be as good as an average earth pony at it. Earth ponies, after all, knew how to instinctively use magic to make better, healthier crops, as well as grow them at a rate unachievable for the other pony tribes.  

The closest city to Ponyville and the Royal Orphanage was Canterlot. It was a prestigious city, an expensive city, so jobs, on average, paid a noticeably bigger amount than in most places. Simple janitorial jobs that requires no education and no work experience were aplenty and, while they would not pay for a house or an apartment in Canterlot itself, neither for rent nor for buying, they would certainly pay enough to rent a modest apartment or house in Ponyville while leaving enough for groceries and activities not related to the job or basic survival. Of course, this kind of work would require a commute by train, which would be paid for as it is counted as part of the job. 

Wild listened with rapt attention as Steady Hooves listed the jobs available and what they entailed. He found his fear and anxiety slowly dissipating as he realized his situation wasn’t nearly as hopeless as he thought. He even had options, which seemed baffling. He had next to no education in anything that mattered, he had no job experience whatsoever, and yet there were multiple offers that would, back in the USA, have people flocking to them.

Despite his inadequacies, he would still be able to find a job without much difficulty. The prospect of moving away from the Royal Orphanage seemed daunting, almost impossible, but at least he had a guarantee that he wouldn’t be starving out on the streets.  

In truth, he was willing to do nearly anything for money as long as it paid. Being a janitor wouldn’t be bad - he could clean things, and his sense of disgust had dulled over the time he spent homeless, so he wouldn’t fret over having to clean up something nasty. Stocking shelves in a market, moving goods on a cart, cutting grass, walking dogs - the latter somewhat surprising him, but some ponies did have pets - and a lot of other things required no work experience and no education beyond that which was taught at the workplace itself. 

“I still recommend you go to school and then possibly college or university if you want to get much higher-paying jobs in the future,” Steady Hooves told him, “There is also the option of apprenticeships where you would be taught at the workplace. Smithing, plumbing, carpentry, metalworking, and more have it available. You would have to compete with ponies who have their talent marks, so keep in mind that you won’t be the most skilled or fastest or most productive worker. Do not let it cause resentment in you, do not grow angry at ponies who are naturally better at their jobs.”

Wild nodded in understanding. He was perfectly aware that he was certainly far from the best at just about anything. Sometimes it stung, sometimes he wanted to ask ‘why?’, sometimes frustration rose within him, but he understood and did his best to accept this fact.  

“And lastly, there are always small short-term jobs available everywhere, you just have to find a local notice board for them,” Steady Hooves said, “It could be something like moving the furniture, it’s all similar easy one-time jobs. Do you have any questions about any of this?”

Wild signed, asking what he would get if he went to school and what his options were after that.

“The school will teach you the basics of nearly everything. Mathematics, history, geography, magic theory, art, and so on. It would also give you an opportunity to start learning an additional language. While ponies have had a single language since around the time of Unification, other nations are in different situations. Tauria speaks various languages, the most common one being Minoglossa. Zebrican Nations have a variety of languages as well that share some similarities but usually aren’t interchangeable. Griffon Kingdoms speak languages of the Greif family and are similar enough that you can make do with just one of them almost everywhere.”

Wild wondered what it would be like to visit all those different countries, to see what they had to offer, how people lived there... He had, as a child, wondered the same, yet had never been outside the USA. He wasn’t yet sure if he would do it, but the idea of traveling the world seemed nice.

“Once you graduate school, which, at your level, would take about five years, maybe even less, you can get an apprenticeship for a job you want, and you’d be more likely to be picked for jobs with higher pay since your diploma will show that you are a diligent and disciplined student. Or you can go to college, which can either be a direct continuation of school, as in you get wider knowledge in many topics, or you will specialize in an area you choose. Universities are usually reserved for people who want to study something as complex as engineering, magical theory and spell development, biology, chemistry, and so on.”

Wild nodded. If he were entirely honest with himself, he didn’t see himself going to a university. Certainly not now, possibly not ever. The only thing that truly grabbed his attention was magical theory and spell development, which definitely sounded interesting. Although, he expected it would be far less exciting than it appeared to him. Though, he would definitely like to learn how to teleport on purpose - it would be a very useful ability, without a doubt.

In the end, Wild gestured that he would think about it all.

“Alright. I’ll leave this to you,” Steady Hooves gave him a booklet, “It explains how enrollment for school, college, and university work, then it goes into how to apply for various kinds of jobs and what rights and responsibilities you have as a worker.”

Wild took the booklet, thanked the mare, and left. As he closed the door behind him and walked away, he realized just how relieved he felt, how light his mind became after hearing that he would have somewhere to go, something to do. He would not be homeless again, and he would be able to find a job, and he would be able to afford his own things, and...

He kept his mind on the present - he needed to put effort into things first before reaping the rewards. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he was ready for it, and he was willing to do it.  

Perhaps the life he wanted to live wasn’t out of his reach after all.
> Chapter 69: Massage Therapy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

If there was one emotion Wild absolutely despised, it was anxiety. It spread like a disease, affecting everything around it, making things more difficult than he believed they had any right to be. It seemed like it had no reason to exist other than to spite him and prevent him from achieving anything with his life. However, as much as he hated it, he couldn’t just magic it away. Even with real magic, it was simply impossible to do it. Wild suspected it would involve direct manipulation of a brain, and that was definitely not something one should be able to freely do. The possibilities made him shudder, especially when he remembered how commonplace mind control, illusions, and other similar sort of manipulations were in fantasy stories where magic existed. In truth, he didn’t even need to remember fantasy - he had already had personal experience with it, after all. He remembered the pressure of a foreign, hostile mind on his own, and he was continuously aware of his own ability to catch the thoughts of others. At least, to his knowledge, he couldn’t influence anyone with his mind alone.  

The thought of removing anxiety seemed tantalizing at times, but if it did involve direct manipulation of his mind, he would rather avoid it if possible. His mind was already vulnerable enough, he didn’t want to open it up any further. To let others see inside his mind was, perhaps, permissible. Letting anyone change it through magic? He was unwilling to go that far. Such a level of trust would require him to know someone inside and out, and he could never ask that of anyone.

However, he was digressing. In the there and then, Wild was just outside the gates to the Royal Orphanage, standing in place, rooted to it despite trying to push himself to move his legs. It was not a long walk from there to Ponyville, and in Ponyville, he would get a... massage. Unsurprisingly for him, it was the very cause of his anxiety. He was told to learn to identify his emotions, and he knew exactly how he felt about this.

Wild knew he had nothing to be afraid of, he knew it, and yet his body seemingly didn’t want to obey him. There was absolutely nothing in this situation that could be found in common to when he was imprisoned and violated, nothing at all, yet his mind drew parallels anyway, parallels that made no sense, and he knew it but...

Wild inhaled deeply, tasting the air. When he focused on it, he found it always seemed like he took deeper breaths than ever before in his past life. Part of it could be attributed to a different respiratory system, but a different, bigger part of it was not about anything related to his body at all. The ever-present stink of gasoline, tire rubber dust, concrete, asphalt, it was all simply not there. And now, it mattered more than usual.

It was a reminder that he was not in the city, that he wasn’t even on Earth. He exhaled, then took another deep breath. There was moisture, but it wasn’t combined with the stale smell of dust and concrete like where he was kept. He breathed out, then took another lungful of air. He did not smell the stink of his own body combined with the disgusting smell of, of anything else. He sometimes smelled of sweat, but it was entirely different now. Otherwise, he smelled fine as far as he could tell. Some ponies, he knew, used various things to make themselves smell one thing or the other, but he simply enjoyed being clean.

Smells. Nothing he could smell was similar to his darkest memories.  

Wild set out, making the first step. He felt the ground under his hooves, not bare concrete under his naked feet. One step, two, then more. He blinked, his eyes seeing the nature around him and not the room he was confined to. His ears twitched, hearing the subtle rustling of the leaves, not complete and utter silence with rare muffled sounds of a car. A dry twig snapped under his rear left hoof, and it was nothing like the slap of his feet against the floor.  

Touch, sight, and hearing. No similarities once again.

Wild focused on how free he was. He could turn around and not go to the spa, refuse the massage. He had that choice, and he would always have it. Even when he made the entire way to the spa place where the massage was waiting for him, he would have the freedom to leave before ever entering the building and at any point afterwards. There would be no punishment, no disapproval. He would not need to explain himself.

A thought crept into his brain - it was too much too fast, wasn’t it? Going from no touching to a full-on massage of his entire body. He had already slept with someone else, which was unthinkable despite the fact that it wasn’t sexual at all. It was all just too much, and he needed a break, that was without a doubt. And he would not be averse to have it last a long time. In fact, having it last for however long he needed it to would only be good for him, wouldn’t it? And as for how much time he needed...  

That, he knew, would mean forever. To admit it to himself was to recognize that he was avoiding things.  If he did not crawl out of his shell, if he did not push himself further and further, he would be stuck where he was forever. And he wanted touch. He desired closeness. If he ended up getting together with someone, somehow, it would not do to have him flinch when he wanted to, for example, snuggle closer.

That night at the cabin was not too much and was not too fast. It was just right, and he had to admit, had to accept that what he felt was good and that it was the right move to agree to a sleepover. He got a taste of it, a taste of consensual, pleasant touch, and he wanted more. He had to be unafraid, had to beat his anxiety back, had to not allow it to control him if he ever wanted to experience snuggling, hugging, and maybe more than that.

Even as he desired the closeness, a part of him wanted to reject it and reject anyone who offered it. He wanted to retreat to the safety of being alone, to the security in making it clear to everyone that he was not to be touched, ever, under any circumstances. He could return to where he was, to close the door and lock it tight. He could forget it ever happened, to push his desire away and never allow it to resurface. In a way, it could be better... and if not better, then easier, at least.  

However, and he had to remind himself of it, he wanted to be touched. He desired it, even perhaps lusted after it in a way that he had never done before. So, keeping his want in mind while trying to keep the fear away, he forced himself to walk. Step by step, feeling his hooves hit the ground, he made his way. Along the path he went, meeting no one except a couple squirrels playing with each other. The sight made him relax somewhat even if it didn’t feel like anything changed at all. However, despite his anxieties, life went on. And just like it continued around him, it needed to continue within him. Step by step, he made his way.

Last time he visited Ponyville felt like a lifetime ago, yet not even a year had yet passed. That tournament, his very first tournament as a pony, and he won it. It was not an unpleasant memory despite what followed afterwards - the Changeling Invasion, the Nightmare, and... quite a lot of things. Despite how much had happened to him and how much his life changed, what he was seeing before himself hadn’t seemingly changed at all aside from the obvious transition from summer to autumn. The same quaint houses with thatched roofs, the same curved streets, the same ponies. It was as if nothing had happened at all. As far as the residents were concerned, perhaps nothing had - Wild had no idea if changelings ever entered Ponyville. From all that he knew about the Invasion, the princesses were the main targets, as well as the capital of Equestria. Whatever the case might be, Wild stopped to appreciate the sense of peace permeating the air of Ponyville.  

Ponyville Day Spa was at the other end of Ponyville, so Wild had to make his way through the village. He wondered why a village had a spa - he thought such things belonged in the cities. Perhaps the word ‘spa’ wasn’t the right translation to English, although the definition of the word seemed to fit. To him, the village looked mostly medieval, and the word ‘spa’ evoked the images of modern sleek and straight designs, including uniform tile, smooth glass, and women wearing high heels. Naturally, ponies never wore high heels, so Wild was confident he would not see such things. However, maybe this spa was closer to a bathhouse in function, and Wild remembered hearing of bathhouses that existed, if he was recalling it correctly, in either Greece or Rome back around the first century or maybe earlier.  

When Wild thought of something medieval, he imagined something dull and dirty where people threw their bodily waste right out on the street. Ponyville, however, was nice and bright, full of color, and there were no unpleasant smells lingering in the air. Wild was aware Equestria had plumbing, but to imagine plumbing inside medieval houses... that was difficult. Wild wondered what was the rate of sewage systems and plumbing in Equestria - was it high or were there plenty of places where nothing of that sort still existed?

Wild shook his head, trying to get rid of those stray thoughts. The existence of plumbing in Ponyville was, at the very least, confirmed by the working fountain he was passing by. He didn’t know when exactly fountains appeared - was it sixteenth century? Eighteenth? Whatever it was, a fountain likely required some sort of plumbing to work. And, to his surprise, a pony stopped by the fountain and took a few sips before moving on. Was water that clean in there that just drinking straight from a fountain was safe? Of course, were he homeless he wouldn’t think twice about it unless there was some sign warning of chlorine or something of that sort, but now, when he had the option to drink water he knew was perfectly safe, drinking from a fountain didn’t seem very appealing. However, if the fountain water was clean enough for safe drinking, then he would keep it in mind. If, for whatever reason, he ended up out on the streets by himself again, at least he wouldn’t die of thirst. He wondered if food could be gained for free, and then he immediately realized that ponies could easily munch on grass and leaves. Unlike humans, ponies were herbivores and could eat all plants, so it made sense to him that free food likely meant eating some grass out on the fields and glades and all that. If he ever went homeless again then perhaps he wouldn’t have to think much about food and water... however, there was winter to contend with. He needed to look up how cold winters were in Equestria. Considering the yellowing, browning, and reddening of the leaves around him, he suspected winter would have at least some snow and freezing temperatures.

He passed by a market, and his gaze was attracted by a sign that proclaimed something ‘Free’, although there was some smaller script underneath. He almost automatically went there and, before he realized he did so, he was standing in front of a stall full to the brim with various apple products, from regular apples to various apple pies and other apple foods that he had no names for.  

“Hey there, young ‘un,” he was greeted by an earth pony mare who spoke an accent he could categorize as southern even in the different language. She was also wearing... some sort of a cowboy hat, or something close enough that it looked like it. For a reason he couldn’t figure out, she looked familiar, “Fancy yourself an apple?”

Wild signed that he had no money with him. He decided not to admit that the ‘Free’ sign was what attracted him.

“No worries there,” the mare told him. If she thought him not speaking was odd she didn’t comment on it, “Grab one, come back if ya end up liking it, and Ah know ya will. We make the finest apples ‘round here, after all.”

Wild nodded, then looked at the selection of apples. They came in many different sizes and colors, and Wild didn’t know which one to pick. The mare seemed to catch on to that fact pretty quickly.

“Ya see, here’s Golden Delicious, Lady, Baldwin...”

She continued rattling off the kinds of apples one after another, and Wild felt his eyebrows rise at the amount of those kinds. He was only really familiar with red apples and green apples - simply their color, at least - and he had certainly never heard of their names before.  

“...and this one here is special, but it ain’t a real apple, just a model,” the mare finished, gesturing at the most unique apple Wild had ever seen. Their skin was a perfect, clear rainbow. As real as it looked, there was a sign next to it stating that it was made of wood, “Come again in a week and we’ll have ‘em for real. They’re zap apples, Granny Smith planted ‘em when Ponyville was founded. Ah’d wager ya’re not local, so don’t miss ‘em when they come.”

“It’s you!”

Wild swiftly turned around and saw... for a second, she looked startlingly familiar, and it took him a few moments to place her face in his memory. She was Rainbow Dash, and he beat her at the tournament. It made him feel oddly nostalgic despite the fact that the tournament wasn’t that long ago at all.  

“Huh?” the apple seller blinked in confusion, her eyes moving between Rainbow Dash and Wild until something clicked into place, “Aaah, ya’re Wild, aren’tcha?”

Wild simply nodded. He was tense and ready for a fight as Rainbow Dash gave him a stink eye.

“Well Ah’ll be damned,” the mare laughed a bit, “Dash, ya’re still feelin’ sore ‘bout that loss?”

“I’ll get you back, Wild,” Rainbow Dash told him, “Our rematch will be legendary when I whoop your butt!”

Wild’s memories came to him, and now he recalled how arrogant she was, how sure she was of her victory until Wild showed just how wrong she was about her own abilities. A smirk spread on his face, making her huff in response. Wild’s mouth pressed into a line until he made his jaw relax, opening his mouth to speak.

“We will see,” he said lowly, then turned to the apple seller. Now he remembered her as well - she was in the support group of Rainbow Dash and the unicorn he beat for the first place, Twilight Sparkle. He then grabbed a random apple - thankfully not the wooden model of a zap apple - and said, “Thank you for the apple.”

He turned around and walked away, having to consciously force himself not to look back as his instincts screamed at him not to turn his back to a potential enemy. However, he was reasonably sure Rainbow Dash wouldn’t attack him, and whoever the apple seller was wouldn’t let her if she decided to try. Besides, Wild had his ability - he would feel her coming. This rationalization made his instincts quiet down somewhat even though they remained in the back of his mind.

When he turned a corner, he could hear some words exchanged between the two mares as well as laughter from the apple seller. Whatever they said, he couldn’t clearly see, so he went on his way. The apple was delicious when he finally took a bite, and soon nothing was left on it - he ate it in its entirety, core and all. After all, the core was still food - there was no need to waste it.

Wild was surprised he managed to speak, but now it came to him easier and easier. He was glad for it - it had been a long time since he spoke as often as he was doing now, and it felt good to speak again, especially in an entirely new language. It felt like something new, almost as if he was learning to speak all over again. Perhaps it was fitting, considering that it was his second life.  

Not too long after the encounter with Rainbow Dash, he had finally reached Ponyville Day Spa. It did not look quite like timber-framed houses around Ponyville, being covered in smooth plaster and then painted, but it still managed to fit in a way that Wild couldn’t explain. The spa was also a relatively large building with ample space inside. Above the entrance door, which was made of wood and not steel and glass like one could expect out of a modern shop with a street entrance, there was a sign depicting a tall pony with a glorious and long golden mane and tail. He tilted his head this and that way, realizing that the pony on the sign also sparkled. He briefly wondered how he would look like with a mane and tail this long and voluminous, and found he didn’t mind this thought. Most importantly, this sign confirmed that this was exactly the place he came for. Before he could convince himself to turn tail and flee, he opened the door and stepped inside.

The smell that immediately rushed at him reminded him of when he used bath bombs as a child. It was pleasant and certainly reminded him of a bath, at least. This smell, while wet, was nothing like any bad kind of smells, thankfully. At the reception desk, two mares awaited him already - Aloe and Lotus as the signs said.  

“Good day and welcome to Ponyville Day Spa,” one of them greeted him, “You’re Wild, right?”

He nodded.

“Alright. You’re here for a therapeutic massage, right?”

Wild, not trusting himself to speak nor having any real desire to do so, nodded again. His heartbeat was slightly faster, yet he did his best to keep it calm by taking steady and deep breaths. There was no danger there, and he would not even be touched by men.

“Would you like a private room for it?”

Wild nodded in confirmation. He had no desire to expose himself any more than he was already doing.

“Very well. Please follow me.”

Wild was led to a small room colored in pleasant blues and purples where a massaging bed or table or whatever it was called was waiting for him. There was also a frosted window letting in pleasant daylight and nothing else. There was some sort of a floral fragrance in the air that he couldn’t identify. He focused on it, breathing it deep. He could almost hear his own heartbeat, but he wasn’t quite at that point yet.

“First, I would like you to mark which areas are off-limits for massage if you have any,” Aloe - or was it Lotus? He already forgot which of the name plates were next to which pony. Either way, she gave him a drawing of a pony with various areas separated by dotted lines.  

He immediately marked the crotch area as off-limits, as well as the area close to it like his belly. Inner thigh areas on his rear legs were also marked as they were far too close to his privates for comfort. He considered marking his entire butt as off-limits but decided not to. Done with marking, he handed the drawing back to the mare.  

“Alright, please take your place on the massaging table.”

The massage table was certainly shaped for pony needs, having enough space for all four legs as well as a raised section for his head. It wasn’t very high off the floor, although Wild spotted a mechanism that could raise it if needed. It was clear the table was designed with the pony lying down on their belly in mind, which was fine as far as Wild was concerned. He didn’t fail to notice that there was also a hole where his crotch would be. The implications were quite clear, and Wild wisely didn’t comment on it. He marked that area as off-limits anyway, so he didn’t need to worry.

One he lay down on it, the mare explained in detail what she was going to do, seeking confirmation from Wild along the way. Her calm voice and professional attitude about it made him relax somewhat, and by the end of her explanation he was as ready for the massage as he could ever be.

She started from the shoulder area just like she told him she would. He was almost ready to reject her touch, and yet when she finally touched him...

It was nothing like hands. The pressure, the pattern of it, the texture, it was so completely and utterly different that he almost jumped at the sensation. Then he realized that it did not remind him of all the times he was touched without his consent, and that allowed him to settle down. With the point of expected familiarity between the good and the bad not being there, he had nothing to be afraid of, and so his anxiety started slowly yet surely disappearing.

She worked her hooves expertly over him, kneading his muscle, sometimes slightly uncomfortably, until Wild felt those muscles relax, their tension disappearing. He no longer had to actively focus on his breathing, and so he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of touch. She was not a man, she was doing it all professionally, she was not going to touch him sexually, and all of that combined made his wariness fade.  

From his shoulders she shifted to his back, and that was where a lot of tension was. Under her hooves, his muscles continued to loosen, and he even let out a soft groan of relief when a particularly stubborn one lost the tension he had never thought was there.  

From his back, she transition to his rear, and that was the area he expected problems to appear. However, once again, her hooves were not hands, and none of the touch was even hinting at anything sexual whatsoever. He allowed it to happen freely, and a smile spread on his face as his body relaxed.  

From his torso to his legs to his neck and even to his face, the massage took all the tension away, wiping it off him as if it was never there. When she reached his horn, he let out a moan that could only be described as sexual, although neither commented on it - Wild was so out of it that the possibility of his moan sounding inappropriate never reached his brain.  

He didn’t know what it was about his horn, but as it was massaged it felt amazing. Not in a sexually pleasant way but like warm sun on his skin combined with the feeling of a heavy warm blanked on top of him except amplified at least tenfold in strength. He knew a unicorn’s horn had to be special in some way aside from providing the ability to cast spells, but apparently there was even more to it than he thought.

However, he didn’t need to think anymore. He was now seemingly floating, with nothing but his own breathing, his calm heartbeat, and the feeling of hooves on his skin to distract him from the experience of simply being. Without his conscious command, his face relaxed, and a smile was wide on it, all the pinched look of tension and wariness disappearing as if it was never there.

After who knew how long, the feeling of hooves on him disappeared, and he was left in a state that could be called bliss.

“I will let you rest here for some more time, Wild,” he was told, “Feel free to take a nap if you feel the need to.”

“Mh-hmm,” he nodded slightly, and he heard the mare exit the room and close the door behind her. Nap certainly sounded like something...

Before he could complete the thought, the combined relaxation of his body and mind put him to sleep.

For now, he simply rested.
> Chapter 70: Trouble in Ponyville
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild awoke slowly to the same sight as what he went asleep to. The same massaging table underneath him, the same frosted glass window in front of him. He still felt like he was floating in the warmth of a pleasant embrace of... whatever it could be. It didn’t matter because he felt good.

However, it was then when something intruded on his peace and calm, making a slight frown appear on his face. He opened his eyes, then got off the massaging table. There was a... feeling. Undefined, vague. He would be wrong if he said it was some sort of a call because it wasn’t. It was more like... a warning. There was nothing critical about it, at least not yet, but he had to find out what it was.

He exited the massaging room and went to exit the Ponyville Day Spa. He only briefly exchanged goodbyes with the owners, where he was also told it would be a weekly thing for him, to which he agreed. He put it to the back of his mind as he exited the building, and now the vague warning was at the forefront.  

He looked around - the atmosphere was tense, and he could see ponies whispering between themselves before they either went away or went towards the center of the village. Wild followed those who did the latter. He, however, hanged back, unwilling to put himself directly in the path of possible danger, certainly not until he knew what it was. He hoped it wasn’t like the Changeling Invasion or the Nightmare. However, he had a feeling that it wasn’t. He needed to investigate it further...

Or he could leave right now and possibly warn the princess. It would mean going around Ponyville, which would take him more time, but he would then avoid the center of the village where the warning originated from.  

He weighed the two options. If he were to approach the danger... then what? He had no plan. He didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t have a weapon, and there were certainly no knives conveniently within his vision. His magic was not very strong either, and he couldn’t escape using it without something being seriously wrong - he still didn’t know how to teleport. He didn’t even know if blocking teleportation was possible - he should have looked it up immediately upon learning teleportation was possible. However, he didn’t plan ahead - planning was just not his strongest suit - and so he was now reaping the consequences.

Going around the village it was. Warn Princess Luna that something was wrong, and he felt this situation would concern her even though he didn’t know why he felt that way. Either way, Princess Luna knew him and would know he wouldn’t have went to her unless he was very worried, which he was.

He needed to do the sensible thing, and the most sensible thing right now was to evade the danger and warn someone who could deal with it about it. And so he went, first turning right around, exactly away from the center of the village. He walked until the houses grew sparse, then changed his direction to go around the imagined perimeter. As he went, he saw more and more ponies heading towards the center of the village, although some hid inside their houses, closing and locking their doors and windows. Whatever it was, it was at least worrying enough that ponies decided hiding like this would be safer, so Wild silently congratulated himself on not going with the crowd towards the center. However, he still needed to make his way around to the path to the Royal Orphanage, and this would take him more time than getting from that path to Ponyville Day Spa took. Hopefully, whatever it was in the center would not reach him.

He shifted from a walk to a trot. He didn’t know if going any faster would be a good idea, so he did his best to seem not too out of place. He frequently looked around as he went, but aside from regular ponies there was no one there. He couldn’t hear any screams or yells, although there was something at the edge of his hearing, something coming from the enter of the village. Despite his curiosity, he maintained his pace and direction, making a wide circle around the center. His breath was steady, his hooves hitting the ground at regular intervals, and he was focused on making his way without incident.  

Wild really hoped it was nothing too serious, and he had a feeling it wasn’t anything on the scale of the Changeling Invasion or even the Nightmare, but... it was not something to disregard despite that.  

It would have been funny if Wild was not, despite his outward appearance, growing more and more afraid by the minute. His second outing away from the Royal Orphanage, and he had already gotten in trouble. Maybe fate or destiny or whatever it could be that influenced this magical world had a laugh at his expense. With his luck, it could be exactly that. And this time he, once again, had to rely on luck in order not to get hurt. Perhaps if he actually learned how to teleport, he would have already been back at the orphanage and on his way to warn the princess. Or, if he had more power, if his magic were stronger, he would have been able to go and see what the danger was and easily deal with it. However, from what he knew, it took an alicorn level of power to do this kind of thing easily, and he was certainly far from that. It appeared it was possible to become an alicorn, but he had no idea how, and he very much doubted it was even possible for someone like him. And even if he did become one, all alicorns were members of royalty, so did that mean he would become some sort of a prince as well? He simply couldn’t see that happen. He wanted and needed power over his own life, but power over the lives of others? He neither wanted it nor deserved it. Considering how messed up he was, he could only ever pass it on to others if he were given this much power.

His musings were interrupted when he caught something happening in the corner of his eye. A burst of magic flashed in red, and in an instance a huge transparent glass-like dome was conjured over the entirety of Ponyville. It started lowering quickly, and Wild did not hesitate, turning entirely away from the center of the village and galloping as far as his legs would allow. A second passed, and the dome was over a quarter way down, and Wild could see he would not make it. He made himself go faster anyway. Another second passed, and the dome was already halfway to the ground, the edge of it too far away, and Wild pushed himself even harder. A third second, and the dome was almost there, not giving him time, and on the fourth second, it landed with a final thud that shook the ground. Wild slowed down, then stopped - between him and the edge of the dome, a few dozen meters were. He would have never made it.

Did the dome seal off the outside air? Would everyone slowly starve of oxygen? Or would this dome be filled with deadly gasses or even simple water?  

Wild had a very, very bad feeling about this. He needed to escape, the sooner the better. Whoever conjured this dome had to be very powerful to do it so easily and so quickly. He had no idea why Ponyville was under attack, but he had to warn Princess Luna that something wrong was going on.

He approached the edge of the dome and studied it with his eyes. It clearly wasn’t glass, something was... off about it. Wild looked around and saw a loose piece of gravel. He spun it around, then hurled it at the dome with as much power as he could muster. It bounced off in a flash of red light, landing still on this side of the dome. The red light - it had to be some kind of alert system, Wild realized. He swiftly made his way away from the spot, cursing that he couldn’t easily hide in the grass because his fur just wasn’t the right color. Thankfully, no one immediately arrived to check on the disturbance, so it seemed he was safe for the moment.

Hiding behind some odd old-looking shed next to an overgrown plot of land, he stopped to think. Perhaps this barrier only didn’t let physical objects pass, so likely his spirit would. And if not, he could try to move through the ground underneath - it didn’t seem like the dome dug into the earth. However, if he did that, he would have to leave his body behind, and he wasn’t sure what would happen with it.  

Then he recalled that Lina had a new body made for her. Right this moment, he wished if it were finally a success, that it was possible to make a new body and to move one person, one soul to another. It would have made things... easier.

He could try to teleport. He cast his mind back to when he teleported first, and he definitely remembered the sensation of it. How he accomplished it, however, was another thing entirely. Likely, first he needed to imagine his destination. He closed his eyes and picked a place with enough open space for him not to accidentally make any mistakes. There it was, the space just behind the gates to the Royal Orphanage, where there was just the road and grass by its sides. He imagined the details like the distance between that point and the main building, then the lake, then other places. It was still somewhat vague, but it was likely enough. Next, he willed himself to go there. He wanted to go there. His magic was there, he needed to use it.

He stood like that for a couple of long seconds stretching into half a minute, then a full minute. Nothing happened except his horn started itching a bit. With a huff of frustration, he ceased his efforts and then rubbed at his horn, making the itch go away. It appeared he needed to go with a different plan.

The very same shed he was hiding behind was tilted a bit, and the padlock on it was rusty, and one of the things that the U-shaped part of the padlock went through was barely nailed to the side of the doorway. He grabbed it with his magic, wrapping it around the thing, and then pulled. It came out, nails and all, with a surprising amount of ease, and so Wild slipped inside the old shed and closed the door behind him. It easily stayed closed, so he didn’t need to worry about it opening on accident.

The insides were sparse: the floor was simple packed dirt, and the only things inside were broken pieces of wood and handles for tools, as well as some rusty shovel and hoe heads and other things. Wild settled himself down on the ground, then left his body. It slumped as his awareness shifted, his form a vague smoke-like cloud with a pair of red holes for eyes and red cracks all over it. Was it his imagination or were the cracks now lesser, thinner, not as pronounced?

It didn’t matter. Hopefully, he’ll be able to leave Ponyville now and warn the princess. However, a logical part of him supplied that he didn’t even know what the danger actually was. He needed to investigate in order to bring complete and accurate information to Luna so she could deal with it. He would stay hidden just in case - he didn’t want a repeat of what happened to Celestia.

***

The Great and Powerful Trixie sat in her carriage and waited impatiently for those fools Snips and Snails to drag her Great and Majestic carriage to the sight of the disturbance in her magical force field. She was perfectly aware, of course, that those two weren’t earth ponies, and they were pretty weak even for unicorns, but that was no excuse.

“Pull, you fools! Faster!” she yelled, snapping her whip over them. It was likely her imagination that the carriage went just a tiny bit faster. At this point, she would never get where she intended, and she did not like that, not one bit. The Great and Powerful Trixie was not the Great and Patient Trixie. She had been patient enough already.

“But...” Snips said between gasps of exertion, “Wouldn’t it be faster if we had some... wheels?!”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie does not trust wheels,” she declared, “Now pull faster!”

Those fools have caused her humiliation. They were the ones that forced her to confront Ursa. Had they not done that, her lie would not have been exposed. Now it was time for them to experience humiliation.

So what if she lied? Everyone lied! At least her lies added to her performance. She entertained people. She led a good, mostly honest, life. She was loved by many, crowds of ponies gathering to see her perform, to gaze at her, to appreciate her. All for it to be ruined because some ponies had to go dig where they should not have! Snips and Snails had to be absolute idiots to disturb any ursa, minor or major, and she was the one who paid for it. Then no one wanted to see her, no one wanted anything at all to do with her. Her reputation was in ruins, in tatters, unrecoverable. She almost had to use royal support, and the Great and Powerful Trixie did not need support! Even working at a rock farm was better than that.

Now, she had all the power in the world to do what she wanted. With the Alicorn Amulet, she would rule everything... eventually. The Great and Powerful Trixie could not let insults such as the existence of other fools who called themselves great and powerful pass. With this amulet, she could easily confront all the princesses Equestria could throw at her. For all their power, it was not true power, for none of the would be able to take this amulet off. And the Great and Powerful Trixie herself, well, she would not take it off. Oh, how she imagined they would beg and plead and try to reason, of all things, but the only reason that was true was hers. 

Everyone would obey... or else.

Her ear twitched - someone was watching her. Had been watching her for quite a while, in fact. Something inside her head itched, but the moment she focused on it, it disappeared. Nevertheless, she looked around, tuning out the groans of Snips and Snails as they continued to pull her carriage. A pony was at the window watching her, and she raised her eyebrow imperiously. Moments after, the pony retreated out of her sight.The Great and Beautiful Trixie appreciated being gazed at, naturally, but not like this. Everything in due time. Once she learned what the disturbance was, perhaps there would be a gathering of appreciation for her. Voluntarily mandatory, of course.  

Suddenly, screams rose in the air from in front of the carriage.

“Just what are you two...” Trixie snarled, only for it to die off as she saw the thing forming in front of her. Snips and Snails, the fools, quickly ran away. Trixie stood up, glaring imperiously at the smoke-like black-and-red being in front of her, “Well? Present yourself to the Great and Powerful Trixie or face punishment!”

The voice, when it appeared, sounded as if it came from inside her own head.

“I am the creator of what you wear around your neck,” it said to her, prompting her to look down at the amulet.

“You made the Alicorn Amulet?” Trixie said, remembering all the things she had accomplished so far. Teleporting straight from Canterlot to Ponyville was beyond her wildest dreams before, but now it was as easy as going on a brisk trot - not that the Great and Powerful Trixie needed to trot like a peasant anymore. She had nowhere to hurry, the world would hurry to her instead. And then humiliating the oh-so-good Twilight Sparkle with magic even she could not do... That was euphoric.

“You have only begun to discover its power,” that thing continued, “And yet it remains... incomplete.”

“Incomplete?” Trixie felt powerful enough already. But more power... she would not say no to that.

“Yes. Age and disuse have lessened it, and it needs to be... reawoken.”

“What does the Great and Powerful Trixie have to do to become more powerful?” she eagerly asked.  

“Come with me.”

Trixie hopped down from her carriage and removed it. It was ugly anyway, all made of wood without a single speck of paint. She would make a Great, no, the Greatest and Most Majestic carriage the world has ever seen once she has the promised power.

Where she was led was not impressive.

“A shed?” she asked, puzzled.

“Every great thing comes from a small beginning,” the being told her, and she nodded, “This may become your palace.”

A palace of her own... she hadn’t really thought about it before, but now it felt appropriate. She could and she would rise above even the princesses!

“Now, give me the amulet, and I will unlock its full potential.”

“And you can’t do it with it still on the neck of the Great and Powerful Trixie... why?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“You are afraid I will steal it,” the being said, “My powers do not require this amulet.”

That was... true. With some hesitation, Trixie undid the clasp of the amulet, then moved it over to the being. It reached out with a tendril of black smoke, wrapped it around the amulet, and took it. Silently, the being slipped into the shed, taking the amulet with it. Trixie saw a glimpse of something inside, but it was too fast to truly register as the door swung shut. Perhaps it had some sort of a magical forge or something.

With the amulet no longer on her, she felt... uncertain. There was now something different to... everything.

Did she really do what she did to Snips and Snails? They were annoying, they did put her life in danger, but...

She didn’t get to complete her thoughts when the door swung open, someone walked out, and the last thing she remembered then was a blast of red to her chest.

***

Wild felt the power coursing through him, churning inside him, flooding him pleasantly, filling a part of him that he didn’t know was nearly empty until then. The warmth of power deep inside him was intoxicating and welcoming, and he breathed it all in. Knowledge of a thousand spells and how to perform them filled his mind, years of wisdom earned in less than a blink. He stood straight as he felt his magic rejuvenate his body, filling him to the brim with boundless energy.  

The ‘Great and Powerful’ Trixie was a fool to part with this for a mere unsubstantiated promise. Knocked out and bound, locked in that shed, she was now no one and nothing.

The dome surrounding Ponyville disappeared the moment she became unconscious, and Wild felt no need to conjure it up again - and he could, he knew he could. He was right - this magical force field did have an alert system as the caster was fully aware of what happened to it at any point and at nearly any distance. He would have to remember that spell, it seemed very useful. It also did not forbid the air from entering or leaving, and neither did it prevent anything other than sapient living beings from moving through it. Ingenious design.

However, with this power came... an awareness. Wild noticed it in Trixie at first, something that seemed to share a space within her, something that was not her but wanted to be a part of her. Now he felt it within himself, the... the thing, the compulsion, the...

He needed to get to Princess Luna. Whatever that thing was, it wanted to influence him, it wanted to get into his mind. He had pushed it back, and he sensed no real intent to it, but it was like... he didn’t even really have words to describe it. Remains of a mind? Lingering piece of a soul? Something was not right about it.

Teleportation was easy. First, focus on destination - that step was simply natural, and he got it right the first time. The destination came to him in sharp clarity, nothing like before. It was like a photo except he could look around and it was inside his own mind. It was honestly fascinating, but he didn’t have time to think about it. Then he needed to use his... horn muscles... in a particular way? He wasn’t aware horns had any muscle, but apparently they did have them. In fact, they were responsible for casting spells - they vibrated in some way that made it possible, and every spell was a pattern of vibration.  

He pushed his magic as he performed the spell, and in a blink of an eye and a flash of light, as well as a whoosh of displaced air, he arrived exactly where he wanted to be.

Now, he only needed to reach Princess Luna and tell her about all this.

The presence inside the amulet was growing insistent, pushing on him. It tried to mask itself as a part of his mind, but he could see the difference as clear as day. Anger flooded him - how dare anyone, anything try to get into his mind? He would never let it happen again, and now he had the power to do so!

Like a claw, he gripped that oily, disgusting presence, and felt it squirming in his grasp. He would not allow anyone to control him, not now, not ever. With a mighty pull, he yanked it out, tore it from its place like a weed.

A wave crashed against him, throwing him, spinning him, nothing and everything, and his awareness ceased in an overwhelming, all-consuming flash of red.
> Chapter 71: The Alicorn Amulet
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ow! Stop it, it was just a joke! Ow, ow, ow!”


“Young man, is there something more important for you than paying attention? Eyes front, please.”


“You are a fre~ak, you are a fre- ah FUCK, that hurt!”


“...your son has been a prime example of unacceptable behavior. Fighting in the corridors, in the yard, in the classrooms. This is not a fighting school, I hope you understand that.”


“...I know you can do better than that. You have the smarts, you don’t lack in willpower. So what’s the problem?”


“Don’t look at him, he’s a fucking psycho.”


“What’s with your ear? Cut it to seem cool, huh?”

“FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!”


“I understand this must be a difficult period for you and your son, and you have my sympathy. However, that does not mean lashing out on others is acceptable. Mr. Turner may not even walk again for the rest of his life, and for what? A couple of words? He’s a promising student, and your son might have destroyed his future, all because of a couple of mean words? I am beyond disappointed.”


“Mom, mom... it’s, it’s... it’s dad.”

“What is it, honey?”

“Mom, come see...”

“What is... oh no no no no no no! Please, god, no!”


“I suppose you must believe you are too good for this institution, don’t you? But the truth is, you are lazy. Your grades are abysmal. You refuse to speak. If your goal is to be unemployed, rest assured, you are moving fast towards it.”


“Mom? Mom... no, mom, no, come on! Mom!”


“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Hey, you, get away from my dumpster you fucking hobo!”


“A’ight, I can give ya a couple bucks, sure. But you gotta do something for me. That mouth can’t talk, but can it suck cock?”


“It’s disgusting that our city lets this happen. No one, especially as young as you are, deserves to be out on the streets without support. Come, I’ll cook you something, not just some canned beans but the real good stuff. That’s the least you deserve for having to endure this.”


“Tenacious, isn’t he? You are, aren’t ya? But I’ll break your faggot ass in anyway, don’t you fucking worry.”


“Oooh, the little bitch is crying! This all is settling in, isn’t it, huh? This is your place now, underneath us.”

“I feel kinda bad for him, you know.”

“What do you mean? It’s best shit stains like him get off the streets and provide some fucking use.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But gotta say, so young and already out on the streets? Shit’s fucked up.”

“Should’a not been a faggot bitch then.”

“Ha, yep, exactly!”


“P-please, I, I can give y-you money, please, don’t kill me!”

BANG BANG BANG BANG


“...you know, you are still our bitch. Nothing you can do to me will wash out the taste of my cock from y- Fffuuuuck! You f-f-fucking bitch...”


“Plef let me die! Plef let me die! ‘M sorry! ‘M sorry!”

“You are not sorry.”

“Phleasss kill me! Phleasss! You won! Phleasss!”


“You see, w-we bof enjhoy phain. Iph y-you dfo this, you’ll b’come juss like me.”

“I am not like you and never will be. I will always be better than you in every way. You will die painfully and I will enjoy it.”


Wild became awake and aware in a rush of thoughts and jumbled memories. He could tell he was lying on a bed. He was pleasantly warm. It was so quiet around him he could hear his own heartbeat, and yet there was also a faint buzz that didn’t feel like a sound at all. There was a heaviness within him, although he didn’t know where exactly it came from. His whole body also felt oddly tingly, as if electrified. With surprise, he realized he was well-rested.  

There was a door some distance in front of him, and it opened to reveal Princess Luna standing in the doorway. She swiftly made her way in, and Wild realized he could feel the thoughts of other ponies just beyond that door, although the feeling ceased immediately once the door was closed.  

“Where am I?” Wild asked immediately.

“I’ll be more than happy to answer any of your questions, but can you answer a few questions for me first?” Luna asked, and her tone was... wary.  

Wild, with some hesitation, nodded. He had a feeling something odd was going on.

“What is your name?”

“Wild.”

“Can you tell me the names of things in this room?”

Wild blinked at her, then a realization dawned on him.

“I am fine,” he told her, “I am of good mind.”

“Nevertheless, it would be better to make certain.”

As Wild expected, he had no issue answering any of the other questions, and it was confirmed that he was, in fact, of sound mind.

“What do you remember last?” came the question, and Wild furrowed his brows.

It came slowly to him at first. The day of his massage, the anxiety he felt. Then how he made his way to Ponyville, how he found the Ponyville Day Spa, and then the massage itself. He chose not to share exactly how good he felt because that, he thought, was a bit private. In fact, now that he thought back to it, the sensation of getting a massage could almost be described as... sexual. Or, at least, how he imagined it would feel like with a lover. In truth, now that he had this massage done, he was not averse to more of it or more of... something else and something more.  

Then came the memories of the danger at Ponyville. He described what exactly it was that he felt, the sense of something wrong in the air. He told Luna how the magical force field came down, how he thought of escaping, and how he decided to approach the danger and see exactly what it was before going to her. His frown deepened - if he did that, then why was she asking? He had a bad feeling about it.

He remembered seeing this self-described Great and Powerful Trixie, and he remembered the-

The Alicorn Amulet.

He remembered how easily he could feel the power radiating off it, how something within it and Trixie was intertwined, and how much he wanted that power. He recalled how easily he fooled Trixie into giving him the amulet, and now he could almost feel the memory of putting this amulet on.

“Power,” he said aloud, “It was... everything. It was years of training, but in a moment. I felt the, the energy in me, like I could do... anything.”

However, power came with a cost, and this cost was something trying to slither into his mind and make itself a part of it.  

“I knew it was different than me,” he explained, “I felt it, and it was trying to be me but there was a difference. It was small, but I could feel it.”

And then, when he arrived at the orphanage to tell Luna about it, he tore that thing out. And then... there was nothing more he could remember. He grew silent as understanding dawned on him - he was in the hospital... somewhere, because he was hurt. Again. It was not the hospital wing of the Royal Orphanage, however - it felt, smelled, and looked entirely different if not completely dissimilar.  

“And what do you feel now?” Luna asked him, her expression serious.

Wild blinked at her, “I feel... normal. Rested,” then a thought occurred to him, and so he asked, “How much time passed?”

“It is an hour before the sunrise,” Luna explained to him, although she was looking at him somewhat oddly, “You have been unconscious for less than a day.”

Wild sighed in relief, his fear of having been out of it for days dissuaded. He did not lose much time, although even the hours he did lose stung. He did something foolish, no doubt, and he, thankfully, only paid a low price. 

“So, you are saying you feel normal?” Luna asked him.

Wild nodded in response. There were some odd feelings in his body, but he attributed them to what happened. As far as he could feel, there was nothing to really worry about.

Luna’s horn lit up, and a mirror was conjured in front of him. His gaze immediately snapped to his chest - on it, the Alicorn Amulet lay, still locked around his neck. There was something different to it, however - the colors seemed duller, and there was a noticeable crack splitting it in two diagonally. Inside the crack, something red pulsed, and he realized it pulsed along with his heartbeat. He summoned his magical hands - they seemed more solid somehow, and they gained a red tint in the same pulse that his heart beat and that the amulet gave. His left ear flicked, and his eyes turned to it. If he was holding the mirror, he would have no doubt dropped it at the shock of what he was seeing - the scar was gone. If he looked closer, he could see that the fur at the site of the scar was shorter, but it was there, and in little time any evidence of the scar ever being there.

He turned his head this and that way, marveling at the sight of a clean, clear head, completely devoid of any scars, big or small. It was, simply said, a miracle. He then inspected his own body, paying Luna no attention as she watched him, and he realized all his scars everywhere were gone. He remembered they were faded, almost to the point of disappearing, but now they were simply not there, and he struggled to imagine them in their places.

His body was unblemished for the first time since... since he was eight, perhaps. He couldn’t help a choked sob that escaped his mouth even as it stretched into a genuine smile. Tears prickled at his eyes, and he let them roll down his cheeks as he experienced... he didn’t need the Atlas of Emotions to realize that it was joy, that it was euphoria.  

His body had never felt this clean before. Whatever taint lingered, whatever had stuck with him since his death, it was all gone. Now, perhaps, it was a body that he could truly call his and his alone. He wondered if he would feel like that if those scars fully disappeared after he used the descarring ointment to its fullest, and he didn’t know. Maybe he would simply get used to having less and less of the scars over time, but to see them gone in an instant... That felt good.

At the sight of his smile and joy, tension in Luna disappeared, and she smiled at him in return. The Alicorn Amulet had caused much grief - it had never caused happiness in all of its recorded, elusive history.  

Once Wild calmed down, Luna began her explanation.

“By tearing out the malevolence from the amulet, you have destabilized it,” she said, “It has caused a magical surge, and the site of it is being cleansed as we speak. I was there within seconds, and I swiftly transported you to Canterlot, where you are now. This is Royal Canterlot Hospital, Magic Damage Ward. We could do nothing but wait for you to come awake.”

Wild fidgeted in place slightly - he was in Canterlot? Two visits to the city, and both times he was hurt, although the circumstances were vastly different. And he was going to it the third time, though, hopefully, it would be on his terms and would pass peacefully.

“The Alicorn Amulet, what you are wearing right now, is - or, at the very least, certainly was - a very dangerous artifact. Since you have been brought here, arrests have been made. Trixie Lulamoon, the one you have taken it from, as well as the seller who did not make a report about possessing such an artifact. Their shop was seized as well, where a number of other artifacts of various values and dangers - plenty of them illegal to own without a proper license - was confiscated. All things considered, the fallout of the Alicorn Amulet emerging yet again was negligible. No one was killed and no one was seriously hurt, although one pony needed to have a spell reversal done - Trixie removed their muzzle to silence them for speaking out against her. We are very lucky Trixie did not have any murderous urges.”

Wild shuddered to imagine what removal of the entire muzzle would look like.  

“The Alicorn Amulet was cursed to drive its user to more and more heights of cruelty. It twisted the minds of the wearer, and only the wearer could remove it. Even now, I cannot remove it from around your neck, certainly not without extensive research into the enchantments of the amulet. Those who wear the amulet are always not cooperative when it comes to others removing it from them. In the past... drastic measures had to be taken when things grew out of control.”

“Beheading?” Wild blurted out.

“I am afraid that is correct,” Luna nodded seriously, and Wild was very glad it did not happen to him, “Thankfully, it appears you are entirely your own person. What you did to the amulet seems to have removed the curse, although evidence of its existence continues to linger in wisps of magic that are even now fading away.”

Wild was very glad to know that. To have his mind twisted, to become cruel... He knew he was very capable of cruelty. He knew he was capable of torturing others. The Alicorn Amulet, had it taken control of him, could make him do... truly terrible things. His sadism, he now knew, was not inherently evil, but it would not take much to make it vile beyond belief.  

He realized was a fool for putting it on, and he was glad he hadn’t paid the high price.  

“Now, the amulet is, as far as I can tell, falling apart,” Luna continued, “The power contained within is leaking out of it. You have been receiving it ever since the surge that started its destruction.”

“Should I take it off?”  

“No,” Luna, to his surprise, denied, “Right now, the magic inside of it is still strong, but it is connected to you, feeding you. So far, it has been entirely beneficial to you. Were the amulet removed, the effects would be unknown, possibly dangerous to yourself. I strongly believe it would be best for you to keep it on your body for as long as it takes for it to drain itself of power. Once it does, it should be nothing but an ugly trinket.”

“And I will become more powerful?”

“Without a doubt,” Luna nodded, “Your magical reserves are growing as we speak. There should not be any downsides or negative consequences to this aside from you having to learn how to deal with that amount of power.”

As far as Wild could tell, it was a good thing. He needed more power. He would then be able to defend himself and, possibly more importantly, defend everyone he cared about.  

“How powerful?” he asked.

“You will be able to do what Trixie Lulamoon did,” Luna said, “And I will teach you to wield your power. Can you recall the spells the Alicorn Amulet gave you access to?”

He cast his mind to it, but all he got was a bunch of jumbled nonsense. He knew he teleported, and he could even retrace the steps, but only partially. Whatever knowledge the Amulet gave him, it was now gone, so he shook his head.

“Very well,” Luna nodded, “For some time, I have been thinking about training you in the art of magic, and it appears it can no longer be delayed. Uncontrolled power can bring much destruction, and you must learn how to gain control, especially since you have not grown into it naturally.”

Wild nodded - despite the circumstances, he was excited to hear it. While he hadn’t had much mental energy to spare on actually taking steps towards learning more magic, he was not at all averse to learning more. He wondered what limits magic had, and perhaps now he would be able to find out. Maybe there were also spells to improve his life in different ways, maybe even ways he hadn’t thought of.

Job! He could get a job with doing magic! He imagined powerful sorcerers did not have to even think about getting a job because, naturally, there would be plenty available.

“However, before we can do that, there is one thing that must happen,” Luna said, “Until the amulet is drained of magic and becomes inert, you must remain here in Canterlot under observation. We must make certain this will not hurt you or others. I am afraid this cannot be negotiated.”

Wild nodded in understanding - a lot of magic was dangerous, and he also didn’t want to wake up one day only to realize something happened that made his body explode or turn into a portal or... whatever it was that could happen to people with a lot of magic they didn’t get naturally.  

“Of course, that doesn’t mean you have to stay here in the hospital,” Luna assured him, “You will be moved to the Canterlot Castle, where you will stay until it is deemed safe for you to return to the Royal Orphanage.”

“I will live... in the castle?” Wild asked, a note of fear in his voice.

“My sister will not hurt you,” Luna replied to the unasked question, the tone of her voice leaving no cause to doubt her words, “You will be treated properly, I can assure you of that.”

“How long will I have to stay?”  

“It depends. Could be mere days, could be weeks. At worst, a month or two,” Luna said, “Be not afraid, visitations can be arranged for your friends to see you, as long as it is deemed safe. You will not be alone and you will not be lacking in anything, I assure you.”

Wild simply nodded. Once again, he wasn’t sure about the whole friendship thing, but he did believe he could call some ponies his friends, maybe. Or, at least, they seemed to care enough about him to not want to see him dead, so that had to count for something.

All in all, he considered the day to be... not bad. Despite what happened, it appeared it would only benefit him in the end. He was aware that it was all likely due to luck, but he would take it over being unlucky any day.

He flicked his left ear again. It felt so good to not have scars anymore. He would treasure it until the day he couldn’t.  

Perhaps life was looking up for him. He would take that. Oh, he absolutely would take that, and he would hold onto it and not let go. He was given a chance to get something good, and he would do his best not to squander it.
> Chapter 72: Power
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild couldn’t help but stare at his reflection in the mirror. He had already finished everything he needed to do in the bathroom, but he simply couldn’t get over how he now looked, namely how clean his body looked. The the absence of any scars seemed to make him look younger and certainly less... damaged. More innocent, perhaps.

He was continuously amazed at no longer having a scarred ear. It was entirely whole again, which was simply... he didn’t even have word to describe how good he felt about it. Then there were - had been - various nicks here and there that were - once again, had been - usually hidden pretty well by his fur and couldn’t be found unless he specifically looked for them. Now, no matter how much he searched, no matter how thoroughly he inspected every square millimeter of his skin, there was not a single tiny blemish of a scar. This had changed his look greatly, and now there was not a hint that he was anything other than a regular pony. His coloration may be not the most colorful - blue, then almost black dark-blue, and white, as well as his gray eyes - but he no longer looked like he didn’t fit. If he stood in line among other stallions, no one would have been able to single him out without knowing him.

Then his eyes shifted to what remained of the Alicorn Amulet. It felt slightly warm against his skin, pulsating steadily yet, if Wild paid attention, weaker and weaker every hour even if it was still going, as far as he could tell, reasonably strong. Previously, it had looked imperiously on Trixie, an accessory fit for someone who displayed as much power as she did. Now, it looked like an tired old trinket, dulled with age and disuse, damaged because of less than ideal storage conditions. In truth, it was rather ugly and did not fit with Wild’s body at all. While he was advised against taking it off, it wouldn’t be too long before he would be able to remove it, or so he hoped. However, ‘suffering’ through wearing an artifact on his chest was hardly a high price to pay for the amount of power that he would, in time, receive.

When he flushed the toilet, the button for it felt like nothing, as if there was no mechanism to which it connected. Wild, thankfully, managed not to break it by pushing too hard, but it was a near thing, at least as far as he could tell. If his power would only grow from then on, he perfectly understood the need to get used to it and also to control it. He would not want to hurt himself on accident, and he didn’t exactly have much desire to break things either.  

He was fed, and only when he was presented with food he realized just how hungry he was. In truth, at first he thought the food brought to him was too much, but he wolfed it down without an issue, almost ravenously consuming it, even going as far as thoroughly licking the plates. Of course, he had never not licked his plates - no matter how 'rude' his parents told him it was - but now he licked them extra thoroughly, making them look as if they came straight from being washed. 

“Processing all that energy you are getting requires your own body to spend energy first,” Princess Luna told him when he asked about his hunger, “Usually, it would be unnoticeable for unicorns as they grow more powerful as they age and exercise their magic, but you will have to eat quite a lot more than usual because your magical growth is so rapid.”

Wild didn’t care if thinking so much about power could perhaps be seen as problematic. The things Trixie could do, if he could do them as well... it would provide him with endless ways to defend himself and those he cared about. If he had had that power when the Changeling Invasion happened, he imagined he would have been able to drive them all back with ease, though a part of him knew that, likely, he would overextend himself had he been confident in his power. However, he still imagined, wanted to imagine that he would not have been hurt, that he would not have been forced to spend more time than he would ever want to spend recovering, and... so many things would have been different. If he had all that power, there would not be nearly as many things to worry about, and his future would have been assured there and then. 

Power was everything. Princess Luna had it, Princess Celestia had it too. It was because of power that they stayed in control for so long, and it was because of that power that they had managed to make Equestria into what it had become. It was their power that, for centuries, had prevented nations from trying to invade and conquer Equestria with its vast amounts of natural resources and the possibility of gaining quite a lot of slave workforce. Some had, of course, tried in the distant past, but all had been defeated without a single exception. Wild tried to think of any country that remained unchanged for over a thousand years, featuring the same rulers, and yet he could not find one. 

Wild did not know whether he would ever need as much power as either of the two Equestrian rulers, but he believed it would not hurt. He couldn’t say he would want to be an alicorn like them - flight, while a fine mode of transportation when he was outside his body and wasn’t forced to follow the laws of physics, wasn’t what he wanted to experience in the flesh. He couldn’t say he was afraid of the heights more than the average person, but he would rather stay on the ground if he could help it.  

Power, power, power... power is might. He wanted it, needed it. He hadn’t thought much of it before, forced as he was to accept the reality of not being very strong, but now that the possibility of having much more of it arose... he started thinking. He did not need political power or an army at his beck and call, he simply wanted other to know that he had enough power to not go down easily if he was ever attacked. He wanted others to know that he would fight back, and that the possibility of his own victory wasn’t just a dream beyond his grasp. He had been beaten down before, brought to the lowest point and made to march onward, and now... perhaps once his new power was in his full control, he would never again experience that low.  

Perhaps approaching Trixie like he did was a foolish decision. It was up to chance, and he did what he really shouldn’t have - he gambled. This time, thankfully, he won, and he won it big. And now, he realized...

He did not want to give anyone the possibility of taking what he wanted from him. This included this very world and the peace he had found and was now reaching towards. He would fight to keep it all, and now... now, his struggle could not be ignored and brushed aside. He would no longer be just a tiny speck of sand on an endless beach. Others would not be able to ignore him as he fought against them, as he resisted their efforts to make him submit.

With the last look at the Alicorn Amulet that had given him more than he ever expected, he finally exited the bathroom. He nodded to Princess Luna who was waiting for him outside.

“Very well,” she said, “Then let us depart. I imagine you are eager to see better accommodations.”

Wild nodded, then said, “I do not like hospitals.”

“I understand,” Luna nodded to him as the two now walked side by side. 

Past the door out of Wild’s temporary room, they entered the hallway. Currently there was no one there but a pair of guards, both unicorns, with steel plate armor covering them from head to hooves, hiding any defining characteristics. Even the joints weren't just chain mail, but proper interlocking plates that not only offered excellent protection but did not hamper movement in any way. The armor was also covered with inscriptions, and Wild could feel the heat-like feeling coming off from them. He figured out this heat-like feeling was the power of the enchantments or something similar. Ever since waking up wearing the Amulet, he started feeling it, and he knew it was magic. It was everywhere around him, strong and complex, and that was about as much as he could tell. He was still getting used to this feeling - it was distracting.

“Wild?”

Case in point. He shook his head, diverted his attention from the guards, and followed Luna. The guards, once the two were past them, moved from their positions to follow. Despite the heavy-looking armor, one many would call cumbersome, they made not a sound, moving fluidly, as if the armor was not there. It would perhaps feel a lot weirder if Wild couldn’t somewhat ‘see’ them with his sense of magic.  

The Magic Damage Ward of the Royal Canterlot Hospital had a separate exit from the rest of the complex for the purposes of something related to magic that Wild did not understand, considering it was something deeply theoretical, and he didn’t even know most words that were part of the explanation he received. Whatever the reason for a separate exit was, now there was a carriage waiting for him with two more guards, this time pegasi in similar and certainly no less extensively enchanted armor as their unicorn brethren. There was a shimmering sort of force field around their wings, which Wild imagined protected them from harm without the addition of more physical armor. The best way to describe the carriage in terms of magic was scorching and complex to the point of a massive headache. Wild decided not to focus on it, getting into the carriage when prompted. Luna followed him right in.

It surprised him at first that Luna was so close to him. When he asked about it, the answer was... something.

“Alicorns cannot die,” she said, “I would lay my life down to help you, and I would do so again after I am... back among the living, so to say. It would be beyond painful, but this price is worth it.”

“For me?” Wild blurted out without thinking.

“Without a single doubt,” Luna nodded seriously, and Wild swallowed at her proclamation. He didn’t believe it - didn’t want to believe that he is worth all that pain - but Luna continued, “You are worth that pain," Wild almost shuddered, then checked his mind to see if he was leaking his thoughts. To his relief, he wasn't, so Luna simply guessed. It didn't change much, but there was some relief to be had still, "A pony that I can save from dying by dying in their stead is a pony that would live. For alicorns, death is but an unpleasant moment. For other ponies, it is a finality.”

Except not for Wild, but Wild wasn’t quite a pony in the first place. He decided to not voice that thought aloud... at first. However, curiosity got the better of him.

“What about me? Am I... not able to die?” he asked quietly.

“That, I do not know, I am afraid,” Luna shook her head, “Finding out that alicorns could not die was not... a purposeful pushing of boundaries. I imagine it was much the same for you.”

Wild nodded slowly. In truth, the only purposeful thing about it was his desire to die, not to see if he could but with the expectation that he would.

“Some consider immortality a gift,” Luna said, “Some, a curse. Both have their validity.”

“If I am immortal, I don’t know if it’s a gift,” Wild confessed.

“It certainly often does not feel like it,” Luna nodded, “I... believe I do not have the best perspective on it personally. You would better ask my sister about it. While I was imprisoned, she lived through generations and met more ponies than one can in a single ordinary lifetime.”

“I do not want to be trapped,” Wild said. The confinement to the moon for a thousand years... he couldn’t even imagine that.

“I understand.”

Wild did not doubt for a second that she did. If anyone knew about being trapped, she was the one. His own imprisonment, while feeling like it had lasted longer than a lifetime, would be just a blink in her eyes. At least he escaped by his own power, even relying on a lot of luck as he did in order to get free - Luna had to wait, unable to do anything at all.

Wild stared out of the window, the conversation turning to silence. He was not looking at the truly breathtaking view that was open to him, however. He paid no attention to the houses that stood for hundreds of years or to the amazing scenery of forests, fields, rivers, and villages far below the city. Instead, it turned inwards.  

Perhaps it was some form of destiny for Luna and Wild to meet and to grow as close as they had. Wild didn’t know whether she had ever been enslaved in any way, and he would rather not ask, but she had once been imprisoned, like him. This connection between them seemed unimportant, but to Wild it meant that, on some level, she understood him. On some level, she was like him. And she had grown strong and powerful, denying those who would wish to see her down and begging and crying and sobbing. There was strength within her, and this was the strength Wild believed he needed, the strength he wanted. Despite what she had gone through, she had not given up.

One day, perhaps it was possible he would be as powerful as she was now, and this possibility was now open thanks to the Alicorn Amulet. Would he feel powerful then? Would he dedicate his own life to helping others? Would he become a part of the Royal Orphanage, for example, to support those who needed help?

Wild did not yet know whether he aged at all. Of course, his fur grew and shed, his mane and tail grew in length, and supposedly his hooves and teeth grew as well, but so little time had passed. Not enough time to judge whether he would grow or whether he was even more like an alicorn, like Princess Luna. Would he retain eternal youth like she had? Was he immortal like she was?  

There were so many questions, and there were so many answers and solutions to find. Wild suspected it was his brain working oddly after this incident - all he wanted to get that day was a massage, after all, and then... well, he couldn’t say he had a plan for the rest of the day, but it was certainly completely unrelated to any musings he was now having.

The carriage was moving slowly, taking a long way around. As it made a curve, Wild remembered what he had asked of Luna.

“Was... was anything found in the Everfree Forest?” he asked her.

“So far, nothing unusual,” she replied, “Of course, the entire forest is unusual in itself, so it would take time to find anything within it that is even more unusual than the rest. Do you know anything we should be looking out for?”

“When I was... reborn, it was a cave with a lake,” he said, frowning as he recalled those memories that seemed very distant now, “There was... a red plant? Many of them?” he sighed in frustration. If only his memory of that place was clearer.

“We will keep an eye out,” Luna nodded.

“Be very careful,” Wild told her seriously, “That place...”

“It is a connection between our world and the world of humans, yes.”

“It can’t be widened. Should not be. Must not be,” he closed his eyes, “I told you that I died. And after death, I was brought here,” he went silent for a long moment, and Luna waited patiently for him to continue, “I did not die by... others. I died because I... because I... because I killed myself.”

The silence was ringing in his ears as he waited for... what? Judgment? Condemnation? He was waiting for words that would hurt.

Time seemed to stretch, and he dared not look at her, fearing... anything, everything. Perhaps she had already known when he told her of what happened to him, or perhaps she had thought differently - he had no way of knowing. 

That was, perhaps, not exactly true, however. He had a way to know - he only needed to use his power to delve into her mind. However, the mere thought of it repulsed him, and he shoved it away to the dark depths of his mind where every other unpleasantness lay.

“Wild, may I hug you?”

Without opening his eyes, not daring to speak, he nodded. Soon enough, the warmth of Luna’s body was pressed against him, and he let out a choked sob as he leaned into it.  

“I am so sorry it happened to you,” she told him quietly, “You should not have gone through that.”

A part of him wanted to deny those words, to insist that he deserved that and more. However, he could no longer find it in himself to agree with that thought. He was a person, and he could not be blamed for the actions of others, and he... suffered needlessly. There was no purpose to it, it was not some divine ruling that deemed him unworthy and made to punish him.

Things simply... happened. Many bad things happened to him, and he was not to blame.

“I wanted to die so much,” he said in a harsh whisper, words pouring out almost unprompted, “Everything... hurt. I wanted it to be over," he sighed harshly, "When I shot my heart, I wanted it to kill me. It did, but I... lived on. I did not want to live on. I... wanted to die more, but I was afraid. I was afraid I would be born again somewhere else. So I stayed,” he paused as he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to get rid of the tears. This confession felt so painful, and yet... it was good, “Now... I do not want to die. Because this world is better. I can see... living.”

“Wild, if you ever have those feelings again, if you ever feel like the only way for things to stop hurting is to die, please tell me first,” Luna asked of him, “Tell someone. We can and we will help you. There are many ponies who would help you and who would want to help you. Not just me, not just your friends, but many ponies you do not yet know. They may not know you either, but they would want to help you regardless. And they would do it for no reward, no praise, and perhaps you would not even need to ever see them at all. They would do it because they have the capacity to care.”

Wild nodded, feeling his cheek brush against the side of Luna’s neck. He would... keep it all in mind. He doubted complete and total strangers would care about whether he lived or died, but maybe he was wrong about that. Hopefully, he would never have to find out... hopefully. And relying on his friends? He doubted they would stay by his side if he burdened them with... everything that was him. They didn’t know what it was to feel like he had felt, and he hoped they never would. He imagined they would shy away from someone who went through as much as he had, and rightfully so.  

Hopefully, he would never have to find out. He would soon have all the power he would ever need to ensure his own safety, and this same power would grant him a way to live without worries. Or, at least, so he hoped.  

Finally, he separated from Princess Luna, still enjoying the lingering warmth she left on him. He had... he had come to enjoy hugs, he realized. This sort of touch was... welcome. He would, maybe, possibly, practice it more, and practice it with others. Ponies were affectionate with each other, and maybe it would soon be time for him to join in, even enjoy doing the same.

His body no longer felt dirtied by his past, and now... perhaps it would feel good to touch and be touched.  

Whatever it would be, first he needed to deal with the growth of his power. Soon, the Canterlot Castle would be his temporary home, and he would see if Princess Luna would be willing to teach him something. He was very much looking forward to teleportation. Perhaps, with his new power, he would be able to easily go across large distances.

He could honestly say he loved it when unfortunate accidents ended up benefiting him.
> Chapter 73: Donjon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild stepped out of the carriage once it landed at the Canterlot Castle, the short trip's ending, thankfully, uneventful. He took some time to look around, noting that the place where the carriage landed looked like an oversized balcony, resembling a sort of airplane runway, although, of course, much shorter. This balcony-runway was connected to a stand-alone tower, which would presumably be where he’d stay for the foreseeable future.  

On approach to the Canterlot Castle, he had already felt the heat of magic swirling all around the palace, indicating that it was thoroughly enchanted, no doubt with many protections, maybe some structural support, and it was possible there was self-repair as well. Now that he stood on a balcony of this particular tower, he could tell that it was enchanted stronger than the rest, shining like a bright beacon among torches and candles. This tower was also less adorned than the rest, seemed more practical.  

“Welcome to the Donjon Tower,” Princess Luna told him, “This was the first tower built for the Canterlot Castle a long time ago. This is where you will be safe and, should the worst happen, others will be safe from you.”

“I can’t leave the tower?” Wild asked, already suspecting he knew the answer.

“I am afraid not without the explicit permission from me or my sister,” Luna shook her head, “I shall not mince words - you are currently dangerous to our subjects, and we must take this danger seriously. I understand making you stay away from your friends and from all that you have come to get comfortable with in this world will feel like a punishment - I assure you it is not. You will rejoin your friends and you will return to that life as soon as possible.”

Wild nodded slowly. He really could not fault the logic of keeping him like this. He could hardly think of anything better, after all. It would not be all too bad as long as he had something to read and space to exercise. That should, at least in theory, stave off boredom, at least for a time. Even then, he would have to find temporary replacements to his physical activities like swordsmanship, self-defense classes, and just walking or jogging around the Royal Orphanage. He doubted that the tower had enough space for any of that, and he had yet to see a treadmill or any other such exercise equipment in Equestria.

He reminded himself once again that this was in no way a high price to pay for what he got.  

“And now,” Luna said as her horn lit up. With a quiet pop, a small silver bell appeared in front of her, which she then moved to Wild, “Take this bell. If you require assistance or have questions, ring it and someone will come. I cannot promise it will be me, but anyone who does has my full confidence in every way,” Luna emphasized, looking into his eyes, “If you trust me, then they are trustworthy as well.”

Wild nodded, accepting the bell. It had a string that allowed him to wrap it around his neck and let it dangle in front of his chest right next to the Alicorn Amulet.

“Lastly, you will be subjected to a magic scan twice a day, during morning and evening, in order to ensure nothing bad is happening to you,” Luna said, “I will also begin training you in how to handle your magic with the schedule depending on your progress and difficulties. Aside from that, you will have no obligations. Of course, food will be delivered to you as many times a day as you require. Now, do you have any questions?”

Wild thought for a moment, but not a single question came his mind right there and then, so he shook his head in response.

“Very well, then I will leave you to explore your accommodations by yourself,” Luna nodded to him, “Remember, if there is any help you need, just ring the bell.”

Soon after, Princess Luna as well as the carriage and the guards pulling it were all gone, leaving Wild standing alone on the huge balcony. He gazed at the castle, seeing how it grew from this single tower over the years, now a huge complex of many buildings, as well as a private garden that was easily visible from where he stood. It was surprisingly quiet too, but then there was no rumble of cars to contend with. Wild also suspected some spells were cast to make sure it was nice and peaceful within the Canterlot Castle.

Finally, he ventured inside, pulling open a wooden door. A living room or something of the sort was revealed to him, containing a fireplace, a couch, a desk with a low chair, a round table with seating for six, and bookshelves that were filled to the brim with various books. To the right and left of the entrance were large windows that let in the sunlight and allowed one to gaze outside, but Wild didn’t remember seeing them from the balcony. Some sort of magical trick, without a doubt, even though those windows looked perfectly real. The floor was covered in various decorated rugs, and underneath them was polished wooden floor. The ceiling was domed, showing intricate brickwork, but the walls were simple white plaster, although the bottom third was paneled with wood. From this room, four doors led to others.  

The first door Wild tried led to what he would call a pool, perhaps, but it was just a rather large bath that could comfortably fit upwards of ten average ponies if Wild had to guess. What surprised him the most was the usage of wood as well as curtains at the windows - that was not what he would expect to see in a bathroom, used to tile as he was. To him, what he was seeing now looked like someone put a huge bathtub in the middle of a living room in some rich mansion. Another door led from the bathroom, showing him the toilet room, which was oversized as well. It had toilet stalls that looked out of place, and the toilets inside looked old and too decorated. Wild had a feeling that, at one point, the stalls didn’t exist, and considering that the room was circular, ponies could go about their business while talking to, well, their neighbors, so to say. Not something Wild would do, but then those were different times.

Wild returned to the living room and tried the second door. Beyond it, he found himself in a simple if slightly oversized bedroom. It contained a bed, though it was no regular bed - it had posts and a roof above it, as well as curtains. Honestly, to him it looked great, although what about the air inside once the curtains were all closed? He would probably get far too hot in it. There was also a nightstand, a wardrobe - empty, as he found out - as well as a door leading to a smaller balcony. There was another door, which led to a much more reasonable private bathroom with a separate toilet room, all decorated like the big ones.  

Wild checked the other rooms and found that they perfectly mirrored the first bedroom. It was not hard to imagine six ponies living in here. What did surprise him was a lack of any stairs leading to the lower floors of this tower. Were they removed at some point? He couldn’t see anything that would stand out to him, no sort of seams or inconsistencies, so whatever was done to this tower must have been done expertly.  

Overall, Wild judged all this space too much for him, but at least it was certainly big enough not to feel small and cramped. In truth, his dorm could easily fit in the space one bedroom and private bathroom took.  

Wild returned to the living room and sat down on the couch, then lied down. That was as much as he could do and wanted to do at the moment, spacing out, staring at nothing in particular.

He was in Canterlot, at least temporarily living in the Canterlot Castle. Many would have likely jumped at the opportunity to experience it, but to him... This space was certainly too much. It was rather plain as far as he expected a palace to be, though he didn’t mind that. It was all, simply put, not to his taste.  

However, what would he prefer? If he were honest with himself, he didn’t know an easy answer. Without a doubt, it would be something simple, something easy to clean, and something that was generally not ‘too much’. He didn’t even know if he wanted to live with anyone despite the future possibilities of relationships. All he truly wanted was peace and quiet, at least for the foreseeable future. What would happen afterwards was not something he had even had time to think about.

With a pulse from the amulet, he felt energy enter him, and he could no longer lie down. He got up and paced around the rather large room. He went around it once, twice, three times, then more. He took a look at the books, and a lot of it was something political, economical, or academic in nature. It wasn’t bad, but he certainly knew nothing about anything of that sort, so the ‘Theory of Thaums’ book was not something he would be able to comprehend, and he imagined the ‘Minotaur Trade Blockade and Its Consequences’ would bore him to death. Then there was a book with a rather long title, and Wild’s eyes widened when he realized what it said.

“Pounded... in the butt by... my handsome sentient library card... who seems otherworldly,” he spoke the title aloud, his tone confused, “but in reality is just a... natural part of the priceless resources our library system provides...”

He blinked at the book. The cover depicted a male unicorn wearing a salacious expression as well as what was no doubt a library card but it had a face.  

“What the hell?” Wild muttered to himself before bursting into laughter. The book shook in his grasp as he giggled and laughed at the complete absurdity of this book’s very existence, then laughed harder when he realized it was among much more serious books. After his laughter subsided into chuckles, he saw that the book was authored by someone named Tingly Check. In fact, there were more books by that author on those shelves, but he decided not to explore what they were, considering them a threat to his sanity.

There were much more... real romance novels and erotica of surprisingly many varieties. Wild was still somewhat taken aback by how open ponies were about things concerning sex. There was even a book depicting a collection of paintings done by a mysterious artist that was simply called ‘Lover’. It was all, to Wild’s eye, somewhat tasteful. There were many mares depicted in various suggestive poses where one could peek and see their lower regions, and then there were the stallions. Wild found himself admiring the works, his eyes glued to the pages. The first painting was a stallion lying on his side on a beach, his back turned to the viewer, and Wild could see the curves of his well-toned body. The stallion was looking back at the viewer with quite a suggestive smirk.  

Wild closed the book when he realized he had carried away. His face felt hot, and he knew he was blushing. And then he realized that he didn’t feel bad about it. He didn’t feel shame. After all, it was not shameful, and it was not bad.

If he were back on Earth, no doubt any such books would not be present where he would be able to see them were he truly fourteen or fifteen of age. In Equestria, everyone was so open about it, and, as he had learned, being gay was not shunned. In fact, it was rather normal for ponies to have a variety of sexualities, which honestly blew Wild’s mind to this day. It wasn't like he was entirely unaware of it, but if he thought about it... it both made him want to weep at what he didn't have and rage at the injustice done to him on Earth. However, he did neither.   

In any case, he wasn’t really in a mood to read books, he wanted to do... something. He didn’t know what, but he wanted to move, he wanted to maybe cast magic, and...

He blushed even harder. He just now noticed a particular sway his body was doing automatically. His body, as he had just found out, really wanted sex. For the first time in forever, he was really in the mood, which made him feel tingly and even somewhat excited.

He wondered if ringing the bell and asking for help with that would work, but he disregarded it immediately. First of all, he couldn’t take advantage of that. Second, he was fairly certain his mood would evaporate if he actually tried to do it. And third, he knew no one here, and he didn’t exactly want to have sex with a complete stranger. And lastly, he really doubted Luna gave him that bell with that sort of thing in mind.   

Thus Wild realized he was frustrated and wanted... well, he knew what he wanted. Was that the effect of the Alicorn Amulet? He suspected so. It was logical for it to have caused it. After all, it had already caused a sort of growth, and he knew maturing, growing from a teen to adult, made hormones spike. Now that he thought about, remembered those days, he was quite... needy during that time, even if he never really expressed it outwardly. What he did was sit in front of his computer and spend quite a bit of time searching for something to get off to. And now, he was in that very same mood again.

Wild groaned, flopping down on the couch. He did not want to go through it again. Perhaps he was now far freer to express himself, but that didn’t mean any of it could be easy. Or would be easy. Or would even end up well for him.

Wild got up from the couch and went to the bathroom, the big one as he labeled it in his head. He turned on a couple faucets to start filling it up with some warm water. Then he returned to the main room and brought with him that erotic painting compilation. He was slightly bouncing in place, and he felt things warming up between his legs.

Perhaps it was time to do something he hadn’t done in a very long time - pleasure himself.

***

Wild's heart could almost be heard echoing in the huge bathroom, and he certainly could both feel and hear it from inside his body. He forced himself to take a deep breath, to let his mind actually think. If he was doing it... he needed to be thoughtful. 

He tested the water, and it was about as nice and warm as it would ever get, and he was glad he got the temperature right. Still, he had a bit of time before the bathtub was filled enough, and he spent it by browsing the erotica, seeing all that stallions had to offer. 

Once he was ready, he climbed into the bathtub, sighing in pleasure as water enveloped him. For the first time in forever, his cock was throbbing, and he was ready. He had forgotten what it felt like, and now the sensation was odd, though in no way unpleasant. Wild found himself almost unconsciously massaging his crotch with a magical hand, and although it didn't feel like his human hand would, it was still warm, and the texture was nice.  

The picture was now in his mind - a stallion lying on the side, facing the viewer fully, an erection semi-hidden between his rear legs, and a smirk on his face, a sort of teasing expression. Wild lay down on his side in the warm water, continuously massaging his cock before he started stroking it. His first moan escaped his lips, muffled as it was because Wild didn't let it out fully, yet he welcomed the sound.

A moment of discomfort, and then he added a bit of his spit, making it easier for his magical hand to slide up and down. Now that he didn't have a human cock, he also lacked foreskin, making it all a bit more difficult than it should be, and his spit helped. He wondered if he would be able to get some lube easily. However, that was for the later.

Wild imagined himself with that stallion, unnamed as he was, and the two would kiss each other on the cheeks, on the lips, on the neck. Wild had no idea how to kiss, had never even attempted it with any sort of seriousness, but he knew he would do his best. He imagined how he would inhale the scent and how he would enjoy it, though he had no idea what that scent would even be. They would lie down together, and Wild would offer to use his magic to stroke the other’s cock.

Another moan escaped past Wild’s lips, this time a deeper one coming from somewhere within his chest, up through the throat, and out his mouth. He imagined how that stallion would lower himself, then give Wild a tentative lick. Wild would moan and groan, eyes half-lidded, words completely escaping his mind, unnecessary as they truly were in that moment. Then the stallion would put his mouth around Wild’s cock, give it a suckle, and then go down-

A powerful moan escaped Wild as he felt his pleasure come to the peak. His hips buckled, his head rising upwards as he let out a long moan, cumming for the first time in a long, long while. One spurt, then another, weaker one, then another, and then another. He continued stroking himself, basking in the pleasure, until he was entirely spent.

This was perhaps fast, and he couldn't even get to the end of his fantasy, but Wild didn’t care at the moment, basking in the warmth around him and inside of him. He lazily directed the water to wash away his seed, and then he lay there, dozing off with a smile on his face.

This felt good and no one would ever be able to take it away from him.
> Chapter 74: High
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild shook himself awake after having dozed off. The water around him had cooled by then, and he felt like all that energy went into him instead. He easily stood up, feeling refreshed and ready to go, although he didn’t know where to. With a quiet hum in his throat and a bounce in his movements, he rinsed himself off under a shower. If he were entirely honest with himself, he didn’t particularly mind relaxing in the warm bathtub-pool, but he had enough energy he was restless. To the rhythm of a nonsense song he had just invented in his head, he dried himself off with a towel before swinging it around, and then throwing it right back on the hook where it had previously rested. It landed imperfectly, so he summoned it to him, then threw again. This time, it landed just right, and he pumped his magical fist.  

The book of erotic paintings he brought with him was untouched by water or any other liquids, so he grabbed it, closed it after stealing one last glance at the stallion he had fantasized about. He felt no shame nor disgust at either what went through his head or the fact that he had pleasured himself. His body was indeed entirely his, and he could choose what to do with it, and that was what he had chosen. There was no pain, no unpleasantness, and he continued to enjoy the warm glow he could still feel deep inside him.  

“I feel great!” he yelled, a grin on his face. And he could indeed say it honestly - he had never felt as good as he did now, that was certain.

His steps barely made a sound as he danced around the room, skillfully evading the couch, dodging the chairs, and easily avoiding the table. He didn’t know how to dance properly, but that didn’t deter him one bit. He was doing what he wanted, and there was no one to judge him. He was following the rhythm of his own making, and that was the only thing that mattered.

Wild imagined all those who didn’t believe in him, all those who opposed him, and everyone who hurt him, all standing there in front of him.

“You can’t do anything to me!” he ranted, “I have the power, and you don’t!” he let out a laugh, a long and loud one, of a kind he hadn’t laughed in a very long time, “None of you matter now! None of you are here! You are stuck on Earth, and I am here! You can do nothing about that! And even if you come...” another bout of laughter arose, from the chest through the throat and out of his mouth, “You will have nothing! And you,” he gestured at where he imagined his torturers stood, “You are dead and can do nothing! And you know why? Because I killed you! I have power over you, and you can’t touch me anymore, ever!”

He laughed again, joyful in his ability, reveling in his power. But now that he thought about it, he realized that his behavior was, lightly speaking, off. He couldn’t deny that he felt great, couldn’t speak against the joy and energy and everything inside of him, but he knew it was not how it usually went for him. Stewing in his own misery, as much as he hated it, was not at all unusual. Now, it was as if none of that ever happened, and he had no desire whatsoever to wallow in his past suffering. However, intellectually, he knew something was going on, something unusual, and he had to deal with it.

He picked up the bell and rang it. Immediately, he got an expectation that someone would come to help him soon. It was not his own thought - it stemmed from the bell. He raised his eyebrows as he looked at the seemingly innocuous bell - he guessed it was enchanted to provide a response. A useful thing, he considered.

He waited at the door to the balcony, humming to himself and rocking from side to side, needing to spend his energy somewhere, anywhere. Time passed agonizingly slowly, and he looked around for a clock - there wasn’t one in this room. Did he miss it? Was it in one of the bedrooms? He didn’t remember and, frankly speaking, it didn’t really matter much. He counted in his head, and he thought it was close enough to counting seconds. He had never been particularly great at counting time, however. If anyone ever asked him, he wouldn’t be able to tell when his next birthday would be. He lost track of time on Earth, moving from one day to another lifelessly, and he never truly bothered to keep track of time since his rebirth. He knew the current date - or, at least, he was reasonably certain of it - but he completely forgot when he appeared in this world. Frankly, he didn’t care. His physical age, his mental age, and his chronological age were all mismatched, so why bother trying to figure out some objectively true number?  

Soon enough, thankfully, someone knocked on the door, breaking him out of his thoughts. He opened it, and behind it, to his relief, stood Princess Luna. He didn’t think he would have been able to deal with anyone else at that moment.

“I feel too good,” he explained straight away, not waiting for her to even greet him as he bounced slightly up and down. And that was the truth - he had never felt so good, and while he knew there was no external force changing him, it still bothered him. It wasn’t like the feeling was bad, exactly, and he would prefer it over feeling like death, but it just wasn’t right. As far as he could tell, he simply wasn’t entirely himself, certainly not his true self. While he was energetic during that moment, he would prefer the quiet, he had to admit, brooding he was prone to. It was more peaceful, and it aligned better with his true inner self. 

“Ah, I see,” Luna nodded, “May I teleport with you to a different place? It will require me to touch you.”

Were he a straight man, he would have certainly felt giddy at the thought and would consider it suggestive of certain activities. Princess Luna, he had to admit, looked quite beautiful, objectively speaking. Without a doubt, numberless others lusted after her, it would only be natural. However, since he wasn’t straight in any way - he liked men and only men, he reminded himself - he simply nodded..

Moments later, in a flash of light, the two appeared in a long and wide hall. It was rather empty, devoid of decorations, and the windows were high up, making it seem like the hall was at least halfway underground, which Wild thought was a possibility. All thoughts of what straight people did disappeared from his head - clearly, this place wasn’t her bedroom and neither was, as far as he could tell, a place one would dedicate to sexual activities.

Wild shook his head slightly - what was he thinking? He was definitely being needlessly and unreasonably odd. Not that he could help it, and he was taught to accept his feelings. All that mattered was what he did about those feelings, and he sure wasn’t going to ask Luna about whatever sexual things she might or might not do.  

“I need to learn how to teleport,” he told Luna instead, still bouncing, “It is a great thing.”

“In time, I will teach you,” Luna nodded in agreement, and Wild noted it in the back of his mind, grinning at her in excitement, “Not now, however, as it would be too dangerous. Casting a spell of teleportation may have great leeway, but in your current state... I would not rely on it. And your current state is called ‘Alicorn’s High’. You feel very powerful right now, do you not?”

“Yes!” he jumped, “I can do everything!” he blinked, “I feel like I can,” he blinked again, “I am not... myself, right now, right?”

“Alicorn’s High does influence your mind, so your behavior is indeed unusual compared to normal,” Luna confirmed, “This is what happens when one gains much magical power over a short period of time. It happened to my sister and it happened to me. It oftentimes happens to other unicorns during early stages of puberty where magic grows in leaps and bounds. It appears it is happening to you now because of the Alicorn Amulet, although it may also be aided by your natural growth as you reach physical adulthood. In truth, there is little to worry about and, most likely, it will naturally pass in time. However, I must ask you - do you have any uncomfortable sensation, like a burn or an itch, especially around your horn?”

Wild closed his eyes and focused on what he felt. He definitely couldn’t detect any burning sensation. There was the ever-present buzzing, but there was no itch.  

“There is buzzing,” he decided to reveal, just in case.

“That is not common but not unheard of,” Luna told him, “Allow me to perform a quick magical scan on you, but it will require you to sit still for a couple moments.”

Wild nodded and did as asked, as difficult as it was. Luna’s horn glowed for a couple moments, and he felt slightly tingly... magically. The difference between feeling physical and magical tingling was obvious, although he wouldn’t be able to describe it if he tried.

“It appears you are in fine magical health,” Luna said, “You have an abundance of energy, which will disrupt your daily life. The solution is burning it off by spending it.”

A question occurred to Wild.

“Will I... regret what I say and do after it’s over?” Wild asked, his face no longer a grin as a thoughtful and slightly wary expression took over.

“In my own experience, no,” Luna shook her head, “You may be worried it works like a drug. Worry not, you are still yourself, and what you want and don’t want to do remains consistent with or without the High. Simply put, you will temporarily have fewer inhibitions, both self-imposed and those that exist because of your past.”

Wild bobbed his head in agreement, then blurted out, “I don’t feel shame.”

Luna rose a questioning eyebrow.

“I, um,” he blushed, “I looked at a... book with drawings of... uh... the... the kind of... what is the word?” he frowned in frustration. He could have said ‘naked’, but ponies went around naked all the time. That, in fact, made some things easier, but other things more difficult. However, instead of thinking of all the possible implications of casual nudity, he focused on what he was trying to say, “Drawings of ponies that... look good... in a sexual way,” he finally figured out how to explain it, “It was nice. And then I touched myself.”

He realized just what he said a moment after he said it, and his face blushed crimson in mortification. That was not something he thought he would ever admit to anyone, let alone a ruler of a nation. Thankfully, Luna seemed unperturbed by this.

“This is a healthy expression of your sexuality, so it is nothing to be ashamed of,” she nodded, “An increase in libido is a side effect of Alicorn’s High as well.”

Wild had certainly felt it. If he were entirely honest with himself, he really wanted to lay with someone right that moment, to feel the heat of their body against his, to feel the taste of their lips on his tongue... and more things he had to actively not fantasize about, certainly not in front of Princess Luna. He refocused on the present just when Luna dropped a metaphorical bombshell on him.

“If it is deemed safe, it can be arranged for you to receive a prostitute if you so desire.”

Wild blinked at her in surprise.  

“I believe you have reached the age of consent according to your species, is that correct?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Likewise, your physical age as a pony places you among young adults. So, this would be easy to arrange if you want it.”  

Then he burst into laughter - he had just received permission to have a prostitute from the ruler of the country. It was absolutely absurd. He tried to imagine someone like Donald Trump or Erdogan or... Le Pen or someone from France, Angela Merkel or whoever was from Germany, and other rulers offering something like this, and he couldn’t. Most likely, all of them would condemn prostitution, and likely at least half of them would shame him for being gay.

Hearing what he was hearing now was strange to the extreme considering the... circumstances, perhaps. However, his laughter quieted as he really thought about the suggestion.

Wild was not entirely against it, and that was surprising. Not that long ago, he couldn’t agree to possibly getting into a relationship with Artful. But then, a prostitute was just for sex, not any sort of deeper relationship. Plus prostitution was entirely legal, and prostitutes, to his knowledge, received protection and health-related stuff. However, he wasn’t certain whether he was ready for this sort of casual fling, and neither was he sure he actually truly wanted it. He did want sex, he did want to experience how it felt like, that was undeniable, but did he want it with someone he didn’t know? However, there was likely no issue with that - Princess Luna could make sure that whoever came to him would be a safe person to be around. But even outside safety...

“I am not sure,” Wild admitted.

“In my experience, if you are not enthusiastic about it, then it would be better for you not to do it,” Luna told him, “Enthusiasm is a very important part of sexual relationships, and enthusiastic consent is, in my opinion, the only truly acceptable form of consent.”

“Then... my answer is no,” Wild decided. He didn’t want to have this all soured, and besides he wasn’t certain about... many things. It would be best to table that discussion and decision until he was more sure of himself and what he exactly wanted. Fantasizing about sex like he had done not that long ago was one thing - it involved no one but him - but actually making it reality with someone else...  

“Very well,” Luna nodded, “Now, to spend your energy, to acclimatize yourself to the feeling of power and what it can do, there is an exercise.”

Luna teleported herself across the hall, away from him.

“Now, hit me with your best shot,” she said, her horn lighting up for a moment. A magical shield surrounded her, looking somewhat like a soap bubble but smoother, barely noticeable, “Do not be afraid to use as much power as you can as long as you are not pushing yourself too hard.”

“But... I do not know spells,” Wild said, although he didn’t protest against the idea.

“You do not need to know spells to throw magical power at someone,” Luna told him, “While it is an unrefined form, one that requires little precision, it is perfect for spending your magic. In time, you will learn how to use your reserves efficiently, but first, let us see what you can accomplish as is.”

Wild shrugged, then nodded. He was willing to try. He took a stance like in his swordsmanship training, felt the energy coursing through him. Reaching out to it was staggeringly easy, as if it was ready to jump at his beck and call, to obey him in the ways that he wanted it to. He inhaled deeply, exhaled, and then let it out.

A bolt of silver-colored magic shot from the tip of his horn, sailed through the air like an arrow, and splashed against Luna’s shield. She looked completely unbothered and unaffected by it. He sent another bolt of magic, and it dissipated uselessly against the shield just like the first time.

The game was on. Wild grew the power of his next shot, then flung his head, believing it would add just a smidgen more to his magic. This time, the bolt was bigger and traveled faster, and as it hit Luna’s shield, an electric-like noise, quiet but audible, reverberated from the site of the impact.  

Again and again Wild sent his magic, adding more to it until he was grunting and jumping and flinging with all his might, ratcheting up the intensity as much as his body allowed. His spell, if it could be called that, buzzed and rang and splashed and whizzed against Luna’s impenetrable defense.

The hairs everywhere around his body stood up as he half-hummed half-rumbled with effort. In a blinding flash of white, a lightning struck from his horn, closing the distance between him and Luna impossibly fast, and then it boomed against her shield, a noise so loud Wild flattened his ears against his head in an attempt to quieten it down.  

Multicolored lights danced in front of him as he blinked uselessly, most of the surroundings a blur of nothingness. His ears rang, still turned backwards and low to his skull, and yet... His body was buzzing with excitement. Now that was power. Now that was strength. A loud guffaw made its way past his lips as he cackled.

“Lighting bolt shoots from my horn!” he yelled, although his voice was not nearly as loud as he expected.

“This was impressive,” Luna voice reached him. As his vision cleared, he saw that she was still in the same spot... or was she a step or two back? She still looked calm and strong, the shield protecting her, but there was much soot all around the area that was not protected by the shield.

Seeing her still standing there as if completely unbothered, as if what he had just done was nothing but a tiny zap of static electricity, made him narrow his eyes as he focused. He gathered his power, shoving more and more and more into what he would do next. He felt it building up at the tip of his horn, he felt as his horn warmed up and started feeling hot, then slightly too hot.

With a mighty roar, he shot a beam of magic, silver and red intertwined, at Luna. It made an electric-like rushing sound as it traveled, parting the air in front of it, and then it rang loudly as it his her shield, then a loud buzz filled the air, reminding Wild of a couple of videos he saw of high voltage things arcing. Wild held it for a few moments that felt like an entire hour, then released it, stumbling to the side as his horn felt like a burn. Not debilitating, not painful to the point he couldn’t use it, but it was unpleasant nonetheless.

As the light and the smoke cleared, he found Luna standing... but not in the same spot. She was breathing heavily, her shield was shimmering.

“Yeah, take that!” he yelled, then stumbled, and then sat on the floor. He felt his front legs trembling, and so he lay down, then rolled to the side. He was breathing heavily as well, as if he had run a full marathon and then some. His mind was devoid of thoughts as he now simply rested, uncaring of the hard floor, only feeling the dull ache from his horn and the buzzing, tired feeling from the rest of him.

“Very impressive,” Luna told him, her voice slightly breathless. Dispelling the shield, she made her way over to him, “How do you feel?”

“Mmm... my horn is hot,” he complained, “I am tired.”

“As to be expected,” Luna nodded, “You have greatly exerted yourself, Wild. Thankfully, you have not overexerted yourself. In a few minutes at worst, you will be able to stand up and walk without issue. I propose that you get yourself fed after this, then lie down for a nap.”

Wild nodded in response. That sounded exactly like what he needed and, right now, wanted.
> Chapter 75: Improvements and Imperfections
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Magically exhausted, Wild didn’t take long to take a quick shower and then plop onto a bed and enter the realm of dreams almost sooner than his head hit the pillow.  

Wild stood in the middle of a familiar city, leaning against a graffiti-covered wall as he was staring out into the traffic. A constant drone of various car noises did not leave him even at night, not entirely, although now it stood especially pronounced. His stomach was grumbling at him, a reminder he didn’t need nor want, but one he would get anyway because he could not deny reality. He was very aware that he hadn’t had a chance to eat anything decent in a long while. 

In a blink, awareness came to him that he was indeed dreaming. The world around him seemingly shifted ever so slightly yet also quite noticeably, becoming immediately and obviously unreal to the point where one may consider themselves a fool for ever thinking it was anything but fake. He raised his imaginary hand-

But there wasn’t a hand. There was a hoof, and he realized he was in his new body. He not-blinked at himself, and the motion almost threw him right out of his dream. However, one thing was undeniable - even his dream self no longer held on to his old body.

Some would be terrified, believing themselves to be losing their identity to changes they weren’t willing to accept. Wild, however, embraced it, glad that everything relating to his old physical self would be gone, banished to past memories, never to reappear in the present. He was not missing his old body, and now that his new physical body held no resemblance to the old one...

With all honesty, it would certainly be a lie to say that he felt like an entirely new person. It would be untrue if he claimed that his past was behind him and no longer influencing him. He was smart enough not to delude himself into thinking that what had happened to him before no longer matter. It did... however, it did not have to rule him.

Perhaps, in a way, this was his reward for tricking Trixie into giving him the Alicorn Amulet. It was, without a doubt, a good thing, and so, perhaps, it... was good for him too.  

What he had done resulted in a wish of his to become reality, and he would soon grow in power too, which was another wish he had. All in all, he would consider this an excellent outcome.

The old human world around him faded as he let go of it, letting himself drift into dreamless sleep. A small smile spread on his face in reality, and he snuggled deeper into the pillows.

***

When Wild awoke, the next morning had already come, the sun having risen, now shining brightly into the room because he didn’t pull the curtains closed. He yawned widely, then stretched on his bed, kicking the blanket already bunched up on his side to the floor. He bounced out of the bed, landing on his four hooves without issue. Humming to himself, he went through his morning routine sans the ointment. He once again took note of, in his opinion, much improved appearance. Well-rested, he even looked... younger. Was it how he was supposed to look like in the first place? He couldn’t help but stare. He still could hardly believe something like this had happened at all. Perhaps he should have been more embarrassed for focusing so much on his own appearance, but he couldn’t help the rising joy he felt each time he saw no scars.

Some time later, after he ate some food - it was delivered straight to the dining table - Princess Luna showed up, and he got himself scanned.

“I believe you are mostly fine,” she said, a thoughtful look on her face, “However, there is something... else. I am uncertain of what it is, but I do not think it is harmful, at the very least so far.”

“I feel fine,” Wild shrugged. If he were entirely honest with himself, he felt great, so it would take him a deep dive into his own self to see if there was anything actually off about him.  

“I am glad to hear that, but we must be careful,” she warned him, “If there is one thing that is certain about the Alicorn Amulet, then it is the fact that it was not made with benevolence in mind. I believe it is best to work under the assumption that it will cause problems. If it does not, then we will cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Luna paced in front of Wild, and he watched her somewhat warily. He didn’t expect her to hurt him, he knew she wouldn’t hurt him, yet he couldn’t help but feel worried about what she was saying. In truth, he was perhaps blinded by what he was given, and the possible dangers brought up the fact that things never went right in his life for long. He should expect something bad to happen as well.  

“Magical corruption can be a slow and insidious killer,” she continued, “It tells you what you want to hear, it gives you what you want to have, and in exchange...” she then shook her head, then turned to him, “Have you written down your thoughts since this happened?”

Wild shook his head, then said, “I do not have my journal. It is back at the orphanage.”

“I see, then I will retrieve it for you as soon as possible,” Luna told him, “It is imperative that you write down your thoughts, as well as compare them to your previous writings. Hopefully, there will be consistency, but if not, then you must become aware of it.”

“I... I did not write down much,” Wild shamefully admitted, “It is... difficult.”

Luna paused in her pacing, took a deep breath with her eyes closed, then slowly let it out.

“Alright,” she said calmly, “I... cannot blame you for this. I myself have not done so. In this case, I believe I am the best judge of whether you have unexpectedly changed, assuming you know no one else who knows as much about you as I do.”

Wild shook his head. In truth, he didn’t even want to think about whether he would ever willingly tell anyone else about his past. It wasn’t even about hurting anymore but about... he didn’t even know. His past mattered, that much he knew, but it was also full of secrets, and if someone knew them, they would never look at him in the same way ever again.  

“Very well. Can you tell me, did you notice any sudden changes that you cannot explain or cannot explain well?”  

“I feel too good,” he readily replied, “You said it is... Alicorn’s High, but...”

“You believe it may be more,” Luna nodded, “Have you had any other emotional highs yet? Anger, sadness?”

Wild thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“I see. I would suggest you to be mindful of how you feel. Be aware of what is going on inside your head,” Luna told him, “Once you have your journal, write your feelings down in detail. Do not hesitate to put to paper even what you would usually consider inconsequential.”

Wild’s good mood was swiftly disappearing the longer this conversation went on.

“Will... something bad happen?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Unfortunately, we do not know,” Luna said, “I must be blunt with you - the situation is as unique as it is potentially dangerous. What is happening to you is something I have never encountered before. The combination of this uncertainty as well as the malevolent nature of the artifact is... not reassuring.”

Wild’s good mood was entirely gone by then. He had indeed once again been a fool - he saw the benefits of his situation and yet not anything else, taken as he was by the euphoria of power. After all, power was not something to be handled lightly, and he needed to be especially mindful about that. In truth, he had never had much power in his life, and there was not a day in his life where he felt like he belonged entirely to himself and could call himself strong enough to be independent.

“I am not saying this because I believe something bad will happen to you,” Luna said, breaking him out of his thoughts, “Every day that you live is another day of possibilities of hardship, such is the nature of life. However, to live in fear of what may happen is not what I want you to do, and I do not believe this is the way of life you want to embrace.”

Wild nodded in full agreement.

“I lived in fear for long,” he said, deciding to share his thoughts, “There was... always fear,” he briefly shut his eyes as he gathered his thoughts and processed them to put them into words. Exposing his vulnerability was not something he, instinctively, wanted to do, but Luna already knew much, and she would help him, not harm him, and so he must put his trust in her.

She was there in front of him, waiting patiently for him to speak, never urging him. For that, he was grateful, and soon he was as ready as he could ever be.

“When I was young, I feared my parents would not want me,” he admitted, “I was... not a good child. I was difficult. My parents, they... they loved me, always, but I also always feared they... feared they would stop. 

“I had a dream,” he switched, “And I... I know I am in a new world. And now I have a better body,” he looked at himself, “No scars. No... reminders of what happened to my old body. And when I dreamed, I dreamed of my old world, but I dreamed I was in my new body. Before, I had my old body. I... I am ready, I want to live this life. And, and... and I still fear.”

He closed his mouth and sat in silence for a moment.

“I feared my parents would not love me, then I feared... everything,” he said, his words feeling like sludge as he struggled to get them out, “I was alone when my parents died. Without a home. No one cared about me, and then... then I was captured, and I feared... many things. Then I escaped, and I feared returning. And then I... then I died when I had nothing left to fear but living on.”

He went silent once again, preparing to reveal yet another truth about himself.  

“I died by killing myself because of fear,” he let it out in one breath, then shut his eyes. Even now, admitting to it felt like a shot through his heart, and he didn't know whether it was the memory of how he did it or a simple metaphorical sensation “After, I feared dying but living again, somewhere else.”

He had talked to Luna about it not long ago, but he felt he needed to say it again, just to hear himself admitting he had those thoughts, that they existed, and that they would stay in his memory forever. 

“I know you have said you want to live this life," Luna said, "But are you afraid to do it?"

That was an odd question, but one Wild could understand, perhaps even too easily. However, the answer to it was not easy at all. After all, he had little to be afraid of, objectively speaking. While it was true that this new life, just like his previous life, had its upsides and downsides, there was much more of the former, and he had come back stronger from the latter. He had, without a single doubt, gained more than he had lost, and his life had been improving despite the challenges he had faced and was still facing. He even had the support from the ruler of the nation, something he knew he kept disregarding time and time again because it seemed so weird and unbelievable. If he were back on Earth, it would be as if he was under the care of... whoever was the most powerful person back then. The president of the USA? Whoever was the head of the UN or NATO or EU? His situation, in truth, was honestly absurd.

To add to that, most of his misery in the new world stemmed from his past in the old world. Perhaps his old world did not have magic or mad changelings or evil spirits or malicious amulets, which were, perhaps, objectively more dangerous and scary than anything he had ever experienced, but it was the old world where he grew up and became the person he was, and the memories within him were strong. Now, at least, he was on a more or less the same level as the dangers he faced, and he had support, and he wasn't starving, and he didn't have to resort to sleeping in the woods under a bush only to be soaked by rain and then spend the next few weeks with sniffles and intermittent coughing.

With perfect clarity, he recognized that his situation was now much different than before, and even if he wanted to treat it as before, the truth was that he could not. 

He was no longer alone.

Ever since coming to this world, he had never been alone even if it felt like it. He was pretty much constantly surrounded by people who, in one way or another, cared about him. He even already had a ticket to a relationship, which he yet refused to take because he knew he was difficult and would only cause problems for anyone who would want to be in a relationship with him. It still boggled his mind that Artful declared him perfect. Wild knew he was anything but perfect. He even asked Artful what good he saw in Wild, and yet he couldn’t really believe the answer he got.

“Yes,” he finally gave the answer to Luna's question, “Yes,” he repeated, opening his eyes and looking at her, “I like this new life, I really do, but... but I can make things go wrong. I want this life, but... because of who I am, I will mess up. I know I can... have a happy life, because this world is good, because, because things are good, but I... I will mess up. And that is why I... fear.”

“Everyone messes up, Wild,” Luna told him gently, “It is part of living. It is part of growth as a person. Everyone has regrets and everyone will have regrets. No one is perfect. Not me, not my sister, no one,” she emphasized, “Is perfect. You will not be perfect. Chasing for perfection will only bring you ruin. It brought grief to me and to my sister. I implore you, remember that you are a person, and a person is never perfect and cannot be perfect.”

Wild nodded to this despite the weak disagreement he wanted to voice. After all, what use was having a second life if he couldn’t make it perfect, to make it truly count? Unfortunately for him, Luna was making sense, and he could not disagree with her even if he really wanted to.  

“Wild,” Luna looked him in the eyes, “Give yourself permission to make mistakes. Allow yourself to mess up. You will not be less of a person for that. You will make mistakes, it is inevitable. Some small, some perhaps big, but you will make them. Do not beat yourself up over making a mistake - learn from it. It will continue to define you only if you refuse to accept it and to rectify it to the best of your ability.  

“There are many ponies who make mistakes and refuse to learn from them, refuse to accept that they are fallible. There are deeds that are unforgivable and irredeemable, but you have done no such thing, and I cannot see you doing it. You are a good person, Wild. If you make someone you care about mad at you, it is not the end of the world. If you get into a fight leaving someone bruised, it is not the end of you.”

“But what if I... hurt someone a lot with my power?” he asked, tapping on the Alicorn Amulet, which produced a surprisingly dull sound in response, “I am going to become more powerful, and... and I do not want to hurt those I care about.”

“Have you ever truly wanted to hit your parents?”

“No!” Wild denied, “I was... angry, sometimes, but I would never hit them!”

“Would you do it to your friends?”

“No!”

“Then the amount of magical power you wield makes no difference,” Luna said, “As long as you learn to control it. Accidents happen, and emotions can influence magic, but much of magic is about intent. You may aim your horn, prepare your spell, build up your power, but if you do not intend to hurt the one you are aiming at, you will not hurt them, certainly not deliberately.”

Wild nodded hesitantly, hoping that she was right, hoping that his new power would not be his doom too.

There was little else said afterwards aside from Luna reiterating that he can make mistakes and allow it to happen. Wild needed to think about it, and... perhaps he would write something down in his journal once he got it again. It seemed an insurmountable task, and yet it was a task he needed to complete for the sake of himself and others. What he felt now, he couldn’t be sure, although he asked Luna to bring him the Atlas of Emotions - it had proven to be a very useful book, after all.

With a deep sigh, he lay down on the couch and stared at the ceiling, a single question on his mind.

Why did his life have to be so difficult?
> Chapter 76: A Mess of Feelings
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild ate, Wild slept, and Wild... was bored. Days passed, none of them special or truly interesting despite the excitement he got each time he used his magic to the fullest he could. Just pumping out his power was fun, but he lacked proper knowledge to take full advantage of it, to make it truly spectacular and worthwhile. The best he could do was summon lightning, which made him laugh in euphoria each time he did it. The lightning was brighter than anything he had ever seen in his life, and the way it thundered and shook the ground made him feel like he was holding all the power in the world.

When he was alone, he imagined himself a powerful dark sorcerer. He walked with his head held high, imagining himself wearing a black hooded robe and feeling it swish as he moved.

“So, you have come to me to ask for my aid,” he said, his voice as low and as smooth as he could make it, imagining a council of warriors and mages sitting at the dining table, “The situation must then be truly hopeless if that is... if that is what you lowered yourselves to.”

He imagined how they said it wasn’t their choice, how their hand was forced, and how they needed his power to be on their side.

“Ah, I see,” he chuckled darkly, “The power of light isn’t... The power of light is not so strong now, is it? Hm, no...” he cleared his throat, “Now you see that your light is not as powerful as... No, not right, hmm... Now you finally realize that the Dark Side is where true power lies.”

He made his way around the table, walking slowly, imagining them all looking at him warily yet not daring to contradict him. He held the power, and without him, they would fail in their quest to bring down the true evil. Because he was not true evil, he had standards, lines that he would never cross, in fantasy inside his own head or in reality. He knew he could imagine himself as a hero, but he had known for a long time that being the villain was much more fun. They all got pretty nice-looking things, after all, at least when it came to looks. As a child, he had, as many others did, a fascination with Darth Vader. Strong, tall, powerful - it was everything he had wanted to be back then, even if his childish mind ignored the fact that Darth Vader was, without a single doubt, not a good person.

“Perhaps I will help you,” he said, letting out a small laugh as his internal story progressed, “I am thirsting for a proper fight. To lay waste to them... It will be marvelous.”

He knew what he was doing was childish, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, certainly not now. It was fun, and that was far more important than whatever opinion others might have about it. It wasn’t like anyone would even see it in the first place, not unless he let them. Besides, what harm was in doing it? He wasn’t going to become some sort of evil sorcerer despite the power he would soon posses. He had no interest in ruling or making others obey. In truth, all he needed this power for was to make certain that others would not disturb him and his peace. With this power, he could make sure he would not be hurt ever again, and if he still ends up falling in harm’s way, then whoever did it to him would be... very regretful.

Most importantly, he would never have to give up control involuntarily, and no one would be able to make him submit. Never again.

Aside from his silly little fantasies, he occupied his time with reading. All the imaginary scenarios in his head couldn’t possibly alleviate his boredom completely, after all. He even went as far as trudging through the magical theory books where he had to consult with a dictionary very frequently in order to understand at least the gist of it, even if it was mostly futile since he lacked a lot of basic knowledge. Certainly, no dictionary could help him make sense of various theories about how exactly magic worked. Matrixes, equations, thaum theory, and more were far too much for his far too undereducated mind to properly understand. It also reminded him far too much of his experience at school, of the difficulties he had with things others seemed to breeze through, so he doubted he would ever actually go into this field of study - or perhaps any field of study at all. He wanted to cast magic, not sit around all day theorizing about how it is cast.  

Wild did not really care about the whys and the hows of magic’s existence, and it appeared his way of thinking wasn’t uncommon. He had learned that it was relatively rare for anyone to study the depths of magic - most used it in their daily lives, and that was about it. The most important part about magic was that it existed and that it worked, and that there was a consistency to it that had, so far, never been disturbed in the history of the world - aside from perhaps the Era of Discord as well as the most recent reappearance of the Spirit of Chaos. Wild was glad he hadn’t been there to experience it personally, considering the accounts of Discord’s actions he had read about happening during that ancient era.  

Wild found further reprieve in lighter reading, namely fiction. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem so impressive anymore now that he was living in a world full of magic where the impossible was a daily inescapable reality. Sun and moon didn’t even move by themselves, and the very idea seemed so outrageous that no book he had read so far even considered using it in their fictional world. Same, naturally, was with weather control. ‘The Tale of Lands Beyond’ was one of the books that interested him at first, but those ‘lands beyond’ seemed like just an extension of Equestria without the princesses. Wild found himself quickly losing interest afterwards, considering that it wasn’t much more than an adventure novel with a party of adventurers who, predictably, had adventures and went on some noble quest. He would much rather watch Lord of the Rings again. Perhaps read it too. He briefly wondered whether he’d be able to bring it to Equestria, but quickly discarded the idea - he didn’t have much artistic talent, and he would only butcher what he liked by trying to piece together old memories into something at least somewhat cohesive. Lord of the Rings was, in his opinion, an excellent movie trilogy, and he had rewatched it until he had nothing to rewatch it on, especially as his life progressed and he drifted off to different things. It was a shame, but he knew his limits, and writing books or directing movies were talents far outside his own. Besides, he distinctly remembered that Tolkien, the author of the Lord of the Rings book, was extremely talented when it came to languages and had many experiences Wild didn't have, which resulted in him basically redefining fantasy and introducing many of the now-common things. Wild was very aware that languages - or at least inventing them - wasn't in any way part of his talents, and he didn't really have much else to offer. His experiences, perhaps, could be made into a book - he was reasonably certain that what he had done was worthy of something like that, maybe relegated to some dusty shelf in the fantasy section of a book store back on Earth. 

More than half of the fiction on the shelves where he was were, however, various romance novels. A good number of them featured straight romance and thus was of no interest to Wild. When it came to gay romances, he disregarded the one about two nobles immediately - it just wasn’t relatable to him at all. What use was reading about all that court intrigue and whatever else when he was not a noble? They would have little difficulty in getting together, as far as he was concerned, aside from their weird political half-backstabbing and talking encyclopedia-book-worths of nothing around each-other. This was the sort of nonsense he could freely discard and feel nothing bad about. There was another story, one of a knight falling in love with a farmer, but Wild ceased reading it about a quarter through when he realized where it was going. In this book, homophobia was clearly apparent, and there was no way there would be a happy ending. Wild had no desire to read a tragedy.

Wild would give a lot to have the internet at his fingertips again. Even if it meant he would just mindlessly watch YouTube video after YouTube video about various different topics with no application to his life. Having a computer would still be worth it if he got to play some computer games, however. There was only so much reading he could do before growing restless and desiring some better stimulation of his brain.  

Fortunately for him, Luna had brought him something interesting.

“This is a two-way notebook,” she explained as she gave him the item, “There is another notebook that I have given to your friends. What you write here, they will also see, and the other way around is true as well. If you tear a page from it, it will remain connected to the same page on the other notebook.”

Wild nodded in thanks as he accepted it as well as a multi-color pen. It was made entirely of some kind of metal and clicked relatively loudly when he switched colors: red, green, blue, and black.  

“This is a recent invention,” Luna explained, “A ball-point pen with multiple colors, all done without magic... A mechanical marvel at this small of a scale.”

“A marvel?” Wild asked. It seemed pretty simple to him.

“When it comes to writing, certainly,” Luna told him, “I have grown up when quills were the usual instrument for writing. Certainly more elegant than a ball-point pen, but I can appreciate the simplicity of this one as well.”

After checking that everything was fine with him as well as helping Wild burn through his magic, Luna left him. Wild opened the notebook and saw he already had a message.

Precision: Hey Wild, you alright? 

Swingblade: How did you do it? Heard Trixie is nasty.

Artful: Hope you’re alright, and I wish you quick recovery.

Wild thought for a moment, picked color black on the pen, and wrote.

Wild: I am alright. I will be in Canterlot maybe for a week or maybe longer. 

When no immediate answer came, he put the notebook and the pen down. At least he now had some sort of instant - or hopefully instant - way of writing to his... friends. He could perhaps call them friends now. It was frustrating how often he wondered about it with no real clear answer in sight because... he could consider them friends. In some way, he did. However, more often than not, he wondered if that was how he truly fell, and he didn't know why he wondered so much about it. He deeply breathed in, then breathed out.

Perhaps he was still making things more complex than they needed to be. He didn't think others were thinking about it that much, certainly not as much as him. So... they were his friends, and he was their friend. That was simple enough... hopefully. Of course, that was not everything - Artful would be the closest friend he had, without a doubt, and others were... alright, he supposed. At least he had someone so that he wouldn’t feel too lonely.

Maybe he should propose a sleepover-

He startled. Where did that thought come from? In truth, he had enjoyed his sleepover with Artful and Jade, that much he could admit, but he wasn’t certain whether he was ready for another one. However, just because he didn’t know that, didn’t mean he didn’t want it. Sleeping close to someone was... nice. He wasn’t entirely against the experience.  

However, he did not write that proposal that day, deciding to sleep on it instead. Next day, or the days after that, perhaps he would propose a sleepover. Or perhaps not. He didn’t know, and he wasn’t quite ready to make any sort of final decision yet.  

He closed his eyes, breathed in, held it, and then breathed out. In the end, what harm would there be in a sleepover? He knew his friends wouldn’t hurt him. He knew he liked sleeping with someone - even one night of that experience was enough to convince him of that. Perhaps it was some sort of pony instinct that was now part of him or perhaps it was his own desire for closeness.  

Precision and Swingblade had never made unwelcome advances towards him. They might joke about... sexual matters, but they had never pushed them on him. Swingblade had once been a bit crass or something of that sort, but even he backed off once it was clear Wild didn’t appreciate what he was saying.  

Artful, of course, had never made Wild feel uncomfortable, certainly not because of any actions he took. That was the main reason Wild liked him so much, after all - Artful was respectful of Wild’s boundaries and wishes, and he was, honestly speaking, far too kind to Wild. Wild appreciated it yet couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t deserve it.

The core of the matter was, he could trust those three to be safe to be around with. They wouldn’t hurt him, he knew that. So, perhaps, maybe, he could make... another leap of faith. He trusted Artful, and by extension he put his trust in Jade as well, and perhaps he could extend that trust even further. Besides, he now had more power than he could ever possibly truly need - if they did something bad to him, he would not be powerless to stop them from going too far. Not that he thought that they would ever do that to him, but it wouldn’t hurt to be ready for this, just in case.

He put the notebook in front of him once more and clicked the pen, ready to write down his proposal. He noted that no one had replied to his initial message yet. However, he couldn’t bring himself to lower the pen and start writing. What if it all went wrong? What if he was rejected? To be fair, Artful would probably not reject him, but what of others? What if they didn’t want to sleep close to him? He wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case because, in truth, he wasn’t very likable, now was he? A loner with mental issues, that was what he was. How could others tolerate him? How could anyone look at him without disgust in their gaze?

Without a single doubt, if any of them knew what he had done, if any of them knew who he truly was, they would no longer want to be seen with him, let alone to sleep with him. He might have accepted his own sadism, but would others? He knew he would not want to be with someone who was like himself.  

Something clicked in his head, and he hurried to his room, dug under the mattress, and finally pulled out his journal. Now that he had it back, and with Luna’s advice on his mind, he opened it and started writing things down.

I feel like others are should be disgusted with me. Because I am a mess. Because I can’t be just a normal person. I don’t know if I feel that way now because of the amulet but I don’t think so.

He paused, tapping the end of the pen against the corner of his mouth as he thought about what to write down next.  

I fear my friends would not be my friends if he they knew more about me. And then I would be alone, and I do not want to be alone.

He then paced around his bedroom, then went back to the living room and paced there, both pen and journal in his magical grasp. Luna told him to write his thoughts down, and that was what he did, and yet it was... painful, in a way. He knew he was messed up, he knew others didn’t think the way he did, yet to actually see it, acknowledge it... it brought some perspective to him.

I feel pathetic.

Wild wished he had his good mood back, yet now it seemed it escaped him, slipping away no matter how much he grasped after it, like trying to catch running water. Was it the result of the Alicorn Amulet’s influence on him or was it his brain that was messed up because of who he was? Truthfully, he hoped for the former while knowing it was the latter.  

My head is messed up and I want to be normal.

And if Wild were to be normal, then he would stop fretting so much about proposing a sleepover. As a kid, he didn’t think so negatively about it, now did he? He remembered that, although sleepovers never happened back then, he did want them because it would be nice to have friends around. And now that he had some friends, some decent friends, and one of them even a good friend, he could do a sleepover without much issue. Or, at the very least, the only issue would be himself.  

Wild steeled himself. If he were to become better, he needed to push through all this, he needed to overcome his fears and uncertainties. A sleepover wasn’t the end of the world, now was it? Why was he so stressed about it?

Wild closed his journal and returned it to its hiding spot. ‘Hiding spot’ was, perhaps, inaccurate - if someone wanted to find it, they would be able to do so easily - but it felt better not having it out in the open.  

Wild returned to the living room where he left his notebook - so far, no one had written despite the time his small breakdown had taken. Wild sat down, breathed in, held, breathed out, and then brought the pen to the paper.

That was when knocking came from the entrance door, startling him enough to make him drop his pen. He got up and approached it, wondering why Luna was back so soon, hoping it wasn’t some kind of an emergency concerning him. Did the most recent magical scan she performed on him end up being odd enough to be worrying?  

Wild furrowed his brows - something didn’t feel quite right, yet he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Nevertheless, he opened the door. He froze - it was not Luna.  

There in front of him, Princess Celestia stood.

“Good afternoon, Wild,” she greeted him in a pleasant voice even as he, without realizing it, took a few steps back, his eyes wide and his ears down, “May I come in?”
> Chapter 77: Apologies and Explanations
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Celestia stood in front of Wild, she was keenly aware of the fear in his eyes and tension in his body.  

It wasn’t the first time someone was afraid of her, and she knew it certainly wouldn’t be the last either. Some would perhaps label her as clueless to her own power, but she was far from that. She was tall, extremely tall, taller than most in a way that spoke of their distant ancestors, though not many outside historical academia made much of a note of that connection, and she was very aware that she towered above nearly everyone. If not for the pleasant demeanor she did her best to cultivate, she had no doubt others would fear her even more. She might not look muscular, yet she knew she had strength that most would not be able to achieve in their lifetime, and she spent more time eating cake than exercising. She counted.  

However, her physical appearance and thus her intimidating form was not the reason - or, at least, far from the main reason - Wild was afraid of her now.

“I’ve come here to apologize and to explain my actions,” Celestia said, her voice gentle. Despite the reason for his fear not being her appearance, she knew it wouldn’t take much for him to interpret any of her actions as aggression, as an attack, and would thus lead to a disaster. She might be able to come back from any physical harm, but the same could not be said about him, and the mental harm it would bring was a different thing entirely. She needed to approach him like a scared animal, to show him that she truly meant no harm. And now, she also needed to be direct in her speech, to bring the issue to the forefront, “I promise you that you are in no danger from me.”

There was a tiny chance she was wrong about her conclusion that led her to him, now that there was a convenient - at least from a certain point of view - time for her to see him personally, but Wild’s reaction to her was all that she needed to know that she was, unfortunately, right. He was, indeed, that spirit she had encountered and harmed. Looking at him, she could see the resemblance clear as day. The spirit's pony-like shape was, without a single doubt, a simulacrum of Wild's physical form. While the colors were not right, and the spirit's shape was certainly not solid, he was that spirit. As for the colors... they were worrying, telling of a story that she wasn't certain she wanted to hear. Of course, the color black held different connotations depending on the culture, but the cracked appearance, the blood-red color of those cracks, they seemed to point to exactly one conclusion. 

On her way to him, she had wondered why his spirit looked the way it did, as well as why he could travel so far away from his body. However, those weren’t the questions she was going to ask now, if at all. She came to him not because of her curiosity, after all. 

Wild took another step back, and she could practically feel his distrust radiating off him towards her. As much as he perhaps wished for her to go away, she could not do so, not when this situation needed to be remedied, not avoided.  

“I understand you may not believe me when I say it,” she continued, consciously not moving from her spot, doing her best to appear non-threatening, “I’m very aware of my position. I am the most powerful being in Equestria, magically and politically,” she let out a sigh, “And this is why many are afraid of me. However, I do not play games. I mean what I say, and my actions align with my words. There is no need for dishonesty and tricks when I have as much power as I do.”

It was, of course, only partially true. She had not told Twilight Sparkle that she really needed to make some friends, and likewise she had not told various politicians she had met in her life to crawl into their own assholes and roll straight to hell. However, what she did say was still honest, and the intent could be clearly read. Those she disliked knew of her dislike, and she could be honest to those she liked without hurting them with her words. It was a delicate sort of balance. 

However, such was not a balance that needed to be maintained with Wild, not at this point. So, she was being entirely honest with him, without mincing words, and without trying to avoid what she truly thought.

Wild seemed to consider it for a moment, eyeing her warily, and then he nodded. Silently, he signed, asking her how she found out the truth about him. It seemed that her statement, at least, prevented him from panicking outright. That was good, situation was under control to an acceptable degree. He was still wearing the Alicorn Amulet and, while she knew he didn’t have the skill to wield the power it provided efficiently, it would have still proven a disaster had he seen her as a danger to him. She had considered delaying approaching him about it all, but it would have only let it all fester and turn ugly, more than it had already had. After she ignored the signs of her own sister growing bitter towards her, she knew she had to be vigilant about never letting it happen again.  

“Trixie Lulamoon was question about the events that led to her getting and then losing the Alicorn Amulet,” Princess Celestia explained, “Her description of the spirit and then your appearance with the Alicorn Amulet on you were easy to put together to find the truth.”

Wild nodded, taking another step back seemingly unknowingly. Celestia longed to reach out to him, to assure him that everything was alright, yet she was the cause of his distress, and so she couldn’t do as she wished.

“Firstly, I will say that I am not mad at you for concealing your talent and for not revealing who you were while you were, I suppose, in your spirit form,” she continued, “Such a talent is unusual, and I understand why you would be scared to display it openly.”

She paused, letting Wild process what she was telling him. Her words were slow and methodical, but not to the point that Wild would feel like he was treated as a child. He was a person with his own wants, desires, and will. To deal with people, Celestia had learned to recognize them as people, not merely as temporary vague presences in her long life. She had managed to avert or minimize a great many crises for many centuries due to paying attention. As much might as there was in physical and magical strength, there was much power to be gained through words alone.

“I am sorry you didn’t feel safe to confide in me. Let me make it clear - I will not punish you for your talent. There is nothing to punish. A talent is a part of a pony, a part that cannot be taken away or forcibly changed. If anyone ever told you otherwise, they are wrong. You have a right to use your talent in your life, a right that no one can take away.”

Wild was standing in place, still somewhat wary but more surprised, which saddened Celestia. What had she done wrong that made him think so badly of her? She knew she hadn’t been closely monitoring him, assuming all would be fine at the Royal Orphanage, especially under her sister’s watch. For a time, things have been going well as far as she could tell. From what she knew, Luna and Wild had grown closer over time, and Wild had confided in Luna multiple times by now, though Celestia knew nothing about what it was. There was a bond between the two, a strong bond, a bond that made him feel safe enough to approach Luna and to trust her to be fair to him.  

Why did he feel like Celestia would be unfair to him? Celestia knew that, for all her mastery of politics and the general ability to figure out what others wanted, she oftentimes lacked true understanding of interpersonal relationships, and recognizing it is what drove her to send Twilight Sparkle to Ponyville. For all the wisdom Celestia had, there was one area in which she greatly lacked, and she hoped Twilight would unlearn the harmful habits Celestia no doubt had imposed on her because of her teachings.

Was Wild another victim of Celestia’s lacking?

When it came to politics, she was well-versed, having been at it longer than nearly anyone else. She knew how to appease the unhappy, how to make those who overstepped backtrack, and she could see the consequences of policies before they became reality. However, all those skills that greatly helped her with ruling Equestria didn’t translate into perfectly understanding people on a personal level.  

What exactly did she miss about Wild?

Casting her mind back to when he was first found, it was understandable why he would be distrustful of others. However, much time had passed since then, and he had grown a relationship with her sister. What she wanted to know were the reasons why he didn’t trust her specifically. Was it because of persistent negative rumors about her that had been circulating for a millennium and never quite disappeared? She had immediately ruled her own sister out - they had made up, and Luna would never paint Celestia in a light of anything but the truth. In the past, that had not been the case, but things had changed. To Celestia’s great relief, she made up with her sister for all the wrongs she had done to her, for all the grievances that were unaddressed, for all the unspoken words, for all the repressed feelings, for... everything.  

“Wild... why were you so afraid of me then?” Celestia asked, hoping to find out the truth now before it went out of control. This could not be ignored, certainly not when Wild was growing in magical power day by day.

Wild was silent for a long while, not looking at her, before he, haltingly, offered an explanation. He signed that he hadn’t trusted anyone with his secrets, but Princess Luna found out about them, and he had been forced to accepted that fact. However, he did not wish to share it with anyone else. After a short pause, he explained that he was afraid he would be asked questions he did not want to answer. He then looked into her eyes and signed that she held power over him and could make him answer, and she had done just that.

Silence reigned between the two after his explanation. Celestia had forced the truth out of him, hadn’t she? She could say that it was to protect her sister and others, and it would be true because it was true, but it would not erase the hurt Wild had experienced. She had done what she needed to do considering the circumstances and what she knew at the time, but the consequences of her actions would still be there for her to deal with. She had to take responsibility for it no matter how right it was to do, no matter that she had done her best, no matter that there was no true physical harm done.  

Many times in her life that sometimes felt unfairly long, she wondered... who rules the ruler? Who makes sure the ruler does not go astray? Celestia knew she, by herself, was more powerful than any unicorn that had ever existed. She knew it would take a combined effort of thousands of ponies to defeat her if she ever went the way of Nightmare Moon, assuming the Elements of Harmony were not in play - and she knew a vague idea of a plan to deal with them, a plan that she firmly kept out of her mind, trying not to even hypothesize about it. Even if she did not find a way to deal with the Elements of Harmony, they were still, at least at this point, under her control, if indirectly. And, of course, they had been under her control for a thousand uninterrupted years. Perhaps they would have simply ceased to work for her if she abandoned all that she cherished and embraced the path of selfishness and malice, but that was not something she was willing to test.

Sometimes, she questioned whether the world would be better off without her, without all of that great potential for destruction and pain and misery. If she wanted to, she could have done... much harm. Wild, it appeared, was very much aware of it. He wouldn't be the only one, of course, although Equestria had been peaceful and stable for so long that most ponies simply never question Celestia's position. Those that do were ridiculed, though Celestia herself never said a word about them and never indicated that their words of criticism were unwelcome. 

Wild, it appeared, was ready for harm coming his way from her, and his fear would certainly not be without reason. And, in truth, what could Celestia promise? Any promise she made she could break without serious consequences. A great many ponies believed in her, took her words as gospel. She had previously met many that, for all the intelligence they possessed, had a blind spot when it came to her. 

With great power comes great responsibility, and Celestia was very aware of what could easily happen had she ever slipped. And now it was up to her to convince one pony that she would not hurt him without good cause, a task that seemed impossible, for there was no true guarantee that she could give him.

“I am sorry for forcing you to go through the interrogation,” Celestia said first, putting as much sincerity into her voice as she could, “I believed you were an immediate danger, and I acted according to that belief. I understand this will not alleviate the stress you’ve experienced, but I hope you understand that I did this with no malicious intent, and I hold no ill will towards you. Is there anything I can do for you to prove my sincerity, to prove that I mean my apology? I can grant you anything, within reason.”

Wild thought for a while, and Celestia was glad to see that some tension disappeared from him. He had been almost hunched on himself under her gaze at first, but now he was standing straighter, with more confidence.

Of course, Celestia was aware that she was essentially offering a bribe. She didn't expect him to forget, but she did hope that whatever it was that she could give him would also give him a peace of mind. What it was, however, remained to be seen. Had he been some other stallion, she could perhaps expect a sexual kind of proposition, as crass and unpleasant as it could be. Not that she would agree, and she would have to keep an eye out for the kind of person who would voice such a thought aloud. She was perfectly aware ponies had their fantasies, but some would have to stay in their own heads or, at most, in fiction or some kind of role-play. None of her business as long as it was consensual. Next, of course, was a demand for, essentially, shush money. The easiest to grant, though it could possibly give a way for someone to grow bold enough to blackmail her, as unlikely as that scenario was. The boldest people could ask for titles or land, which... of course, she wouldn't grant the former, but, depending on the severity of her offense, she could certainly grant the latter. 

Wild came to a conclusion, which pulled her out of her thoughts. he signed that he had an idea of what to ask for, but he wasn’t ready to tell her what it is. He gestured that he would speak with Luna first before he revealed it.

“Very well,” Celestia nodded, though she was worried internally about what it was. It appeared it wasn't going to be as simple as a demand for money, “I will be waiting, then. And please, don’t hesitate to ask for anything if your stay here is uncomfortable in any way.”

Such a thing had been available to him from the beginning, but reminding him of it could not hurt. 

Wild nodded, although he offered nothing more afterwards. Celestia gave him another nod and then departed, softly closing the door behind her.  

Celestia stretched her wings and then, with one powerful flap, flew up and headed away from Wild’s temporary residence in the Tower of the Six. She briefly wondered whether he knew the honor he was given by being housed there, but then shook her head - it didn’t matter. Whatever honor there was in giving him that place, even temporarily, was overshadowed by his bravery in confronting Trixie Lulamoon and tricking her into taking off the accursed Alicorn Amulet.  

She flew above the palace, enjoying the winds around her. She rarely got the opportunity to fly anywhere these days. She knew she didn’t need protection of her Royal Guard, but she had made it a habit to travel by chariot pulled by pegasi, and forgoing that would break tradition. Her sister, in part because of her thousand-year-banishment, did not need to burden herself with such concerns. Her reappearance, in a way, was a break of traditions, which allowed her to defy expectations. Celestia had, in some way, dug her own grave over hundreds of years, and so every deviation from what ponies expected of her would be met with curiosity, perhaps wariness, and maybe even panic if it were dramatic enough. 

As Celestia flew, she wondered exactly what secrets Wild held from her and others. A part of her itched to know, itched to investigate - secrets in politics could prove to be deadly. She knew the secrets were great enough that Luna took them seriously and would never tell them to anyone without Wild's permission. Were they about his past? She had already figured out that he was not, in fact, a Feral, and so his story of having lived in the Everfree Forest was a lie. A lie in self-defense, of course, but still a lie.  

However, there were no records of him ever existing before he was found. Of course, it wasn’t like ponies had much documentation overall, especially in rural areas, and especially if someone opted for a home birth instead of going to a hospital, but Wild appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and he did have genuine troubles with the language. Every single pony knew the language, so him going for almost one and a half decades without learning it was, simply put, a total impossibility.  

Celestia had a feeling Luna knew the answers to those many questions concerning him. However, if Wild felt it would be safer not to reveal them, and Luna judged it safe not to share them, then Celestia was willing to let it all go. The itch to know everything about everything that was going on in her country would have to be left unsatisfied.

Even then, she wished she had the knowledge in order to build trust between Wild and her, to show him that he was safe with her, and that he could bring up whatever issues plagued him to her if he ever needed help. She was glad he had Luna, yet she couldn’t help but hope she would be brought into his confidence as well.

Perhaps she had taken too much time away from the ponies in the Royal Orphanage. Perhaps it was time for an extended visit, to see if she failed to see even more than she had already missed.
> Chapter 78: Disagreement
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna nearly raced to Wild when she received a message that he wanted to see her and talk about something important. She feared the Alicorn Amulet was acting odd and something was going to happen, unlikely as it was - or so she hoped - but if it did happen...

She knew the Alicorn Amulet was highly dangerous, and there was always a possibility that, as damaged as it now was, it could remain just as dangerous as before if not more so, that it would possibly take Wild away, twist him until he barely resembled himself. It would not be the first time. Trying to trick him into giving it up afterwards would not work - if he was convinced of whatever the Amulet forced on him, he would never take it off, and there would only be one solution, a solution Luna did not wish to employ, ever.

The very image of her sword striking his head off his neck sent shivers down her spine and made her feel nauseous. She should have been there when Trixie, in her absolute foolishness, showed up among innocents wearing that thing. The hunt for the Alicorn Amulet should have been funded more, and whatever trails it had should have been followed through and thoroughly. However, it was believed at the time that not publicizing about the existence of the Alicorn Amulet prevented it from falling within the grasp of the worst people who could want it. Whether it worked or not, Luna could not judge with any degree of certainty. 

Thankfully, her fears were alleviated when Wild opened the door to his temporary residence at the Canterlot Castle, still entirely himself as far as Luna could tell. His eyes did not shine red with malice and cruelty, and the Alicorn Amulet showed no signs of being anything more than a damaged artifact now acting as barely anything more than a reservoir of magic slowly draining into Wild.  

She had grown concerned when Wild voiced a proposition, yet it was for an entirely different reason. When she had heard him out, she was left... she wasn’t even certain what exactly she was feeling at the moment. There was certainly worry, of course, but it was not the time to analyze what she felt.

She had learned of Celestia’s visit to Wild, which she did not know about before it happened, and that was something Celestia should have brought up with her. However, that ship had sailed, and she was left with the consequences. Thankfully, it hadn't ended up in disaster, and so she was grateful for it.

With Celestia’s promise to do anything to make it up to Wild - or, at least, that was what Wild said she had promised - he came up with a worrying idea concerning humans.

Luna’s investigation into a possible existence of a portal between Wild’s birth world and this world had been going on for a while now, yet the Everfree Forest had proven to be troublesome and uncooperative to the efforts to discover the said portal. There were many nooks and crannies where something of that sort could be hidden, and nothing less than a thorough search where not a square millimeter of the forest left unchecked would do.  

What to do with that possible portal or the connection between words in general was yet to be decided, and Celestia still didn’t know the truth about the investigation. Perhaps soon Luna would bring her into confidence despite Wild's request for utmost secrecy. As much as she emphasized with the young stallion, she could not do as he wished all the time.

Ever since she saw Wild’s dream of what humans could do, after she heard his own words about his own species, she was doing her best to find a way to approach this topic from the right angle and thus solve it. It was very rare when someone hated not just themselves but their own people, which was, from a certain point of view, fortunate. On the other, however, it meant that there weren’t many resources to advise Luna on how to proceed about it. Truth be told, she had been putting it off. Anxiety whispered to her, and fear prevented her from acting in case what she did would only make things worse. However, it appeared that she could not put it off any further, and now was the time to speak her mind, before Wild tried something he would regret, yet it would be nothing from which one could return. 

Luna was very aware that Wild was growing in power. That brought may worries to the forefront, the major of which was - how would he use that power? If he understood his existing limitations and could work within them, if he realized how much power he possessed and what was possible should he but learn to apply it... what would then follow would change everything forever.

“My sister would never agree to this,” Luna said, and she saw Wild’s spirits fall as he visibly slumped. That was not it, however, and so she spoke the next damning words, “And neither would I.”

Wild was startled, his eyes wide and his ears down as he stared at her in plain disbelief. A part of Luna urged her to walk back on her words, yet her consciousness urged her to go further still.

“You are saying humans are dangerous,” Luna spoke calmly, her tone lacking antagonism or anger, “And I see you want to protect your new home. I can understand that desire, truly.”

“Humans are dangerous,” Wild insisted, “We are... we are vile and we do bad things to each other all the time. What... what was done to me isn’t the worst.”

“And you will deem the entirety of humanity evil for the actions of a few?”

“There are not few,” he nearly snarled as he said those words, “There are many, and I told you about it!”

“You have,” Luna nodded, not letting his anger get to her, “And I have told you that we will prepare for the possibility of them being hostile to us.”

“Inevitability,” he corrected.

“No,” Luna told him, looking him in the eyes, and that seemed to surprise him and make him wilt at the same time, “Not inevitability. Minotaurs, oftentimes, are viewed as violent and aggressive, especially by those who had never interacted with them. Yet Equestria has a relationship with them, and minotaurs live among us ponies, causing no more trouble than we cause between ourselves. Should we have barred them from our lands, rejected all their words, just because harm was done to us in the past and sometimes happens today? Would it be right for us ponies to condemn them all?”

“If it is safer, yes,” Wild nodded.

“Wild,” she said seriously, “Do you realize that you are judging everyone for the actions of a few? Do you realize that this is the prejudice that you are holding? We ponies have wronged others in the past as well. Should all of us be judged for it?”

Wild shook his head, no longer looking at her.

“The very harm you went through, some ponies have inflicted on others,” Luna continued, and Wild flinched, shaking his head, “This is, unfortunately, true. Many would want to pretend that we have always been like we are now, like we are seen by the world. Dangerous if provoked, but otherwise peaceful and soft, kind and generous. However, that had not been the case in the past. Cassius the Cruel, the fourth King of Equestria, was known for numerous rapes he had committed while in power before a violent rebellion overthrew him, the chaos of which eventually caused Discord to appear. Empress Quicksilver of the Crystal Empire had started the genocide of the donkeys, the consequences of which are felt to this very day. And these two figures did not act alone, I assure you. There were many who knew what they did and had not a single issue with it.”

Wild continued shaking his head, his ears pressed against his head, his eyes shut, trying to deny what he was hearing, trying to avoid the harsh truth.

“Blood, sweat, and tears made Equestria what it is today, and I mean it both literally and figuratively,” Luna said, “We carry the consequences of all actions, good or bad, and we do not forget our past. We do not shy away from the atrocities our ancestors committed. However, what they have done does not make us evil. Just like we cannot be judged by the actions not committed by us, all humans cannot be judged for what those who hurt you and hurt others have done.”

“I thought you are on my side!” Wild blurted, tears welling up in his eyes, “I thought you understood! I thought you saw!”

“Do you want me to never question you?” Luna asked him, looking him in the eyes, unflinching and steady, “Do you want me to never go against your words? Do you want me to always follow you no matter what?”

Wild was silent, now staring at the floor, saying nothing at all.

“I want to help you, I am willing to help you, but you cannot ask unquestioning loyalty of me,” Luna told him, her voice soft but uncompromising, “I see the hate inside you, and it will eat you alive if you do not deal with it. It is true that you cannot help what you feel, but you must understand why you feel the way that you do, and you must find what you will do about that hate.”

Luna let Wild process that for a moment, watching him. It was clear he remained unconvinced, but he was unwilling to voice his disagreement with her. Luna quietly took a deep, steady breath, letting the frustration wash over and away from her. As much as Wild hated his own former species, he was not yet lost to that hatred, had not stepped over a line from which there would be no return. However, it was clear he held no love for his own kind, and this could easily turn into a disaster. She needed to turn him away from that path of bitterness lest he suffered a fate not dissimilar to hers.

“Tell me, if you could destroy humans, every last one of them, would you do so?” she asked him.

Silence was her answer. It was not an immediate, passionate no. Yet, thankfully, it was not a yes either. She could work with it, and she would drag Wild out of that pit of hatred and loathing.  

“Tell me something good about a human,” Luna said, “Any human. Does anyone come to mind at all?”

With hesitation, Wild nodded. That was, at least, a good sign. She would be far more concerned if the answer was no.

“Who is it?” she asked gently.

“My parents,” Wild replied, his voice raspy, “They did what they could for me,” he sniffed, “They were good.”

“Tell me, what did they do that makes you think of them as good?”

“They took care of me,” he said. After a moment, he added, “But parents are supposed to do that.”

She could see exactly what he meant by that.

“Not all,” Luna replied, “Parents should take care of their children, that is true, as such is their duty. However, this duty is not binding no matter if the law demands it or not. Blood ties, as important as many believe they are, in truth, are not any stronger than ties of friendship. There had been many parents who did not love their children, and to this day there are plenty who, for one reason or another, do not care for who they brought into this world. The existence of the Royal Orphanage proves it, does it not?”

Wild could do nothing but nod, unable to deny the obvious.

“So, here you are, there are good humans,” Luna told him, “And they were good not because of duty and obligation. They were not good because it was demanded of them - they were good because they loved you, and their love was genuine. Can you honestly say that there was some sort of an ulterior motive to their care?”

Wild shook his head.

“So, do you think that there is no one else among humans that care about someone just like your parents care about you? Do you truly believe no one but your parents is capable of the love that they had for you and for each other?”

Wild was unable to deny the obvious answer to that, yet he remained silent.  

“Did you ever wish for someone to come and help you and your family?”

“It is dangerous to connect to human world,” Wild said.

“Wild, I am sorry, but this was not what I asked.”

More silence reigned, uncomfortable from Wild’s end. He could not deny that he had asked for help, silent as his prayers were, useless as they had turned out to be, but if someone turned up, if someone helped him, if someone helped his family while they were struggling... he would have had a different life. A part of him knew he would have had a much better life. If he could travel to the past with the power he possessed now, to see his younger self from the outside, to see his family once again... he would not have stood by, would not have events occur as they had for him. As much as he, to this day, loathed himself sometimes - or more than sometimes - he would not wish for his younger self, as unlikable as he had been back then, to experience the harm he had gone through.

“That is why we cannot shut the connection between the world you came from and ours,” Luna said, “There are people on the other side that we could help. People like you, who have been greatly harmed. And people unlike you as well, people whom we can help avoid experiencing what you have. Would you deny them that?”

“...No,” he finally replied.

“I understand that you are afraid,” Luna told him, “You are scared that those you care about will face the same fate that you have, experience the same hurts that you have experienced. I understand that. Should you wish for it, you will never be asked to do anything at all with humanity ever again. However, I cannot abandon those I can help, and my sister would not stand behind it either. We will listen to you, but we will not obey you. Your experience is, without a doubt, helpful towards understanding humanity, but we cannot rely on you alone.  

“If you want to tell my sister of your past, I will stand by you. If you wish to help us navigate the complexities of humanity when we, I believe, inevitably make contact, I will stand by you. If you want to have nothing to do with humanity ever again, I will stand by you. But to prevent others like you from appearing in our world seeking help, to close that connection to everyone for all time? That, I cannot and will not do.”

Wild nodded in defeat, accepting her reasoning and her words if not adopting them for himself.  

“I know it must be difficult for you,” Luna said, “May I give you a hug?”

Wild nodded, and then the two hugged.  

“Hate is not something that is easy to deal with,” she told him quietly, “I know it eats away at you from the inside. However, that does not mean you have to deal with it alone. Will you allow me to help you see through it?”

“...I can try,” Wild settled on saying, “I... I don’t think I will like, um, humans.”

“I cannot make you do that even if I wanted to,” Luna told him, “But are you willing to try to see them as more than people out to hurt you and everything and everyone you care about?”

“...Yes.”

“That’s all I ask, Wild,” she told him, “Now, think about it, okay? Write down your thoughts too, this will help, even if it doesn’t feel like it will.”

After some time, the two let go of each other, and Luna headed out.

“Remember, Wild,” she told him as she prepared to leave, “While I cannot agree with you at everything, this does not mean I do not wish to help you. When I leave, you may feel shame for arguing, and you may fear that I will abandon you because you will perceive yourself as being difficult. I assure you I will not abandon you, certainly not for something as small as an argument. Know that I care about you and I wish you to live your best life, and I will do my best to make sure it happens. Do not be afraid to voice your doubts or your disagreements, and we will discuss them and, hopefully, come to a satisfying conclusion.”

Luna was right - once she left, he was ashamed of nearly shouting at her in anger, of feeling like she was going against him when she didn’t immediately agree with him, and...

Then he was angry. No, he wasn't angry, he realized, but he wanted to be angry. He wanted to have a target, even if it was Luna. He wanted to be angry at her for disagreeing, for not backing his every word, for going against him when it mattered most, and yet... 

He was grateful. Luna heard him out, gave him a fair chance to say his words, and then she told him her own thoughts on the matter, plainly and honestly, not hiding the truth for him for the sake of not upsetting him. Perhaps that was, indeed, what he needed to hear, even if it was not what he, on the surface, wanted.

He felt so, so tired already, and the day was far from over. He ended up lying in the bathtub too big to be called one, listening to the sound of rushing water as it was filled, and doing his best to sort through the mess that his thoughts were.

Wild, once again, thought how simpler his life would have been if he were born a pony and never knew Earth and humanity. That ancient terrible history of ponies that Luna had told him of would be just that, a history, distant and impersonal and, in some ways, even unimportant. However, that was not to be, and so he was left with what was, not with what he wished for.
> Chapter 79: Tentative Plans
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild's steps echoed inside his head as he paced around. His thoughts were a mess of... everything, if he was being honest, and he couldn't do even as little as pick up his journal and write them down. After all, if he tried that, then he would have to figure out how to sort through his thoughts, and he... couldn't do that. Not yet, at least. He needed to figure it all out, yes, but in some sort of different way. 

The issue was, of course, Princess Luna, and how she had gone against him. It still stung, and it stung deep, even days later. It cut deep like betrayal would and smelled like a foul-burning fire. 

Wild had thought she understood the truth of the dangers of humanity that he told her about, had understood him, and yet... Disappointment didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling. She had grabbed his thoughts, the truths he had held on to, and then mercilessly smashed them with a hammer. 

As much as it pained him to admit it, however, she was right, and oh how it stung to even think it, and he could not muster enough strength to say it out loud. 

It was true that his hatred for the species of his birth, as strong as it was, wasn't absolute. Good humans, despite what he thought and wanted to think, existed. Even if, he thought, in small amounts scattered across continents and beholden to vile and cruel rulers who cared naught for anyone but themselves and what would elevate them further upwards, no matter how many people they would have to step on and crush in order to get a single inch over the others. 

Digging deep into his mind, into his memories, and examining them with a somewhat open mind, he could and would find examples of good humans, and plenty enough of them for his hatred to come into question.

Luna asked him if he would doom humanity, forsake them, abandon them to their own devices when someone could step in and help. He wanted to hate her for asking this question, but he couldn’t. He wanted to believe that she had betrayed him by questioning him, but if he were entirely honest with himself, he couldn’t do that either - it would be entirely unfair to her and, perhaps, to himself.  

Luna told him that hatred ate people alive, and he wished to disagree. Hatred for his torturers was what had kept him alive and focused during his darkest days, it was what allowed him to survive and eventually kill them, delivering retribution for all that they've done to him. However, once it was all done, there was nothing left, and the emptiness inside of him quickly consumed him too, making him desire nothing but the embrace of death. For all that hatred had kept him alive, it had also, eventually, killed him.

Wild wondered what would have happened had he stayed, had he not shot himself through the heart. What would have happened then, when his revenge was done and he was left with nothing? Would he have been able to climb from the pit of despair and hurt, to make a life for himself despite the adversity he had faced? Would he, eventually, live a life he could not only accept but enjoy?

In all honesty, he did not think it likely. Even if the police never caught him for the 'crimes' he committed, he would have to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to see him for who he was, discover what he had done, and then...

Whatever the case was, it didn't matter much, certainly not anymore. If he had decided to stay in that world, he would still be lacking in everything, be it food or water or shelter. His body was still a ruin then, and perhaps he would just catch an infection and die a painful death.

Wild knew it was useless to think of what would have been, considering how much better his life was now. Food and water available anytime he wished, roof over his head without conditions he would deem unacceptable, magic, a new body now devoid of scars of his old one, and even the ear of royalty. If he told his younger self that this would be his future, he would have been called a moron because such things simply never happened, certainly not to him.

A part of him whispered to let go of his hate, to move on from the hurt he experienced. That very part of him, in a voice of Luna, told him that the hatred he held onto only brought him harm, holding him back from living his life to the fullest. Wild was afraid to listen to that part and so tried his best to ignore it.

As days passed, he continued the simple routine of reading to pass the time between Luna’s visits to check on him and to help him expel the excess energy thrumming inside of him. He did not speak of their last conversation, and she likewise did not bring it up. He was grateful for it, not yet ready to talk about it. Perhaps he would never be ready, but he pushed the thought of that to the back of his mind.

He talked with his friends through the enchanted notebook, all without telling them of his issues, of course. He was weird enough without others knowing he came from a different world and hated his own species. The questions that would arise from those two facts alone were not questions that he wished to hear, let alone answer. None of them needed to know the full truth of who he was. Let them think that he was just weird and odd and... not very likable. He would deal with that.

Artful: Have you seen anything interesting while you’re in Canterlot? I know they must be keeping you for observation, but you’re not completely locked up, I hope?

Wild: I have to stay in one tower, but it’s not bad. I have books, I have a giant bathroom, and Princess Luna helps me with magic.

Precision: Are you gonna learn from her? Or will Princess Celestia accept you in her school now?

Wild shuddered at the thought of studying under Celestia. It was more of a residual, irrational fear that he disliked dealing with, but he couldn’t help it. It was true that she had apologized, and it was likewise true that she could be a great teacher for him, but he wasn’t ready to accept that kind of thing, not yet. Luna told him that he could easily get accepted into Celestia’ School for Gifted Unicorns - he had the power for it now, and he would certainly have even more in the future as he grew and as the Alicorn Amulet gave everything left in it to him. He would only need to demonstrate something sufficiently impressive to get accepted, and Luna had no doubt Wild would be able to manage it if he tried.

As much as it warmed him to hear Luna's confidence in him, Wild wasn't so sure. ‘Gifted’ was not a word that had ever been applied to him, and he certainly didn’t consider himself gifted now. His talent was unique, this much could be said, and he had great skill with a saber, but none of that was magically impressive. He had read about gifted unicorns throughout the ages, and he was far from the famous Star Swirl the Bearded, who had managed to magically eradicate sexually-transmitted diseases of his time as well as make ponies largely immune to them, all when he wasn’t that much older than Wild either physically or mentally. Neither was he King Sombra, the evil tyrant of Crystal Empire who wielded Dark Magic as easily as a regular unicorn wielded simple telekinesis. Wild was, as far as magical skill was concerned, unremarkable save for his ease of making his magic into a functional pair of hands, but that was more of a parlor trick than anything of note, in his opinion.  

In the end, he replied that he would learn some things from Luna but didn’t know exactly what.

Wild: I am not great with magic, so I will learn something simple.

To his surprise, his friends disagreed.

Swingblade: No dude, your telekinesis is amazing! 

Precision: Yeah, what he said. Everyone in the club says that too. The control you have, it’s like you were born with magic. 

Swingblade: Everyone is born with magic.

Precision: Yes, but not with skill, that's what I mean. Wild, you are a natural at this.

Artful: I agree. Wild, from what I’ve seen, you’re great, and I bet you’re going to be really good if you try to learn more.

Wild couldn’t bring himself to disagree with his friends, knowing that they would do their best to convince him that he was good at magic. Sure, perhaps his telekinesis was better than the average, but it wouldn’t really translate into other things, even with the power that he now had. After all, it didn’t matter how strong someone could strike with a sword - if you had greater skill, you could still win, and would often win easily too. His skill in magic was like his skill with a sword when he had first picked up a tree branch and imagined himself a knight as a child. He could perhaps learn, and he would have some advantage, but he didn't think he would reach the heights his friends implied he could.

In the notebook, he could also exchange private words with any of the three of them. He didn’t know what truly drove him to it, but he messaged Artful separately.

Wild: After what happened with Trixie, I lost my scars. I don’t have scars anymore.

Artful: Is that a good thing?

Wild: Yes.

Artful: Then I am happy for you! I hope that your body is now the way that you want it to be.

Wild felt warmth inside his chest at Artful’s no doubt truthful words. He imagined Artful, out of everyone he was friends with, knew best what it meant to have a body that he wanted. Wild could not deny himself that he often looked at himself, using magic to trace where he remembered his scars were but feeling precisely nothing out of place, as if the scars had never been there in the first place. As difficult as things were, at least he no longer caught sight of his scars and was reminded of his past. His body was now entirely his, entirely new, and while the color of his eyes might have remained the same between both lives, it did not bring him grief.

Wild: How did you feel when your body became how you want it?

Artful: It felt amazing at first. It still feels good now, and I wake up every day knowing that my body is entirely my own, but it felt absolutely amazing when I first transitioned physically. The tone of my voice, the shape of things, my genitalia, everything became simply right. It all became me, reflecting who I am on the inside. There wasn’t any more disconnect between how I looked and who I was. I guess you’re asking because you feel something about your scars?

Wild: Yes. I feel good because my scars are gone. It is right.

Artful: Can’t wait to see how you look now.

Wild blushed, considering that he didn’t think he had ever had anyone truly looking forward to seeing him. He, of course, now was aware that Artful was physically attracted to him, and perhaps the lack of scars would help, although Artful had never indicated that he felt anything bad about the scars Wild had.  

Wild was aware that plenty of people thought scars added a certain charm. As a kid, he thought so too, until his scars became reminders of tragedies. He had then grown to hate them, despite them, and he hated that his body couldn't simply get rid of them. Why was it that a human body could make an entirely new body in the span of nine months but could do nothing about scars? He knew they would fade somewhat, become less noticeable over time, but they would still be there, as if taunting him.

However, magic had solved that problem for him. Now that he was free of all his scars, it felt like a huge pressure was removed from him, like unseen expectations were lifted from him. He idly wondered if the magic of the Alicorn Amulet could return a limb or an eye, although he was glad he didn’t get to find out. Despite the hurt he had experienced, despite the harm that was inflicted on him, he had remained more or less physically whole throughout his first life. With his new body, he didn’t intend to lose any parts of it if he could help it.

When it came to body parts, Wild also briefly wondered whether he could ask Artful to, perhaps, share a moment with him... a sexual moment. The very thought of it brought heavy blush to Wild’s face, although he had yet to put it to paper. Artful was the only one he could truly trust to be safe with if the two ever did come together for pleasure, and Wild, both because of the influence of  the now-fading Alicorn High and because of his own desires, could see himself having sex.

Instead of acting on those thoughts, instead of asking a question to Artful, he had retreated to the bathroom and fantasized. It was still safer that way, and he didn’t want to find out if his past would haunt him in moments of consensual pleasure. He didn’t know whether he would break down, and he certainly didn’t want to find out the result until he was certain which it would be. As it was now, he could see himself crying or flinching, and he knew it would only ruin Artful’s first time with him. No one, least of all Artful, deserved to experience that.

Wild, however, had a thought. Perhaps he didn’t even need to ask, certainly not yet, but he could, maybe... nudge things in a certain direction and see how it went from there. With no expectations to set, perhaps he would be able to avoid the hurt and the embarrassment of a possible accident. When he wrote in the communication notebook next, he addressed everyone.

Wild: When I am back, how about a sleepover?

Swingblade: I’m in! Where?

Precision: I’m in too.

Artful: I’d like to!

Wild tapped the end of the pen against the corner of his mouth in thought.

Wild: I don’t know where. Maybe the cabin?

Swingblade: The cabin? That’s a nice place for sure! 

Precision: Yeah, that’s a nice place. 

Artful: Would be nice to go there again.

Swingblade: Again?

Artful: I had Wild and someone else go with me there.

Swingblade: Did you two kiss?

Wild looked away, briefly remembering the moments when his face was so close to Artful’s he could feel his breath. If he went back in time, perhaps he would have leaned in a bit closer, just enough for him to meet him as well, and... Well, he didn’t know how a kiss felt like. Perhaps it wouldn’t feel like anything at all. Would it be any different than him putting his lips to an apple or some other fruit?  

They didn’t kiss then, but Wild perhaps, maybe, kinda, sorta wished they did.  

Wild: No.

Artful: No.

Wild could practically feel Artful’s thoughts on this. Despite Wild’s own misgivings about his own appearance, Artful did find him attractive and did call him perfect. Wild had no idea how in the world that happened, but perhaps it was a good thing, and maybe Artful’s thoughts on kissing mirrored his own.

Some time passed before another message appeared.

Precision: I reminded Swingblade not to get into other ponies’ personal lives. So, what’s the plan? What are we going to bring? I can get a board and knives for throwing. Or darts, that’s good too.

Wild was glad for the change of topic, although he didn’t exactly have anything to contribute.

Artful: Some board games.

Precision: Not OnO, please. I can smell the sweat.

Artful: The sweat?

Precision: Went to a OnO club once, and it really looked like they exchanged shower time for more OnO time. It was disgusting.

Artful: Ew.

Wild had no idea what OnO was supposed to be, but considering it was off the table anyway, he didn’t really care.  

Artful: I have some simpler things. OnO is more of a full-day thing, maybe multi-day.

Precision: Probably about as long as those guys didn’t shower. That was definitely more than a day.

Wild left the planning to the two of them, and they ended up with some simple board games including backgammon, although he had no idea what that was either. However, since it was considered simple, he decided he would see what it was when the day came. Then there was also some planning for snacks, as well as finding out when they could take the cabin to make sure they would be the only ones there. It was still a popular spot, so it would be wise to take it in advance, put that to a schedule that others would know about and so wouldn’t try to take it.  

In the end, they decided they would talk about it more in person once Wild was back, perhaps even invite some more people if everyone was alright with that, and that was that.. Wild closed the notebook and put it away, content with his decision to call for a sleepover. As long as Swingblade didn’t make too many suggestive comments, it would likely go well. Perhaps, by that point, Wild would also be even more comfortable with consensual touch, and then... who knew where it would lead.
> Chapter 80: Control
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So far, I have only instructed you to release the excess energy,  yet not how to control it,” Luna told Wild during one of their meetings, “Your powers have begun to settle and stabilize, and now I believe it is time you learned what to do with them.”

The Alicorn Amulet had grown dim, dimmer than before, dull in color as if all vibrancy was sucked out of it, more gray than red and black. A web of cracks spread from its center, and there was but a weak, barely-there pulse as it rested against Wild’s chest. Gone was the menacing and malicious aura surrounding it, dispersed like smoke in the wind. There was little that remained from its dangerous looks, the head of the alicorn warped in a way that made it appear as if it was bowing in submission.

Luna had been observing Wild closely, noting how his behavior changed and how, now, it appeared to have stabilized, returning more or less to his baseline. The Alicorn’s High was gone and done with, leaving him milder than before, more attentive and less twitchy and anxious. In the beginning, his eyes appeared to glow with power, and now they were more akin to smoldering coals, not as intense or as eerie but different nonetheless. Even while his thoughts were closed to her thanks to his mind exercises, she knew there wasn’t hidden malice and cruelty that was ubiquitous among those who had worn the Alicorn Amulet in the past for any decent length of time. Seeing the absence of that evil allowed her to finally relax, relieved that the worst had not come to pass.

Aside from the complete and total disappearance of his scars, the other change to his looks was the lengthening of his horn. It was noticeable to Luna’s eyes, and no doubt his friends would notice the change as well once he returned to the Royal Orphanage. Horn length was indeed associated with and directly depended on power - horns tended to grow hot when too much magic went through them, and the body learned from this heat, making the horn grow to compensate for it, much like muscle grew after having been damaged in exercise. If Wild grew in physical size elsewhere, that was not apparent, although the doorways in this tower were tall enough for Luna, who was, by herself, taller than Wild. She remembered how her sister used to constantly bump her horn on top of the doorways in the Canterlot Castle until she ordered them rebuilt to accommodate. Wild would not encounter any such problems until he became close to Luna in size. He would not need to replace his bed until he was larger than Luna, and he wouldn’t need to get a bigger dorm until he was halfway between Luna and Celestia. By then, it was likely he would be an adult not just chronologically but in abilities as well, meaning he would have his own place, a house or an apartment depending on his preferences and budget, and Luna would warn him about possible height difficulties then. As one grew in height, one also grew in body length, which could become quite annoying in more cramped areas.

Luna wondered whether he would one day become an alicorn. Of course, being physically big was not in any way a guarantee, and neither was having a long horn or great knowledge of magic or excellent magical abilities. If that was all that was needed, many ponies would have reached alicornhood by then. It wasn't exactly known what was the requirement for alicornhood, but Luna was fairly certain that simply aiming to become one would disqualify a person. From what she understood, there needed to be some sort of personal growth paired with doing great deeds. 

Luna did not believe in destiny much. She tried not to think that her imprisonment could be a part of her own destiny, because that would be... unfair. Disproportionate. She did not want to be ruled by others, certainly not by some vaguely defined force the existence of which was impossible to either prove or disprove. For all that she had made many bad choices, she hoped that it was indeed the choices that she made that had led her where she was, not... something else.

If she were to believe in destiny, then perhaps she would push Wild towards greatness. Were this a narrative, a story of some kind, then he, in her opinion, had all the signs of being the protagonist. Narratively, it would be right for him to overcome adversity and then achieve the impossible, thus earning his place at the top. Perhaps she would have taken the role of her mentor, even more than now, perhaps like her sister had done plenty of times throughout the centuries. Luna would then guide Wild towards what was perhaps his destiny.

However, Luna knew how difficult it could make his life, how much pressure he would be under to succeed. Some broke under pressure, stumbling away from the path in fear. He... well, she was uncertain where he would fall should the pressure become too great to bear. There was a chance that he would grow arrogant, hungry for power, and she saw some worrying signs that she hoped to counteract, to make sure that he continued to be the good person that she believed he was. 

Aside from it all, none of Celestia's students had succeeded in becoming an alicorn despite Celestia's best efforts. The only alicorn to have become one in recent memory did so without any intervention from Celestia, in fact. Perhaps there was something important about it, but whatever it was remained hidden from understanding.

Wild was also an adult with his own dreams of desires, and Luna had no right to force him on a path he likely did not want. From all that she knew of him, he desired peace and quiet, a simple but comfortable life free of hurt. She was also aware that Wild put more trust and confidence in her than was probably healthy, and if she told him to do something uncomfortable for him, he would likely do it due to this very trust. Setting him up on a path to become an alicorn would then be an abuse of that trust, Luna thought. Perhaps Equestria would benefit if Wild were to become an alicorn, but Luna thought it would be best not to force it. If it happened, it would have to happen naturally. She would not repeat Celestia’s mistakes.

The most recent two examples were Sunset Shimmer and Twilight Sparkle. The former had grown arrogant and tried to take more than she could, and the latter had grown in magical power but not in social abilities that an alicorn must possess. If Celestia, having far more experience than Luna, still failed at making an alicorn, then it would be for the best that Luna did not do the same.

All those concerns were, however, for a different time. She refocused on the here and now, and began instructing Wild in control.

“There are various forms of control,” Luna said, “There is physical control,” she lifted a small crate of wood in her magic, “This one is, by far, the easiest, as it comes naturally to unicorns as they learn telekinesis. Your telekinesis resembles the way you used to work with your hands, does it not? You would have little difficulty there.”

At her invitation, Wild grabbed that same crate. It felt far lighter than he thought it was in truth. He squeezed, putting some relatively light pressure on it, and the wood flexed under his fingers, creaking. He threw it in the air much like he could a basketball and caught it with another magical hand. He set it back down on the ground, then looked at his hands in amazement. That amount of strength, he did not expect. It was true that he had never tried to lift anything truly heavy before, but he was reasonably certain he would not have such an ease of things previously.  

“As you can see, you are not crushing it with your grip and neither are you overshooting your throws,” Luna told him, “Our brains are truly magnificent, able to do subconscious calculations with a surprising amount of precision. Eye-magic coordination can sometimes be even easier than eye-limb coordination since you do not have to keep as many things in mind, consciously or not.”

Wild nodded. Ever since he learned telekinesis, he had little trouble with being precise, at least no more trouble than he had with real hands. In fact, because his magical hands had no limitations his flesh and bone hands had, it was far easier to use them. He wanted to scratch his back? He summoned a hand already at the spot. No need to contort himself in any way, thankfully.  

There was also a sort of awareness surrounding him which he couldn’t explain. It had been there before, subtle yet obvious if one looked closer, and now it became far more apparent. He believed it had something to do with having magic, and since Luna had never spoken about it, he assumed everyone had it.  

“Now, magical strength is unlike a muscle in a way that you can use precisely as much power as you want to use,” Luna continued, her horn lighting up as she summoned a ball of blue flames, “You can control different aspects of your usage as well,” she demonstrated it by making the ball brighter and dimmer, then bigger and smaller, “Try it with your hands. You need not use anything but your imagination.”

Wild looked thoughtfully for a moment, and then his magical hands expanded until they could easily clap Luna like a mosquito. He blinked owlishly at the ridiculous sight, then let out a couple of light chuckles at it. Breaking his concentration reduced his hands to normal size.

“You must learn to properly conceptualize. Not merely ‘large’ or ‘small’, you will need to use more details. At first, you will need external points of reference, and then you will learn to keep those points precisely in your mind and, perhaps one day, you will not need to actively imagine them at all, just like you are doing with your hands right now. They are far more detailed than they need to be, yet you did not purposefully and knowingly placed those details in them. Look closer.”

To Wild’s surprise, Luna was right - his magical hands held an uncanny resemblance to how his hands looked like as a human, down to tiny details he had no way of consciously remembering, like the pores of his skin and the pattern of lines on the joints and on the palm. Looking closer at the pads of his fingertips, he could even see his fingerprints.  

Wild thought to change it, and suddenly his hands lacked definition, looking flat and uninteresting, just four digits and a palm, too smooth and too straight, resembling human hands in the most general terms only. As soon as he stopped trying to imagine it, his hands returned to their original state. If he were honest, he preferred them in that state - the hands that lacked details looked weird.

“Conceptualization will be greatly helped by studying real references. The best way to learn it is to make graphical art, be it statues, paintings, carvings, mosaics, and so on. As I understand it, you attend the Arts Club at the Royal Orphanage, do you not?”

Wild nodded. He couldn’t say he was very good at it, but then he hadn’t been coming to it all that much. He was only really doing it for the sake of Artful, as a sort of exchange for Artful coming to the self-defense classes. Artful had tried swordsmanship specifically, and it didn’t stick to him. It was unfortunate, but Wild didn’t mind it much. In his opinion, Artful wasn’t exactly fit for it, and he thought he also didn’t really want to be a warrior or a fighter in general. Wild... could sympathize. One day, perhaps he too would tire of swinging a saber, though he doubted it. He enjoyed causing pain, and swordsmanship was a guilt-free way to do just that. Violence was a part of Wild’s life, and while a part of him did not want it, another part understood that there was nothing wrong with it as long as he stuck to doing it consensually with others or, as situations arose, in defense of himself or others, where it was perfectly permissible for him to strike with the true intent to hurt and to harm.  

Artful, in Wild’s mind, did not seem to be a sadist in any way, shape, or form. This, he silently thought, made his life far easier, and Wild couldn’t help but wish he could experience life that way .

Wild didn’t think he was much of an artist, although he did want to become one... possibly. He lacked any proper motivation despite the fact that he could appreciate beauty when he saw it. Whether he wanted to capture it or imagine his own and then make it a reality... he didn’t know.

“I would recommend that you continue,” Luna said, “Immerse yourself into the world of art, study it thoroughly. While it may not be as stark of an accomplishment as many others, my sister and I are both renowned realism painters. Star Swirl was a great sculptor of his time as well. Many great artists are unicorns, as well as horned magical beings in general.”

Wild found himself fascinated by that fact, wondering if he too could learn to be a great artist. He imagined all kids wanted international renown at least once in their lives, and he was no exception. To be praised, to be the center of attention, that was undoubtedly still a part of him. He was, without a doubt, a master swordsman, and this had given him respect and admiration of his peers, which was something he quietly enjoyed without showing it outwardly.

If Wild learn to be a master artist, perhaps he would receive praise for it, and it would be praise not for his violence but for, perhaps, expression of his inner, true self. He doubted many actually wanted to get to know him on that level, but if he gained acceptance... It was something to think about. At the very least, making art was worth considering just for the benefit of making his magic better. Perhaps he would also grow to appreciate art some more - it had been a long time since he really looked at art. Of course, he knew of some famous things like Mona Lisa and David and some other things, but that hardly counted. The only real experience with art he had was the paintings Artful made for him - and even of him, which was still surprising.

“There are also conceptual views of magical strength, and the most obvious example is teleportation,” Luna continued, “Your strength defines your range, with the farther you want to go requiring more power. The requirement grows linearly and, in theory, my sister and I are able to teleport across the world if we could properly visualize our destination, although our world has yet to be explored in full. However, one question remains - what if you pour more power into teleportation close to you? So far, experiments have shown that it makes no difference to speed or to accuracy, and yet that power is still spent. Today, I will teach you how to teleport, as well as how to teleport efficiently and judge how much power you need for teleportation in order not to be wasteful with it.”

Wild’s excitement grew - finally, he would learn how to teleport properly, consciously, and without any aid from any artifact. He imagined it would come quite handy to him in the future, and he couldn’t wait to learn it.

“First of all, teleportation is not easy despite the seeming simplicity. Many unicorns experience spontaneous teleportation in times of stress, and yet they would still have trouble to learn to do it consciously,” Luna said, “Many spells become harder to cast when one is stressed or experiencing an adrenaline rush - teleportation is different. As you know, under high stress it is entirely possible to achieve multiple teleportations in a row even without clear intent and definite destination. You were... guided at the time, that much is true, but what you have done is not out of the realm of possibility for those not experiencing the same... circumstances.”

Wild would rather not experience those circumstances again, but at least now he knew he would always be able to escape as long as teleportation wasn’t somehow blocked and his magic remained usable.

“Adrenaline allows us to accomplish feats we would never be able to do without it, and teleportation is often the case for unicorns,” Luna said, “Now, any who experience self-teleportation are already halfway towards learning how to do it consciously and deliberately. You have already done it deliberately, although with the knowledge you did not truly posses. I believe you will be able to do it easily now, so allow me to demonstrate the spell sequence to you. The easiest way for me to do that would be to make you feel it, and for that our horns need to touch together.”

That was... somewhat odd, but it also made sense. Wild nodded and, hesitantly, brought his horn closer to hers as she bent down to get to his height. It was somewhat awkward, so he was glad Luna wasn’t making it weird with joking comments or something. She never would, he knew, but he couldn’t stop thinking about little stuff like this.

He felt vibrations of her horn, and a memory arose inside of him, as if something was unlocked. There it was, the teleportation spell, and the only time he consciously and deliberately used it. He found himself vibrating his horn in response, perfectly repeating the sequence.

“Very good,” Luna said, separating from him,”Now, try to teleport yourself. Pour as little power as you can, and then even less than you think you need. We will skip the visualization step, for now - line of sight teleportation is natural and far easier. Your teleportation target is the other end of this hall.”

Wild nodded, focusing on the target, then went through the sequence. He poured a tiny sip of magic into it and, surprisingly, he found himself exactly where he wanted, appearing with a bright flash of light and noise that left his ears tingly.

Smile spread on his face - he did it! Now he would be able to easily escape and to travel far distances in a blink of an eye! It was, honestly speaking, far easier than he thought it would be. Perhaps he wouldn’t be nearly useless at magic after all.

Not waiting for Luna to say a word, he turned around and, quickly, teleported back to his initial position. The rush of magic, the sudden change in where he was, it left him feeling as if he held all the power in the world. If he could do something like this as easily as he did, what more could he then do? What heights could he achieve if he pushed himself?

“Excellent,” Luna praised him with a smile, “Let’s do it some more times, and you will feed less and less magic into the spell until it stops working.”

Wild nodded once again, lacking words to express his... his joy. He felt like he was rediscovering he had magic, now feeling like he was accomplishing something impossible, something he would have never been able to do before. Telekinesis was, of course, impressive in its own right, but teleportation was something out of any realm of human possibility.

With the power he now had and the control he would learn, he knew no one would be able to hold him against his will ever again. Of course, there was Princess Celestia, and likely Princess Luna, but they were on his side, at least for the most part.  

Some said power corrupted, but Wild believed it would finally set him truly free.
> Chapter 81: Coming Back with Power
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Days later, Wild had awoken in the middle of the night. In the moment between sleep and wakefulness, he didn’t know what it was, and so he shifted slightly. He realized something was poking him around the chest, stomach, and a side, so he was forced to blink his eyes awake. He lit his horn, bright enough to see around himself but not bright enough to hurt his sleepy eyes. At first, his light was silver, or perhaps simply light-gray, and then he adjusted it until it was more orange - it was simply easier on the eyes. Finally, he saw what was bothering him.

The Alicorn Amulet seemed to have crumbled entirely, having broken up into small pieces that, even together, barely hinted at how it looked like before. The feeling of them against his body, to Wild, resembled how bread crumbs could poke if one was so thoughtless as to eat bread in bed, except more uncomfortable.  

Wild let out a wide yawn, not feeling at all like dealing with it right there and then. However, he couldn’t continue lying in bed - the pieces were poking far too much for him to go back to sleep. With a grumble of muttered complaint, he brushed what remained on his body to the side of him, then rolled over to the other side and got up from his bed. He licked his dry lips, then summoned a pitcher of water and took a few mouthfuls from it, letting out a quiet breath once he was refreshed. Then he yawned again, his eyes half-lidded. If he were entirely honest, he would have preferred if the amulet chose to break at some other time of day, and certainly not this early in the morning. However, in Equestria, morning came when Celestia raised the sun, so it was not actually morning just yet, and probably wouldn’t be for a few more hours. Wild shook his head slightly, getting rid of that random thought.

If Wild wished to go back to bed, he had to do something about this, that much was clear even to his sleepy brain. He formed his magic into the shape of a brush, which he then used to remove the pieces of the amulet from his bed. Luna had taught him this, telling him that using his magic to form various objects, especially if he was thoughtful about the details, would help him with control, especially the finer part of it. Right now, his magical brush could only ever resemble one from a good amount of distance, but at least it was working just like he intended. It still, in some ways, resembled his hands, which was a bit freaky if he were honest. Once all the pieces were on the floor, he swept them further away from the bed to a corner of the room, making a small pile. He distantly realized that it would probably be best to call Luna to tell her about what had happened to the amulet, but he hadn’t yet had enough sleep, so he didn’t really want to. He, of course, also justified it by thinking that nothing bad had happened all throughout his time there, and nothing bad was happening right that moment either. Clearly, he was alright, and he could spend some more time catching up on sleep. If he didn’t manage to die from it so far, a few more hours of sleep wouldn’t make or break the situation.  

Wild yawned once more, then dragged his body over to the bathroom to relieve himself before going back to bed. As he finished the deed, he checked whether there was some odd color to it, be it red, black, or some other clearly magically-influenced color. Finding it was nothing more than slightly yellow, which was perfectly fine as far as he knew, he cleaned himself up and went back to bed. He got under the comforter and sighed in content even as he felt a slightly cool breeze come through an open window. Within mere minutes, he drifted off to sleep.

The Alicorn Amulet, once feared and sought after, now lay in pieces in the corner of Wild’s room, inert and entirely non-magical.

***

Once morning came, Wild called Princess Luna, and she thoroughly inspected both him and the remains of the amulet.  

“I believe everything is fine,” she concluded, her wariness draining away, “The Amulet is now nothing more than metal, and there is no odd magical activity around or inside you. Without a doubt, you can return to your friends today. Before you do, however, would you like to break your fast with my sister and I?”

Wild considered it for a moment, then nodded. Luna had previously advised him to spend at least some time around Princess Celestia to help him get rid of the residual fear of her. Logically, he couldn’t fault what she had done to him, and he knew it wasn’t even torture, so he shouldn’t fear her. He hadn’t been hurt at all, truth be told. However, when he expressed it to Luna, she surprised him.

“Even with no physical harm, you were still hurt by my sister,” she told him, “There are no ‘shoulds’ and ‘should nots’ with feelings. Even if, in your opinion, it was not ‘that bad’, you have still gone through a stressful situation, and it leaves a mark, even if temporary. I am glad you are willing to work on that fear, but that fear is not something to be shunned.”  

Wild didn’t think he agreed with that, but he decided to let it go.  

Next, of course, was the matter of Celestia promising to give him something if he asked, all as compensation for the harm that she had caused. With his original idea of convincing her of the dangers of humanity and making her prepare for what he believed to be an unavoidable massive conflict should the two words ever connect on a deeper level proven nonviable, he was left with... nothing. He could perhaps ask for money - there was the concept of emotional harm which, legally, could be compensated with money. While Wild couldn’t say that what he had experienced couldn’t have a price, he also couldn’t name a sum he would be willing to accept for it. If he were honest with himself, accepting money for it felt... not right. He couldn’t explain exactly why that was the case, so he tentatively brought it up with Luna.

“If you want monetary compensation, you will be granted it,” she told him, “There is no shame in it. I will not judge you for it, and neither will my sister. Money may not buy you happiness, but it would allow you to find a way to spend it that would give you a positive experience that could, perhaps, outweigh the negative feelings you have experienced due to my sister’s actions.”

Wild, hesitantly, nodded. Luna’s words helped him ease his mind and consider that perhaps he could indeed simply ask for money. But how much? Besides, he feared it would somehow sour the relationship between him and Princess Celestia despite Luna assuring him that it wouldn’t.  

If he were honest, he had no idea what else he could ask for as compensation. He searched for a solution, yet none could be found. He could ask for some thing, but then wouldn’t money give him the same result, except he would purchase it under his own power?  

In the end, Wild settled on getting money out of this situation if only to get it over with. He would figure out what to do with that money later.

“Very well, I will inform my sister of this,” Luna said once he explained her decision to her, “You will be compensated fairly, without a doubt.”

Since then, he only heard that there were legal issues to get through with, namely documenting all that happened in order to have a proper paper trail for the money Wild would receive. He was in no hurry, considering that he didn’t exactly need money right that moment, but he did wonder what he could spend it on. After a short while of homelessness, which nevertheless felt like a lifetime to him, he was content with having a roof over his head and regular access to food, water, and a bathroom. As a kid, he wanted various toys, then a good computer, but toys no longer really interested him, and computers were yet to be invented or, at the very least, hadn’t reached the size of a desktop yet that would allow them to be used at home and not in some sort of special purpose-built building.  

And now he was on his way to share breakfast with Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. Many, without a single doubt, would be excited beyond belief at the prospect, but Wild found himself looking forward to food far more than anything else. The princesses, he had found out, were just people, if extremely powerful in a number of different ways. He recognized that his perspective might be skewed because of his relatively close relationship with Luna, and he honestly had never thought of royalty or rulers in general as something worth getting excited about. The president of the United States, to Wild, was some self-important shmuck who didn’t give a single damn about people like him, and royalty like Queen Elizabeth of the United Kingdom would certainly never spare a thought towards him. He knew that, without their positions, they would be nothing.  

Wild, for the first time in plenty enough days, was outside. He closed his eyes, letting the rising sun bask him in the morning light, and he deeply breathed in the Canterlot mountain air. Canterlot, in his opinion, could hardly be called a city, and he suspected only around twenty thousand people, perhaps up to fifty thousand lived in the entirety of it. Which would perhaps be surprising to many, considering that Canterlot was Equestria’s capital, but it was a city built on the side of a mountain, and this was a city for the rich and powerful of Equestria. There were workers as well, but almost all of them came from outside Canterlot and were only there for the work, not to stay even a single night.

Wild followed Luna into a carriage, this one far more casual than the one used to bring him to the Canterlot Castle. It was open, allowing wind to brush past him as it was pulled through the air by a pair of pegasi Royal Guards. Wild wondered how exactly the carriage was floating and whether it would float without the pegasi to pull it.  

“How do you feel, Wild?” Luna asked him as the carriage flew through the air.

“I am... alright,” he replied after some thought, “A bit anxious.”

“What is the source of your anxiety?”

“...Seeing Princess Celestia,” Wild said, “I know she will not... imprison me again, but I can’t help but worry.”

“I understand that,” Luna nodded, “I will stand by your side.”

“I’m... glad for it.”

He knew it was probably all unnecessary, he knew Princess Celestia wouldn’t do it to him again, and he also knew she had made an effort to come to him and apologize in person, which spoke positively of her character as far as he was concerned. She explained her actions, and he couldn’t disagree with her reasoning, and he also knew she didn’t have to explain herself. A ruler, explaining themselves before a commoner? That, Wild knew, would never happen on Earth.  

The carriage landed at a private entrance in the depth of the castle, once again on a large balcony that could easily fit more than two such carriages. Wild and Luna disembarked and were met by two Royal Guards standing by the sides of the entrance door. They straightened their posture when Luna approached them, and then wordlessly held the door open for her and Wild. They entered a short hall of white walls and tiled floor. On top of the tile there was a long carpet stretching from the beginning to the end of the hallway. On the walls, abstract tapestries hanged between the windows on one side, and there was a large mural of, presumably, much older Canterlot on the other side.  

It was rather tasteful, all things considered. Wild idly wondered whether Artful could, one day, paint for the princesses - he imagined Artful would be quite delighted for the opportunity. Or, perhaps, if Wild became a great artist, his own works would be in the castle, which would be pretty nice too.  

“This mural was painted by our arts tutor, Delicate Brush,” Princess Luna explained, noticing him looking at the mural, “She was a dear friend of ours, and she had been painting well into her second century. The last painting she had made was of the two of us, my sister and I, shortly before she passed away,” a small smile was on Luna’s face, “She had never left a work unfinished, and even death itself could not come before she had completed her last work.”

“Was she a unicorn?” Wild asked.

“Nearly all our tutors were unicorns,” Luna said, then frowned, “Our parents had, in truth, been quite set against non-unicorns...” she went silent then.

Wild caught a trail of her thoughts - she wondered if the beginning of her bitterness towards her sister was because her parents disliked her for being a pegasus.  

The silence lasted until they reached an ornamented door, in front of which stood a stallion dressed in what Wild would say would be the upper half of a suit. Wild had to suppress a chuckle at the image of a human dressing this way - all fancy up top but with no pants or underwear.  

“Ah, good morning, your majesty,” he greeted her with a bow, then addressed Wild, “And welcome to you as well, Mister Wild. Princess Celestia is already in the dining room.”

“Thank you, Excellency,” Luna offered a smile in turn. The stallion bowed once more, then opened the door.

Wild expected something grand, something fancy, but was instead met by a dining room maybe two times the size of what his own family had had. There was a round table of a decent size but not enormous, a fireplace in one of the walls, floor to ceiling windows on the other wall, a chandelier hanging from up top, and various paintings of fruit, vegetables, soups, and other meals around the walls.  

“Good morning Luna, Wild,” Princess Celestia greeted the two with a chirp, “Come, sit with me, please.”

Due to the nature of the table, Wild sat between Luna and Celestia. He felt a little awkward, so he looked at the table to see what food was available. There was oatmeal with some raspberries and blueberries, a couple of perfectly yellow bananas, some sort of grayish somewhat cake-like block with seeds in it, and a number of apples and pears. In front of Wild was a plate with a number of different forks on the left side, spoons on the right side, and two knives. He looked completely lost at which one he was supposed to use.  

“This is not a formal dinner,” Luna commented, noticing his uncertainty, “Pick whichever you want. The general rule is, in a formal setting, to use the farthest first, and never reuse them between the dishes.”

“It’s unnecessary complex, but some people like it that way,” Princess Celestia added, using a tiny fork with a big pear speared on it. She took a big juicy bite out of it, swallowed it, then licked her lips in an entirely un-princess-like manner. Wild, for but a brief moment, imagined someone like Obama eating that way and couldn’t prevent a chuckle from escaping his mouth which, thankfully, wasn't commented on.

Thankfully, breakfast continued on quietly, with him eating food while the two sisters conversed. He was silently glad he wasn’t asked questions or forced into conversations, as he honestly only wanted to go back to his dorm and see his friends again. He had been mostly bored while stuck in the Canterlot Castle, and he was thankful that nothing truly bad had happened. He had an uncomfortable conversation, but that was the extent of it.

Finally, the breakfast ended, and he was ready to depart.  

“Have a good day, Wild!” Celestia told him with a smile, and he offered a small nod in turn. That was about as much as he wished to interact with Princess Celestia, at least for now.

Princess Luna led Wild out through the way they came, which wasn’t exactly exciting, but he was fine with that. Seeing more of the Canterlot Castle would be nice, but he would prefer not visiting the castle for... some time.  

“There are three ways we can go about you returning to the Royal Orphanage,” Luna told him, “The first is you traveling by train to Ponyville, then making your way on hoof. The second is flying you directly to the orphanage by carriage. And the third is teleportation.”

Wild considered the options. He wouldn’t mind traveling on the train, to finally experience what it was like. He had seen trains before, but he had never ridden one in either life. He had ridden a car and a bus, and now a carriage, but nothing more, and he did have a wish to experience more forms of travel. However, teleportation would be far quicker, and he would meet his friends sooner.  

“I want to teleport,” he ended up saying. He could always ride a train if he wished, and he really wanted to see what it felt like to teleport a massive distance like there was between Canterlot and the Royal Orphanage. In truth, Ponyville and the orphanage were still rather close to Canterlot, but one wouldn’t want to make the journey on hoof, and it would still take a couple of hours by train, so it wasn’t as close at it might at first appeared. One could see Canterlot from Ponyville, of course, but the actual distance between the two was far larger than one might at first believe.  

“Very well. At first, let us see whether you have enough power to make such a jump,” Luna nodded. The two stepped out on the landing balcony, and Luna’s horn briefly let up. She had previously explained that the Canterlot Castle was a no-teleportation zone except for her and her sister, and so she had to temporarily give permission to him to teleport.

Wild focused on the destination - right in front of the entrance to the Royal Orphanage grounds. Visualizing it, he cast the spell, his horn vibrating in the right sequence that had been drilled into his head ever since Luna taught it to him. However, when the spell was supposed to be cast, it faltered, and he got a very strong feeling of being unable to do it. He opened his eyes - he still had a habit of closing them to focus when he couldn’t see where he was teleporting to - and shook his head.

“I will lend you my power, and you will cast again. I will teleport alongside you,” Luna said, stepping closer, “Our horns need to touch for it to work.”

Wild nodded and, although the position was awkward, he went through the steps once again. It took him more focus now when he could feel Luna’s magic through his horn, but finally, there it was. In a flash of light, feeling the rush of magic through his horn as it heat up, he and Luna both appeared exactly where he wanted them to.

He stumbled, his horn feeling slightly unpleasantly hot, although, thankfully, not to the point of damage. He blinked a couple of times to refocus on what was around him, and then a smile spread on his face when he fully realized that he had just indeed done it. Many miles covered in an instant, which was far more impressive than teleporting around one relatively small hall.

“Very good,” Luna praised him, “Now, I have business to attend to, and I wish you luck. I believe your friends are eagerly waiting for your return.”

Wild nodded to her, then went forward towards the Royal Orphanage building, a spring in his step. Finally, he was free once more, and he had more power now. The Alicorn Amulet might have taken some time and freedom from him, but now he could fully enjoy the positive results of it. More magical power, no more scars, and he could teleport.  

For just a single moment, Wild allowed himself to think that perhaps life wasn’t constantly putting him down anymore. He suffered, yes, but he rose again, more powerful than before, stronger than before, and this...

This was something to appreciate.
> Chapter 82: Betterment
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Wild approached cafeteria, a memory hit him.

When he was still an angry child, he was dreaming of a moment when, perhaps, he would return to school in triumph, in power. When those he disliked would bow to him, kneeling before him, and those he wanted to like him would want to be with him and praise him. When he had all the power and could use it for anything that he could ever want.

Now, he was returning with power inside of him, and, in a way, triumphant over adversity. However, it was different to how he, as a child, imagined it would be. There was no more burning anger, the intensity of which had sometimes scared even him. There was no more desire to be on top of everyone and everything, no want to be superior. He knew he could use his newfound powers to make others submit to him and all his whims, but he knew it was not what he truly wanted, and, had he tried to make it a reality thinking that it was what he wanted, he would only amplify his own misery.

He knew he would be angry again, just like everyone else. However, the anger at his past, at people who used to surround him then, people who he had, at one point, despised and hated with what felt like every fiber of his being... it was reduced now, fading into the back of his mind, still present but no longer as apparent and sharp as before. He was surprised to find out that even the anger at those who had hurt him severely was not nearly as clear and intense and all-consuming. He realized that this was now behind him, and he was ready, as much as he could perhaps ever be, to move on. Part of him wanted to hold on, but he knew it would not serve any positive purpose. He had wallowed enough in his misery.

Wild had previously imagined that he would be left with nothing if he allowed his anger to go away, if he didn’t hold onto it with all that he had. Anger was what had kept him alive, what had kept him going despite everything. With it reduced so much that sometimes it felt like it was gone, he thought it would leave him feeling hollow. However, that was not what he felt, and what he felt was... something else.

Wild wished he had his Atlas of Emotions with him, he imagined it would’ve been helpful in figuring out what it was that he was actually feeling. Perhaps it could be described as relief, but he believed it wasn’t quite right. He knew it wasn’t happiness or any sort of elation...

And then it hit him. It was peace. Or, at least, peace as he understood it. Or not quite peace, but it was close enough that it could may as well be. He knew there was still more he would have to face in the future, but he was genuinely, undeniably, doing better. His life, aside from a few events, was not full of adversity and hostility anymore. He now had power to make certain he would not be defenseless when something bad would happen again, and this feeling of not being helpless anymore was... not exciting, not quite, and it was not happiness, and... he had a feeling he knew what it was, but it slipped away from him as he tried to decipher its meaning. 

Three times, no, four times he had already recovered after bad events that would have previously rendered him entirely hopeless. The Changeling Invasion, he survived it, and not only that, but he avoided any long-term injury, and no one he cared about died - no one died at all, in fact. The Nightmare that had tried to rip him apart to take his body for themselves, he survived it as well, and gained power from that event as well. He had come back stronger, able to do more. He was, of course, now aware of the limits of his... spirit form, but he should’ve known that all things had limits, including himself, especially himself. He had long since learned that he was anything but all-powerful. However, despite knowing that his spirit form wasn’t what he wished it was, he knew he had fewer limits now than when he was a human in flesh and blood. The Alicorn Amulet Incident had passed quickly and had gained him even more power, and now he had enough of it to stand entirely on his own. Or, perhaps, not entirely, considering that he still had yet to learn how to use it properly. Princess Luna had promised him more lessons, and he was eagerly looking forward to it. And the fourth time...

Wild recognized that the fourth time was actually the first, yet it encompassed it all. He had died, and he was now recovering from it, and he had been recovering from it all along. He realized that death was nothing to scoff at, and only recently had he begun to truly appreciate the new life he had been given. He was still learning how to approach it with less hesitation, and to allow himself not just to survive but to live and, possibly, maybe, perhaps, eventually he would thrive.

Wild let this thought remain in his mind, and a small smile appeared on his face. He was not lost. Not entirely, not irrecoverably, not without the possibility of return to some sense of normality. He might have been broken, but the pieces remained, and he was bringing them back together into a whole. Perhaps he would never be whom he could have been had he not gone through what he had, but he could learn to live with what he had. 

With those thoughts in his head, Wild entered the cafeteria of the Royal Orphanage. He was noticed almost immediately, his friends waving him over from where they sat. He was thankful that, at least to his knowledge, no one else knew of what had happened, so there wasn’t attention aimed at him from everyone else like it was after his recovery following the Changeling Invasion. He trotted over to Precision, Swingblade, and Artful, not bothering to get the food first since he had already eaten. Once he got close enough, he could see that his bodily changes had not evaded his friends’ attention, and he could almost physically feel their eyes going over his now-intact left ear and his noticeably longer horn. 

“Wow,” Artful breathed out, bringing blush to Wild’s cheeks as he sat down. 

“Oh, you’ve grown some in magical power, neat,” Precision commented as well, “Congratulations!”

Wild nodded to her, not really knowing what to say to that. Perhaps some congratulations were in order for him - after all, his actions were more or less purposeful when he stopped Trixie and took the Amulet from her. So, in a sense, he deserved it.

“So, what happened?” Swingblade asked, “We heard there was a crazed unicorn in Ponyville and you took them down,” he eyed Wild’s horn, “Did you eat them to get their power or something?”

Wild couldn’t help it, he snorted at the thought of that happening. In all fairness, he didn’t want anyone to treat what happened to him as doom and gloom, so he was glad to hear someone joke about it. After all, it was absolutely nothing in comparison to, well, other things. He wanted to put that encounter behind himself anyway, considering that he had benefited from it, and the benefits, in his mind, were worth much more than what he had experienced. Some days of being bored while stuck in a tower? All while given food, water, use of bathroom, and a good bed to sleep on under a roof? He knew just how much those things mattered, and he would never again take them for granted.

“It was... a unicorn doing bad things,” Wild said as he figured out how to explain it without giving too many things away, “I stopped them, they had a power artifact, and... things happened that made changes to me.”

“Maybe we should all go around searching for crazed unicorns,” Precision chuckled, “Wouldn’t mind a longer horn myself.”

“Would I get a horn?” Swingblade asked.

“You want to become an alicorn? No chance.”

“I’m fine as I am,” Artful joined the conversation.

“No offense dude, but you’re wearing glasses,” Swingblade pointed out, “Magic stuff would fix it right up. Can't imagine having to deal with blurry vision, honestly.”

“Oh, I don’t, um, actually need glasses,” Artful said somewhat shyly, “I, well, needed them before, but now I, uh, just like how they look, so yeah.”

Wild could admit that he liked how Artful looked with glasses on. Glasses added some... cuteness, perhaps. Besides, they added something to his expression that made it, even if not better, then somehow... more. More expressive, maybe? Wild wasn’t exactly sure about that - judging someone’s handsomeness wasn’t something he had ever really practiced. If anyone asked him, he wouldn’t be able to point out what he liked about someone’s appearance specifically. Definitely not at a glance, at the very least. 

Wild thought of complimenting Artful, telling him that he did look good with glasses on, but the words couldn’t make it past his lips, and the only sign that he even thought of it was a light blush on his face. 

Wild briefly wondered whether this sort of thing was what regular ponies experienced when they were growing up, this whole... wondering about someone’s looks. Even now, Wild was feeling somewhat restrained in his thoughts, as if there was still danger for him should he express his sexuality out in the open in any way whatsoever. Wild knew he got lucky with his family - both his mother and his father accepted him, after all. He also knew that others would not have accepted him nearly as readily if at all had they known. 

Wild mentally pushed all those thoughts away. Why would they matter now when he was no longer on Earth? He would no longer have to deal with having to hide himself, at least when it came to who he liked in the love side of the things.

“Fair enough, I guess,” Swingblade replied to Artful, and Wild was broken out of his brief internal tangent, “But yeah, if I could get something changed about my body, I’d take that.”

“Like what?” Artful asked, suddenly more attentive.

“Uuuh, maybe make myself a bit taller,” Swingblade said, “Wings a bit bigger. Maybe... some other parts,” he winked.

“You’re gonna have to deal with your fifth leg yourself if it’s gonna be long enough to drag on the floor,” Precision told him dryly.

“Not that long, sheesh.”

“I mean, if you want to be great in bed, I heard having it long and thick isn’t great,” Precision said, “Makes it uncomfortable.”

“Just heard?” Swingblade raised an eyebrow.

Wild fidgeted in place slightly, but he no longer was as uncomfortable about this kind of conversation as he would have been before. He had spent quite a bit of his free time during his stay in Canterlot looking at all the various erotic pictures. He even read through a few stories that were, as far as he could understand, just written pornography. So, in some ways, he was more ready to face sexual kind of talk without cringing away. However, he didn’t particularly want for this kind of talk to continue for much longer. Thankfully, he didn’t feel any serious urge to run away from it all. All he had was a blush, and it appeared Artful was in about the same state. 

This all reminded Wild that he needed to finish that book about sexuality education. He had read some more of it during his stay at the Canterlot Castle - and he would not admit out loud that he spent more time reading erotica - but the progress had been relatively slow. Besides, he... did want to know something more about the... action itself. Reawakening of his own sexual desires had pushed him in that direction, and he found himself actually liking this turn of events.

“I can tell you aren’t getting any,” Precision smirked at Swingblade, “You know, it’s not really about the size but how you use it.”

It was then that a young mare about Precision’s age approached the group, having just entered the cafeteria. 

“Hey, P,” she greeted Precision, “What’s up? I can hear dick discussion goin’ on.”

“Hey, Peebs,” Precision returned the greeting, then placed a small kiss on the other mare’s cheek, “Everyone, this is Pebbles, my fillyfriend, she’s from Ponyville. Peebs, you know Swingblade, and these two are Artful and Wild.”

Pebbles was a unicorn mare of black mane and gray green-tinted fur with a bunch of what Wild would call freckles in darker gray scattered all over her face, chest, and flanks. However, those weren't freckles since they weren't on skin, but then Wild had no idea what else to call them, and he had already given up on figuring out how pony coloration worked because a whole lot of odd things were apparently perfectly natural for a pony to have. Her mane looked carelessly perfect, in Wild’s opinion, and it was relatively low over the eyes, hiding their green ever so slightly in the shadow. Now that Wild thought about her name, it somewhat made sense - the freckles did resemble smooth pebbles.

The most important detail that he caught was that she was from Ponyville. He hadn’t been paying too much attention, so he wondered if he missed other ponies from outside the Royal Orphanage visiting. But then it made sense - surely some couples or triples or other families would sometimes visit, looking to adopt? And the ponies here would also want to have friends from outside the orphanage. He had to admit that he hadn't really been paying attention to that kind of thing, so it was no surprise it slipped by him until he had to face it personally.

Wild took a mental note to explore more of the outside world. Ponyville seemed like a decent start, considering that he had already visited it twice, even if the last time turned out to be... odd. 

“Swingblade, baby, if you want to get pegged, you coulda just asked,” Pebbles sat down heavily near the young stallion, “Any size, any girth you want.”

“I, uh...” Swingblade stuttered as his face was overcome with a blush, to everyone’s amusement, “Um, no, thank you.”

“A shame,” Pebbles sighed dejectedly, “Well, can’t get ‘em all. Any of you stallions want in on the action?”

“I am gay,” Wild said immediately, without much thinking. Besides, he did not want to think about getting... pounded, be it by someone wearing a strapon or, as it were, naturally. At least, he didn’t want to think about it now. In the future, perhaps he would consider it if he ever got a partner he would feel safe enough to do it with, and even then he wasn't particularly certain.

As far as he was concerned, the conversation had grown a little bit too awkward for him. The ponies, in his opinion, were far too open about sexual things. Not that he believed it was truly a problem, it had simply remained... jarring, for him. A cultural difference he did not know when he would get used to, if ever. 

“I am gay too,” Artful added. 

Pebbles seemed to be thoughtful for a moment.

“Yep,” she turned to Precision, “I see that,” she then turned to Swingblade, “You know you’re outnumbered, right? Like, four out of five people here are gay.”

Wild was confused - had Pebbles not just flirted with Swingblade? He would think that this would make her... bisexual, was the word. Or perhaps some other word - he couldn’t really remember. Or was the word ‘gay’ also used as a general sort of term for people who weren’t straight? That was another thing for him to explore.

“More mares for me, then,” Swingblade joked, “Then you will be outnumbered.”

"Well, we two are mares, y'know," Pebbles gestured at herself and Precision, "What if we take all the mares? You know your line doesn't work with us lesbians, right?"

"Ah, yeah," Swingblade said, his expression somewhat sheepish, "But I will still get mares."

“Mares? Plural? Someone's dreaming of a harem, I see,” Precision teased him, “Not gonna happen. Well, you could try a poly relationship, though that’s different.”

“You’ve to write it all down and keep track of who’s with who and how, though,” Pebbles said, “M’friend Cake says you must assemble a damn council from time to time to decide stuff.”

The image that came to Wild's head almost made him laugh out loud. The Council of Love. It sounded absolutely ridiculous, and yet it made a certain amount of sense in the context. However, he couldn't help but imagine a round table, a bunch of people sitting at it, solemn and way too serious expressions on their faces. 

“You think the Pillars were a polycule?” Artful asked in interest. Wild thought it came out of nowhere, and what or who were the Pillars?

“The Pillars? Eeeeh they could have been,” Pebbles answered, “With Star Swirl, you never know. The stallion’s fucked like half the world. Maybe he settled later in life with his 'very close friends', wink wink nudge nudge," she emoted as she said those words, then shrugged, "Who knows, really.”

Wild, by this time, had no idea what they were talking about except that Star Swirl had come up again with his... sexual ways. Wild was amazed at how nonchalant everyone was being about an old figure of history having had sex with many. If Wild were honest with himself, he would certainly find what Star Swirl had done rather impressive in its own right. Of course, he was mostly known for his magical feats in both theory and practice, but erasing many known STDs was a very impressive achievement. 

It was still baffling to be reminded of that small tidbit of history.

"We kinda strayed from the important stuff," Precision said, "Wild, sleepover’s still on the able?”

Wild had to restart his brain a little to remember that, yes, he did want a sleepover, even though having one still somewhat... made him a bit afraid. Or perhaps not exactly afraid because he knew nothing bad would happen, but he couldn’t really help but feel like something would anyway. However, he was not going to back down, he did not want to back down.

Besides, this was a safer topic of conversation than any of the sexual things. He had managed to sit through it all, not wound like a spring, not feeling like he was squeezed from all sides and ready to shatter into a million pieces. He had to admit that it felt... nice, to be near a conversation where things that had previously seriously bothered him were discussed.

Wild, in the end, nodded.

“Would you be against Pebbles joining us?” Precision asked.

“It’s fine,” he shrugged. He didn’t particularly want her to join, considering that he didn’t know her, but he also trusted that Precision wouldn’t want to mess with him by bringing someone who would be... unsafe or uncomfortable to be around with. So far, he wasn't objecting to Pebbles' personality, at least.

“In that case, may I bring Jade?” Artful asked, and Wild nodded to him. Jade was a safe choice, and he had already slept with them around. 

This sleepover had suddenly grown, but he had found himself not overly bothered by it. From what he knew, ponies loved their... cuddle piles. Wild had briefly experienced a bit of it, and, now that he could be honest with himself, he wanted more of it. That sort of touch was very welcome indeed, and he knew it would help him get over his residual fear of being touched. It was no massage, obviously, but then he doubted he would get one again anytime soon, considering how last time had turned out. Ponyville, according to the rumors he had heard over all the time he had been in the orphanage, was considered somewhat chaotic, at least for the last year or so. If that was true, perhaps it would be for the best if he didn’t show up again for... some time. He had enough troubles for a lifetime, he wouldn’t mind some peace and quiet instead. While he did want to visit it because it was a close-by place away from the Royal Orphanage where he could perhaps expand... his social circle, maybe, he also didn’t want to get into trouble yet again. However, knowing how things tended to do, perhaps trouble would find him instead no matter where he was at the time.

“By the way, Wild, since you missed the Canterlot trip and all, maybe we should all go together on one, should be easy to organize,” Precision suggested, “None of us went anyway since you couldn’t.”

“We thought it’d be better to wait for you to recover so that we all can have the same experience,” Artful added. 

Wild thought for a moment, then nodded. He was aware he missed the trip, but he didn’t bring it up since there were more important things on his mind, and he didn’t exactly have that big of a desire to visit it while he was recovering in its very center. Not that being in Canterlot allowed him to see the city except from the windows in his tower, and perhaps, finally, he would walk the city like an official visitor and not either as a spirit or someone who was hurt. 

As he was about to say that he agreed, words stuck in his throat when he realized that they decided to wait for him.

They could have had their trip, but he was important enough to them that they decided not to go.

He... didn’t know what to say about that. He ended up nodding to their suggestion as he held back whatever noise was trying to escape the depths of him.

He let the warmth of realization that they cared about him to wash over him and focused on keeping his attention on the conversation as it continued. When it was over, he would go to his dorm, pick up the Atlas of Emotions, find out what he felt, and then have some time... for himself. As small as this thing seemed to be, it elicited... something inside of him, something big, and he would need to figure out what it was before he... probably cried. 

Whatever it was, he would find out. For now, he would sit among his friends as well as another person he met and rest in the safety of friendship.
> Chapter 83: Relationships
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild was staring at the ceiling in his bedroom, lying on his back across his bed. It wasn't actually the most comfortable position to lie in as a pony, but then he didn't want to fall asleep. Next to him, his journal lay, and in it was a simple sentence he had written down not long ago.

I have friends and they like me.

Wild’s face was slightly flush with embarrassment and self-recrimination. Of course he had friends - normal people had them, and while he was not exactly normal, he was still a person, and... He didn’t exactly know where that line of thought went, but the conclusion was reasonably clear - he had friends just like other people did, and it was nothing special. It was somewhat surprising, true, but not shocking. 

Friendship was also something more than a vague concept. Friends did things for each other, and not because there was some expectation of return on the ‘investment’ but because it simply was what friendships were about. It was not at all out of the ordinary for friends to delay or cancel their plans for the sake of each other. Or, at least, Wild imagined it wasn’t uncommon because otherwise it would be weird. After all, what was so valuable about him that made them not go to Canterlot when they could, when they were ready, and when all plans were already made? Of course, he knew they could easily visit Canterlot later, but...

Perhaps Wild was overthinking it. It was silly, he thought. Friendships weren’t something... esoteric or unknown. While he hadn’t had much luck with friendships in the past, he knew some things about how they worked. So, logically, his friends were perfectly in their right to wait for him, and not only that, but they were also willing to accommodate him, to go at a later date with him so that everyone would have the same experience of the city. Wild had already visited it - if those occasions could even be called visits - so he had some more information as well as a vague picture of how Canterlot looked like. However, he had not properly learned about the city.  

It was all rather simple if he thought about it, but he couldn’t help but feel wonder. Once he could look into the Atlas of Emotions, he identified what he felt, and it made perfect sense. He was, once again, surprised just by how good other people could be, and that he was liked by them. Now it wasn’t what happened to others, but what happened to him, and it was in reality, not in his own head, not a part of his dreams.

Wild thought that, if anyone knew what he felt, they would deem him pathetic. Everyone experiences friendships, after all, and Wild... he could say that, at least, now he experienced it, though he hadn’t had the joy to truly experience friendship before. There was nothing to raise a fuss about even in the privacy of his own head.

Wild sniffed and blinked his eyes free from tears. Thankfully for his state of mind, he wasn’t about to sob or wail, that would have put a damper on his mood. He allowed himself to bask in the joy of knowing friendship and of being someone’s friend.

Wild inhaled deeply, exhaled, and then got up from the bed. He stashed his journal away, intent on possibly writing some more things down come evening. However, he immediately rethought it, taking the journal again, opening it, and grabbing the pen he stashed inside it. He had a few more thoughts he could write down.

In five days, my friends and I will go to Canterlot together.

Starting with plain facts was, at the very least, easy for him. Emotions did remain difficult, but he hoped he would figure them out in time. How long it would take until he wouldn’t need to consult a book about how he felt on the inside, he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t give up on it. Things only became easier with practice, and even though he felt somewhat baffled that it applied to knowing emotions as well as more obvious skills, he would put in the effort to learn how to recognize what he felt just like he had put in the effort to become good at swordsmanship. It probably shouldn't have been surprising that both of those things are skills, and any skill could be learned.

I feel annoyed that we didn’t go when we were supposed to.

That much was truth - despite the fact that he had gotten more powerful because of what happened, he also missed a couple of days when he could be with his friends instead. Having power felt great, of course, but he knew this high would only last so long, and he, if he were honest with himself, would never want to remain lonely even if it meant he gained even more power.  

In truth, Wild wished he didn’t need all that power. He imagined he would be content with living his life peacefully and never going for violence and struggle aside from tournaments and duels. If he never had to fight for survival or because someone needed to die, he would be quite happy indeed.

I feel tired that things keep happening to me. I want a normal life. I know I can’t have a normal pony life because I was not born a pony, and I have too many bad memories that I wish I didn’t have. 

He paused for a moment as he considered a thought that had just popped up.

I wish I was born a pony. Or, if I was reborn, I wish I didn’t retain my memories. A pony life would be easy, and I would be happy.

However, was it certain that he would be happy? He wasn’t so clueless that he wasn’t aware that he lived in an orphanage, a place where unwanted children went. He remembered overhearing Artful, about how his own parents rejected him because he wasn’t born in the right body. If Wild were reborn to parents, would he have suffered something similar? Would being reborn somehow influence him enough to be different even without retaining his memories? And if so, would those differences be enough for his new parents to reject him?

Even now, the notion of having parents brought a kind of pain in the depths of his heart. He knew he wouldn’t want to be a child again, certainly not after what he had experienced, what he had lived through. Being coddled, even just being cared for by someone older than him like his parents did... he didn’t want it, didn’t think he would have been able to accept it if it happened. No one and nothing could replace his parents, and he had accepted that there was nothing he could do to bring them back, to watch them grow old and happy as years went on. The image of an idyllic family was now only in his mind.

If there was a family for him, he would have to be the one to create it. However, he was certain he would never have kids. There was the obvious biological question, and he didn’t think he would want to adopt either. He suspected he would not be a good father, especially because he knew just how traumatized he was. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he passed it on to his children or even create new trauma because of whatever his actions ended up being.

No, he was perfectly willing to have a partner in life and that’s it. There was no need nor want for children, and should he ever somehow rethink his position, he would adopt someone, although he was very certain that this decision was not something he would budge on no matter what the future held for him.  

Wild was younger now, even if not by many years. He had an entirely new world to explore, and a long life to live. Children would root him to one place, and he was certain he didn’t want it. This kind of responsibility was not for him and neither was he ready for it.

Wild looked through his journal, knowing how scarce his writings were, aware of how much he had yet to write down, not being certain he would ever write certain things down. He suspected it would be better for him if he were entirely honest with himself and wrote it all down to examine it with clear eyes later down the line and all, but some thoughts he deemed too private to ever release outside of the confines of his own mind.  

Wild put the journal down again, no longer in a mood to write anything in it. He got up from the bed, stretched, and decided to go see if he could find his friends and do something with his time.  

***

“Hey, Wild!”

Wild turned around and saw Artful trotting up to him, so he stopped his own mostly aimless wandering.  

Wild had yet to learn to keep track of anyone outside meal times and times when he was with them. He, of course, knew that his friends had lives outside of when they interacted with him, and... he did wonder what it was that they actually did. He knew Artful was an artist and thus participated in the Art Club, which he had previously invited Wild to. He also had some friends Wild didn’t know about. Swingblade and Precision likewise had their own lives, and Precision even had a fillyfriend. However, when it came to those two, he could say he knew nothing about except for when he was around. To be entirely fair, he hadn’t been very interested in finding out before, and he couldn’t say he was all that more interested now. Did that make him a bad friend? 

“What are you up to?” Artful asked once he caught up, disrupting Wild’s line of thoughts.

Wild shrugged, unwilling to admit that he searched for others to help him not be bored. He knew he could do other things - he could do plenty of things - but he didn’t really want to. It was one of those days, and he felt he deserved some rest from everything. It was true that he was more or less resting when he was confined to his tower at the Canterlot Castle, but it wasn’t the right kind of rest.  

“Well, I was, um, wondering...” Artful began, a bit of red coloring his cheeks, “Would you like to be, ah, painted?”

Wild, for a moment, thought that it meant Artful would paint on him. That was... something he felt odd about. However, he knew the true meaning - Artful wanted to make a painting with Wild in it. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he wasn’t really against it. That time when Artful depicted him fighting in the Ponyville tournament was marvelous. He easily agreed by giving him a nod.

“Is there... a way you want to paint me?” he asked, “A place or...”

“Well, I was thinking, since I saw your, um, physical changes, they evoke a kinda... well, um, a...” he tried to find the words even as it became more difficult, and Wild could almost feel the jumble of his thoughts. Wild had a sudden realization that it was because Wild was attractive to Artful, and so Artful was shy and a bit awkward. It was... endearing, and also surprising, but also not surprising because Wild did remember Artful’s words that were basically a confession about his... attraction to Wild. Finally, Artful said, “Well, picture this - you stand tall and proud, like you can do anything. That is what your, um, looks evoke.”

Wild was thoughtful for a short while. He couldn’t say he felt like he could do anything, but he did feel like he could do more, which was as exciting as it was scary. Perhaps seeing himself from outside perspective through a painting would help him feel... better.

“As for a place, I um... I thought I’d paint a background not from, you know, real things around here, but put you in that background, you know? Actually, I know a place that is close enough...” Artful continued, then cocked his head somewhat, “Oh, maybe even add some article of clothing on you too, like a cape. Yeah, I can see it. Folds will be a bit tricky without a reference... actually no, it’d be easy to find a reference, never you mind, I would just need a sheet.”

“Why a cape?” Wild asked.

“Ah, well, you see... I want to depict you as a, um, prince,” Artful explained, “I can see it, clear as day, you know? You’re tall, handsome, uh yeah, and, well... I imagine you would look good as a prince,” he walked around Wild, making him turn his head to follow him, “Yeah, yeah... I can definitely see it. If you grew a pair of wings, maybe grew out your facial fur a bit... That would be the image of a prince, I think.”

“Oh,” Wild blinked at him. Becoming a prince? He would never want that - never mind the fact that he could in no way deserve to be a ruler alongside or in place of either Princess Luna or Princess Celestia - but... he could possibly see it, as a sort of fantasy, a somewhat childish fantasy.  

“Oh yeah, let me just grab my stuff and we can be off,” Artful declared, “I can really see what I want to paint. If, well, it’s alright with you?”

Wild could do nothing but nod.

“Alright, then meet me in the room two-oh-nine, that should be the perfect place!” Artful said and then hastily trotted off. However, he stopped before he was out of sight, turned around, and yelled, “And bring your sword with you!”

Wild shook his head lightly, a small smile on his face. Seeing Artful this enthusiastic about painting him was... pleasant. Not only that, but he would make Wild a prince, even if only in a painting and not in reality. It could possibly be interpreted as romantic. Wild could almost see it - maybe a knight proposing to his lord about making that lord the ruler of the realm. Certainly something out of a medieval romance novel. Aside from the fact that they would both be killed in reality because they were gay. However, Wild chose not to focus on that, shaking it all off.  

Wild, as he made his way back to his dorm to grab the crystal-sword he used for practice, thought about how much his opinion on royalty had changed. Or, at least, on Equestrian royalty in particular. Princess Luna cared a lot, and not just about him, but about many others, and Princess Celestia was... not bad. He knew he was uncharitable in his own thoughts towards her because of what she had done to him, what she had to do to him because she didn’t know it was him, but he couldn’t really help it.  

Neither Celestia nor Luna were leeches, draining the wealth of others to sit upon mounds of gold like dragons. Under them, Equestria prospered, and people in need got those needs fulfilled. They would, perhaps, maybe, possibly be in their right to throw Wild in prison or otherwise contain him because of the danger he posed - could pose - to Equestria, but instead they had cared about him, helped him, and... honestly speaking, Wild couldn’t find it in himself to hate either of them even if he thought that monarchy, diarchy, or whatever was going on was still not a good idea. However, he still didn’t know all that much about politics, so perhaps this was the perfect system for Equestria. It had worked for a long while, after all.

This all circled back to him becoming a prince. He knew he wouldn’t want it, either just the title or the responsibilities no doubt associated with it in Equestria, but still... it was a nice thought, in a way. If others appreciated him, if others bowed to him... There was much he could think about in regards to that. He was content, and he knew he would be content, with leading a simple life, but childish and unreasonable dreams sometimes arose anyway.

It wasn’t long before he found himself in the room Artful told him to be in, and now he was waiting for his friend. The room itself seemed to have once been a... living room, perhaps. It had a fireplace, a pair of comfortable armchairs - their pony equivalents, that is - bookshelves, and a large painting of some kind of forestry scenery. The room was in soft browns and creams, with a dark reddish-brown color for the wooden floors, on top of which was a large rug that Wild thought was called a Persian rug. There was one tall window, which was currently half-hidden behind a pair of heavy and dark curtains. It was a nice and cozy place, overall, and Wild could see himself relaxing in it. He wondered why exactly Artful chose it.

As he waited, Wild chose to take place in one of the comfortable chairs, which was actually closer to a sofa since one was supposed to lie on it. It had a raised section, which was where the front half of his body went. He ended up in a position where the rear half of his body was lying mostly on the side, his hooves almost dangling off the edge, while the front was more or less upright, with his forelegs folded and crossed in front of him.  

Artful barged in a few minutes later, a pile of painting supplies lying on top of a bed sheet which was, in turn, on top of his back between his wings. Once Artful saw Wild, he nearly dropped everything as his eyes widened and, even in the dim lighting of the room, obvious blush grew on his cheeks. Wild idly wondered how it was possible, considering that it was the fur that was changing color like that.  

“You l-look... just right!” Artful settled on saying, then started unpacking his supplies, “The way you lie on top of that, the way your body is angled, the lighting... Just a few adjustments and it’s gonna be perfect, definitely. No, you stay right there, alright?” Wild settled back down, realizing that he could also help Artful unpack from where he was. With his horn alight, he gently lifted Artful’s things and settled them nearby, “Oh, thank you! Anyway, let me set this all up real quick...”

Before long, Artful was surrounded with various paints, a number of brushes, as well as a couple of pencils, and a rather large canvas. He set it vertically first, then hummed thoughtfully and turned it horizontal, giving it a nod. He then adjusted the place ever so slightly until he deemed it perfect.

“Ah, can you please light the candles for me?” Artful asked. Wild figured out he was talking about candles in wall mounts, whatever they were called, and so he used a small amount of magic to light them up. Now the room was basked in a nice and mostly even candlelight glow, “Yep, that’s good. Now...” he walked over to the curtains and fiddled with them until they covered what he deemed just the right amount of the window, “Alright, good,” he returned to standing in front of the canvas. He tilted his head this and that way, took off his glasses briefly, and then nodded to himself, “Perfect. Now, I need you to grab a book - any book - and open it somewhere in the middle,” Wild did as asked. It was a book about plants written in some older script of Equestrian, with painted illustrations instead of photos, “Place it in front of you, then angle it a bit so that the top is away from you. Lower it a bit too. Yep, good, now try to go for a, um, relaxed but thoughtful expression.“

Wild did as asked, although it took him a minute until Artful deemed his expression just right. In truth, Wild felt silly. At least he was glad he had the foresight to visit the bathroom when he was in his dorm, otherwise this all would’ve been ruined if he had a sudden urge to relieve himself and thus would have to get up. He was also comfortable now as well, so it would’ve been a shame to move away from this.

“Can you activate the crystal and bring the whole sword to me?”

Wild, once again, did as told. Artful then placed his sabre leaning against the sofa-chair-thing in a way he decided was just right. Then Artful covered Wild with the bed sheet, which made Wild feel all sorts of ways, his own blush strong on his face as he briefly imagined himself sleeping with Artful, and for the two of them to cover each other with blankets before sleep. That was... certainly a romantic kind of thought, Wild decided. However, it was not the time, so he banished it from his head. He didn’t as much as twitch as Artful adjusted the blanket here and there, leaving Wild semi-exposed. Once it was all done, Artful stood back, returned to his canvas, and critically looked over all that he could see.

“Oh yeah, this is excellent,” he declared, “Alright, can you focus on holding your position for around ten minutes?”

Wild nodded an affirmative, and then Artful began sketching. To the sound of a pencil against a canvas, Wild found his thoughts drifting off somewhat. It was... enjoyable, he decided. Being painted was certainly not a bad experience.

“You’re looking absolutely sexy, Wild,” Artful said, then nearly jumped when he realized he said it aloud, “Ah, um...”

Wild had no idea how to reply to that, so he chose to say and do nothing, although he could not, for the life of him, look at Artful, feeling his face heat up to what could probably be considered a dangerous degree. He focused instead on whatever plant the book was telling him about. He recognized one of the words, and the plant supposedly had healing properties if he was reading it correctly.  

The sketching continued mostly in silence as Artful hid behind the canvas and spoke nothing, and Wild simply remained as quiet as he had been before.

“Um, would you like me to add wings?” Artful said, “For the whole prince thing, you know.”

Wild lightly shook his head. He chased away the thoughts about having the ability to fly - he would probably want to stay on the ground anyway.  

In what felt like forever but wasn’t truly that long, Wild found himself facing Artful’s sketch. The lines were somewhat messy, but Wild could still recognize himself, although... he was clearly just slightly different. The bed sheet in reality lacked any decorations, but Artful decided to add some embroidery to the edges, as well as what Wild imagined would later turn out to be a decorated metal clasp holding the cloak together at the low of his neck. There was a small crown atop his head as well, resembling Luna’s and Celestia’s in that it also had three peaks or whatever they were called, and his had a nice round gem of some kind in the center of it. His face, while also similar, now featured what could possibly pass as a beard by pony standards, which was just longer scruff at his chin and following his jawline. It certainly added him a few years of age in appearance, making him seem... wiser, somehow.

“I like it,” Wild declared, “I am... looking forward to when it is done.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Wild,” Artful smiled at him, “Alright, so yeah, I got the sketch, I got the idea in my head,” he tapped it for good measure, “You can now move around a bit but not too much if possible.”

Wild nodded, and then drifted off as he listened to Artful’s brush strokes, a small smile on his face. This was what he wanted - peace. Being painted was so much better than any excitement and fears of all his encounters with danger.

Wild couldn’t find himself even thinking of hating any result that would eventually come from Artful's work. He relaxed into the sofa-chair and allowed his mind to wander nowhere as he basked in the mental feeling of warmth that he could not properly describe if he tried.

This... was right.

***

Wild found himself being lightly shaken away, and he groggily blinked at Artful’s face hovering above him. Wild smiled before his brain fully started functioning again.

“You drifted off a bit,” Artful explained, “And I’m nearly done now, just a couple more brush strokes, I think,” his eyes then darted to the side, and Wild noted he had a deep crimson blush, “So, uh, yeah,” he then walked away to return to the canvas, “Also, you can, um, move, and get up if you want.”

Wild stretched, yawned, and then became far more awake than before - he realized that he was in quite a compromising position and had accidentally revealed his very strong erection. He nearly fell off the sofa-chair when he tried to hide it, though he did manage not to tumble off, somehow passing as a sort of a graceful movement to get up.  

This certainly explained Artful’s strong blush, and Wild did not think about it. They were alone in this room, Artful even locked it so that no one would disturb them. It was, frankly, an ideal situation for... things to happen.

Wild, however, could not do it. Perhaps he wanted to. He had a strong feeling he wanted to. He also suspected Artful wanted it too. There were certain thoughts that drifted Wild’s way, which made his breath run hot and a pleasant pulse to go through his erection. However, he banished those thoughts for later, for when he was back in the dorm, when he could safely lock himself in the bathroom and... relieve the tension, so to speak.

Wild caught a very explicit thought from Artful, where his wet mouth was fully taking in Wild’s-

Wild shook his head and repeated the rock-in-the-river exercise. He was a rock, Artful’s thoughts were a river, and that river went around the rock. He breathed in, breathed out, and repeated the exercise until he was certain he was no longer catching any stray thoughts... despite how desired they were.  

He suspected Artful would agree if Wild proposed sex right now. Wild also strongly suspected he would agree if Artful spoke a single word in favor of having sex too. He did wonder how it would feel like, and now that he felt free to spend some of his alone private time pleasuring himself, he knew it would feel good, but the question was... just how good would it be? Maybe he could find an answer right now, if only his words were formed in his lungs, passed through his throat, overcame the barrier of teeth, and escaped his lips.  

However... it would also mean something would change in their relationship, and Wild did explicitly tell Artful that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, and he knew he wasn’t ready. He still had so much to unpack, so much to work through, and it would be completely unfair to Artful if he took the easy way and agreed to uncertainty that could very well bring great harm to Artful. There was safety in distance, and there was also safety in not trying for sex because Wild had no idea if he would have any negative reaction to Artful’s touch. Perhaps there would be nothing as long as all Artful did was... apply his mouth on Wild, which was never done to him before, but Wild could not guarantee it.

Whatever it could be, Wild decided to avoid it that day. There were still many days to come, and he would be ready in time. He knew he would likely regret not asking Artful there and then, but he also knew he would regret having asked and then messing it all up because of his own mental issues.

Wild told himself it was for the best as he ignored his urges, ignored knowledge of Artful’s urges, and waited until Artful was ready to present him with the painting. That was an easier, safer road to take. Besides, Wild had a feeling that Artful wasn’t making his own proposition exactly because Artful respected Wild’s desire not to have a relationship. Wild could appreciate it even if... even if he, in some way, would prefer that Artful spoke the words anyway.

Wild would certainly be in his bathroom as soon as this all was over.
> Chapter 84: Approach
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Doctor Fay did not expect to stay in the Royal Orphanage for as long as she had, but, with the recent revelations about Wild, she couldn’t simply leave, even if Wild could, in theory, travel to Canterlot in order to get his therapy sessions with her. She was perfectly aware that every step between a patient and getting help is one more obstacle to overcome, and there were plenty of people who could not find the energy to do so despite how simple those steps might seem. It would, in the end, be for the best if she could accommodate Wild instead.

Doctor Fay, thankfully, had someone she could delegate to, thus leaving her with plenty of time to do appropriate research and planning. Wild’s recent departure to Canterlot due to what she knew as medical emergency allowed her additional precious days to get everything in order. She didn’t feel like she was ready, considering the magnitude of the situation, but she would do her best anyway.

When Wild entered her office, she immediately spotted the physical differences compared to his last visit. Whatever happened had triggered his magical growth, judging by the longer horn, and she could no longer spot the previously-obvious scar on his ear. While the longer horn made him look older, absence of any obvious scars made him look younger in turn, and the overall effect made him appear closer to his physical age. His posture was more confident, and it was clear he was no longer afraid of the sessions. This confidence likely stemmed from his growing trust in her since he had told her about his origins. Doctor Fay, despite how many difficulties his confession introduced, was glad that she was deemed trustworthy enough for him to reveal such hardships. All of this revealed a whole host of possible issues that she would need to address, as well as many more sessions with Wild that she would need to attend. She had a feeling they would have a long way ahead of them, and her stay at the Royal Orphanage would lengthen appropriately.

Wild was invited to sit down, and then Doctor Fay gave him opportunity to speak his mind first. She knew some stubborn patients who would not speak unless she initiated it, but Wild was not one of them.

“I, uh,” he cleared his throat, his eyes darting to hers and then somewhere off to the side, “I have... finished reading the, the sexuality book. I want to be... tested.”

Doctor Fay didn’t allow her surprise to show on her face. Considering what he had told her during the recent sessions, she had expected something heavier. Perhaps she should not have. Whatever the case was, she was perfectly willing to accommodate him. If he didn’t shy away from this topic despite his past, she would not bring attention to it, only mentally noting that sex, as a subject, was no longer off-limits. Of course, it didn't mean she could be careless, but she would not need to avoid the topic entirely, which made things a lot easier. 

“Very well. First, I will ask you some simple technical questions,” she said, “Let us start with the topic of safe sex.”

Wild nodded, and she could practically feel his focus sharpening. She proceeded to question him on the available contraception methods, and he proceeded to list them all without as much as a pause. It was clear that he had given it an appropriate measure of thought, which was good to see. It wasn't too uncommon for some ponies to wave the whole topic away, and that, naturally, resulted in issues.

First and the easiest method of contraception was having sex outside of the heat season, known as estrus, which would easily prevent pregnancies, though it would not prevent any other issues. Second was a condom, which offered a decent all-around protection but was not one hundred percent effective against pregnancies. Another was a spell, a different one for each sex, which was a more difficult but extremely reliable method available to all unicorns who can learn the necessary spells. Then was a pill that could prevent estrus when it was taken a week before it started and then during estrus every single day, which, once again, only concerned pregnancies. There were, Doctor Fay knew, more invasive and older methods, no longer used, but she wasn’t questioning Wild on the history of sexuality. However, she did ask about permanent methods, which included vasectomy for males and either obstruction of fallopian tubes or removing them entirely for females, alongside more expensive but just as good magical solutions that were technically not permanent as they could be easily reversed. Abortion for females was also available, though it was certainly not a preventative measure.

There were questions about male on male sex, which Wild provided answers to in a steady, slightly monotonous voice. Doctor Fay was concerned that there was some mental detachment in play, but he seemed lucid and alert aside from the tone of his voice, so she didn't voice her thoughts. 

In truth, it was likely that the way he spoke was simply the default for when it came to things of personal relevancy to him. It was a way to disguise discomfort, perhaps, and also hide any other thoughts he might have on the topic of discussion.

Naturally, there were no pregnancy-related questions. Wild seemed to be relieved that there weren’t many questions since male on male sex was not much different compared to male on female, and there was no danger of pregnancy. There was the importance of checking for STDs before initiating intimacy, then getting them removed. Doctor Fay shuddered to imagine the days when this danger was far more prevalent.  

Of course, the technical aspects of safe sex wasn’t the only topic they needed to cover.  

“Now, I will present you with various situations, and you will explain how you would approach them,” Doctor Fay said, and Wild nodded, “Let’s start with something relatively simple. You really like someone, and you approach them and confess your feelings. They tell you that they are not interested. What do you do?”

“I take no as the answer,” Wild said without skipping a beat, “If they... do not want me, that is... for them to say. To decide. I will not push.”

“Even if, for example, it was their way of telling you to continue pursuing them?”

“I do not play games,” he furrowed his brows, a mildly annoyed expression appearing on his face, “If... they can’t be honest with me and say what they mean, I don’t want that.”

“Very good,” Doctor Fay nodded. Truthfully speaking, sometimes she hated all the ways people could talk around what they actually meant. However, now was not the time for her personal frustrations, and so she continued, “Next situation. Someone you know had become inebriated at a party you are attending as well, and they make sexual advances to you. What do you do?”

“They can’t give consent in that state,” Wild readily said, “I... help them to safety. And... make sure no one... tries anything bad with them.”

“Excellent,” Doctor Fay nodded.

She proceeded to present him with different situations, some less clear than others, yet it appeared Wild would stay cautious regardless, retreating at the first sign of ‘no’ aimed towards him in the hypothetical situations. To Doctor Fay, it was obvious he was very aware of consent and everything that surrounds it, as well as sexual safety alongside and outside of that. He had, without a doubt, taken his time to learn these things by heart. He was also very aware of what differences in power introduced to such situations. In hypothetical situations of him having power, he once again explained that he would keep his distance, which some could characterize as overly cautious, but it was not, strictly speaking, wrong. In situations where he had less power and he was pursued by someone with more power, he would be firm in saying ‘no’. If his wishes were not respected, he would search for ways to get out of the situation as well as notify the authorities about it. Although, on the last point, something flashed behind Wild’s eyes, and Doctor Fay had a suspicion she knew what it was.  

“Would you also consider violence an appropriate response?” she asked.

“...Depending,” he said with some hesitation, “If someone does not understand ‘no’ and keeps pushing, I will push them away or hit them if they do not understand that. If they keep at it... I will beat them up.”

It was left unspoken but apparent that he would not hesitate to kill if someone pushed too hard and went into the territory of outright sexual assault. Doctor Fay could not exactly disagree - responding with overwhelming violence, up to and including killing, was perfectly legal when it came to self-defense during sexual assault. Doctor Fay had, thankfully, never in her life come across a single case of sexual assault, and she was very aware Wild had personal experience with it. To condemn his actions would be to reject him and to destroy any semblance of positive relationship between the two of them, so Doctor Fay would not do that even if her thoughts on the topic were different. Whatever the case was, it was no place for her to judge.

“You would be within your right,” she settled on replying to his unspoken answer both knew of, which made him relax a bit, “Sexual crimes receive the harshest punishments, and people in the midst of being subjected to them are allowed much leeway in how they deal with the perpetrator.”

Wild nodded, relaxing further. While she personally did not think she would resort to outright killing someone, she had never been in such a situation and, hopefully, never would be. It would, in truth, do her no good to think about it too much. If it happened, she would do what she had to do, and then she would embrace the consequences. 

Thankfully, they soon moved to safer, less unpleasant topics as Doctor Fay asked him general questions about gender and sexuality. Wild recognized that there were very many gender identities, from relatively simple to complex, and that each and every one of them deserved respect, and it was not for him to question someone else’s gender identity.  

“I... read about the, um, ‘gender euphoria’,” he said in between questions, “I never felt it. But I never felt dysphoria either. I think I am a stallion, but... I don’t really, um, care much? It’s easy to be a stallion, and I’ve always had that, um, label. But... I do not feel anything about it. Positive or negative, I mean.”

“Whatever label you choose for yourself is up to you,” Doctor Fay said, “I can’t give you the answers to what you feel. If how you call yourself feels comfortable to use, use it. If not, then don’t. Think of it like this: gender is like ice-cream. There are many flavors, you can mix and match, or you can decide not to have any if it’s not for you.”

“I could be... without gender?” Wild frowned, “...is that possible?”

“Of course,” she nodded, “There are many people who identify that way, like agender or gendervoid. It is not a bad thing either.”

“I... will think of this,” Wild said, “Can we continue?”

The test went on, and Wild revealed that he recognized all the different sexualities as well, though another question arose.  

“I do not know if I would like a stallion with a vagina,” he said, “Or... a mare with a, um, penis. I... I am gay, and... I think I’m, um... traditional? I mean... I like stallions with, uh, penises. That, I know, is true.”

“You don’t need to fit under any label,” Doctor Fay replied, putting his awkwardness aside and getting to the root of the issue, “In truth, it is quite simple - you like whom you like, and you label this attraction how you want. There is no real correct way. Gender identities and sexualities are diverse, and there aren’t enough labels to cover every possible attraction. Use whatever label feels comfortable or none at all. Others are not entitled to have you stand before them and explain yourself. You are who you are, a person, and each person is unique. If it helps, I also know some people who describe their sexuality as ‘I like pretty people’.”

That got a somewhat startled chuckle out of Wild’s mouth, and Fay smiled in response. 

“There is no obligation to behave a certain way or like certain people just because you use a certain label,” she continued, “When it comes to genitalia, you are certainly not forbidden from having a preference. There are no rigid criteria or requirements for you to fulfill before you are allowed to call your attraction a certain name.”

“But... would it not cause confusion?”

“People don’t need to understand your attraction and how you choose to label it, they only need to accept it.”

Wild blinked at her as if she said the sun was a cube. He took a deep breath, then breathed out. He had a thoughtful expression even as he gave her a nod.

The rest of the test passed without incident, and it was clear to Doctor Fay that Wild had a good understanding of sexuality and how to approach different situations related to it. She could, without hesitation, give him the paper that proved that he had passed the basics of sexuality education. This paper was required to visit places like brothels, and it ensured that everyone was on the same level of understanding before anything could occur, good or bad.

“Now that we are done with this, is there anything you want to talk about?” Doctor Fay asked.

Wild gave it a minute of thought, then nodded. He straightened from his somewhat slumped and relaxed position, now leaning forward, and his ears were aimed forward as well.

“I am... I am attracted to someone,” he begun, “I like him. I know he likes me. And I want... a relationship. He already said he wants a relationship with me, but I said no because I... am - was - not ready. I am still not ready, I think, but I want it. I... do not know what to do.”

Doctor Fay nodded, already aware of the situation since he had previously talked about it. Now, she had a question for him.

“What do you mean by ‘not ready?’”

“I... you now know I have... suffered,” Wild swallowed, then cleared his throat, “I know I am... troubled. I have issues. I... it would be unfair to him to deal with me.”

“Is it what he said to you?”

“...what?” Wild blinked at her in confusion.

“Would he consider it unfair to deal with you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said with certainty.

“Is it what you think he would say or is it what he actually said to you?” Doctor Fay asked, and Wild remained silent, “Whether he decides that he wants or doesn’t want to deal with you, that is his choice to make. But you cannot know the answer unless you ask, and neither can you decide for him what his answer would be.”

She let him process that before continuing.

“It is, of course, your right not to enter a relationship if you don’t want to, and it would also be your right to exit a relationship you don’t want to be in. However, to decide that a relationship can’t happen because you think your potential partner would not want to deal with the entirety of you, good or bad, because of how you think about yourself, is not wise. What you think may happen is not what you know will happen, and it would not be good for you to keep your mind on imagining those possibilities. Instead, it would be better to approach your potential partner with honesty, and thus you would also get an honest, informed answer.”

“I cannot tell him everything,” Wild argued.

“And you do not need to. You could present your issues without revealing their cause. Since you have interacted in the past, has he always respected your boundaries?”

“...Yes.”

“Then I do not see why you could not present him with the facts about yourself without revealing everything.”

“But it is dishonest.”

“No person is entitled to you or the information about you,” Doctor Fay assured him, “Your secrets are for you to reveal. Of course, a relationship cannot be built on lies, and, correct me if I am wrong, you think that not revealing your otherworldly origins to your potential partner would be lying, correct?”

Wild gave her a nod in response.

“I see why you would think that way. However, would not revealing that fact change who you are as a person?”

After some silent deliberation, Wild shook his head.

“People who are attracted to someone aren’t attracted to them because of their place of birth, whatever it may be. They are attracted to people, not places. Of course, your place of birth had strongly influenced you, and you have become who you are now because of the experiences you have had in that world.”

Wild nodded there before Doctor Fay continued.

“However, you would be in your right not to talk about it, just like someone would be in their right to not talk about their own place of birth, be it a village or a town or a city within or outside Equestria. In order to be honest, you would only need to say ‘I do not want to talk about where I’m from,' and no one would be in their right to push you to reveal it.”

“But...” Wild protested, “There is... a lot of things that are... that are wrong with me because of that world.”

“Explaining your origins would help with explaining those things, that much is true. However, no one is owed an explanation. They can accept you for who you are and not dig into the whys and the hows.”

Wild let out a deep sigh.

“So... I should... tell him that I have... issues with being touched, that I don’t want to be in... some places, and that... that I can react to things... not like normal, and... all that... and then I ask him if he still wants to be with me?” he said slowly.

“It would reveal your vulnerabilities to him, without a doubt,” Doctor Fay nodded, reading between the lines, “And it can be a scary prospect, and I understand that you fear rejection. That, perhaps, you believe he would think you weak and pathetic for this, that he would change how he views you.”

Wild swallowed and nodded.

“Then it would be on him,” Doctor Fay said, “You cannot help what others think of you. You are still young, and his rejection would not be the end of the world even if it may feel that way to you in the moment. If you two are incompatible, then you are incompatible, and this relationship thus becomes something that would be unhealthy to pursue.”

“If... he gives me a no, I must respect it,” Wild nodded in understanding, “Even if it... will hurt.”

“Yes,” Doctor Fay nodded to him, “In the end, you will not know unless you try, and torturing yourself over what-ifs would only bring you grief. Life goes on, and you will, without a doubt, find your happiness, even if it is not now and not with the person you may now want.”

Wild bobbed his head in a couple of nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he got up and turned to leave, silently, and somewhat awkwardly.

“Would you like to schedule another meeting now?” Doctor Fay reminded him, stopping him in his tracks.

“A... a week,” he settled on the date even if it was obvious he wanted more time. However, it was also clear he was determined to apply what he had learned sooner rather than later.

“Very well, I will see you then,” Doctor Fay nodded, “And good luck, Wild.”

***

Wild’s determination was waning by the minute, but he held onto it tightly as he searched for Artful. He would be honest, yet he would also not tell everything. He would tell him about the issues he had without revealing his origins. Perhaps it would ruin their trip to Canterlot, perhaps it would drive a wedge between him and Artful, perhaps...  

Wild knew there were many possibilities, and a lot of them could be negative. However, he reminded himself that Artful had, so far, shown him kindness, and Artful had never pushed Wild in any uncomfortable way. Perhaps there would be a good resolution. Perhaps Artful would not be disgusted by Wild’s weaknesses. Perhaps there was... a chance.  

Perhaps it would be unfair to Artful to give him the burden that was Wild, but it was true that Wild could not decide it for Artful. So, there was only one way to know, one way to learn what would happen.  

Wild knew that the Art Club was happening at that very moment, and it was his conscious decision not to attend it with Artful so that he could instead have his therapy session. He needed to get the whole sexuality education thing out of the way, and his head almost still throbbed due to the cramming of the information he had done during the last few days in order to understand it all as best he could. At least that was behind him now, even though he knew the topic of sexuality education was much wider than the basics he had learned. There was much history behind it, as well as different aspects of it that Wild knew little to nothing about.

Whatever those things were, they were for later. Wild was now at the door to the Art Club, and so he sat down on a nearby bench to wait for it to be over.

Wild couldn’t help but wonder whether he was rushing into things. Doctor Fay had seemingly assured him that he wasn’t, that he should simply approach it with honesty and accept the results, but he wasn’t that sure. Besides, he questioned whether he wanted a romantic relationship or if it was simply physical attraction.

Wild couldn’t deny that he had experienced more sexual thoughts ever since his sexual reawakening during the Alicorn High he had experienced. He feared that he would push for sex before he was ready, though he knew he would accept ‘no’ as an answer from Artful. Wild knew he would not let his urges overcome his morals, and that he had absolutely no desire to have sex with anyone who didn’t want it.

Time seemed to stretch longer and longer as he waited, doubts crawling into his head. What if Artful told everyone of his issues? What if he became a target of bullying? What if Artful looked at him in disgust? What if he would make all his friends turn away from him?

Wild did his best to banish those dark thoughts, remembering Doctor Fay's advice. He reminded himself that he had spent enough time with Artful to know that he hadn’t a malicious bone in his entire body. Artful would, at best, gently let him down, offer a soft but definite rejection, and maybe even stay a friend despite not wanting to deal with Wild’s... peculiarities.  

Wild focused on breathing, in and out, slowly and steadily, banishing all his thoughts until they were actually needed. And so he waited.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the moment he had been waiting for had come. The club was done for the day, and he could see Artful exiting where it was held. He steeled himself, made sure his expression wasn’t in any way intense or frowning, then got up and approached him.

Soon, he would know the answer.
> Chapter 85: Answer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Artful finished his painting with the last, perfect brush stroke. He returned it to the tray after dipping it in clear water and swirling it around, then stepped back to gaze at his newest creation. It was nothing grand, merely an assortment of fruits in a shallow bowl, which was, in turn, on a tablecloth, and the background was some random wallpaper pattern he remembered seeing that one time. The fruits had various tiny imperfections, spots that attracted the eye, various bumps and, in the case of an apple, what one would call a scar. The painting contained a variety of textures as well as a challenge to shade it all correctly, and thankfully there was only one light source that Artful needed to keep in mind. He could have perhaps placed a candelabra in there, to make it more difficult yet that much more satisfying to do, but it would have taken longer to finish, and Artful didn’t feel like it was what he wanted.  

When one had a talent mark, there was always a feeling of right and wrong when following that talent, and Artful felt like this painting in particular didn’t need any more detail or time spent on it. He thus left it to dry while he thoroughly cleaned his brushes, then dried them off, and packed all his painting supplies away into a bag. As he did so, his mind shifted to a different painting he had made, a painting of Wild.

On a purely professional side of things, Wild was a joy to draw. He had definite, sharp features that could easily be translated into lines, and his muscle definition could work as an easy reference. His color scheme as a pony was relatively simple - Artful shuddered to imagine how much it would take to paint Princess Celestia correctly - and his body overall was nice and smooth and easy to paint.  

On a far less professional side of things, Wild was handsome. As far as Artful could remember, he had a thing for knights. As a foal, he had read many romance novels featuring knights, and even before he knew he was a stallion, the romance novels were all about gay romance. He realized now that it was a sign that he was a stallion, although that realization had to wait until he was no longer living under his biological progenitors. He did his best not to think about them anymore, so he brushed all the painful memories aside, knowing that they would not repeat, and he was know who he truly was and wanted to be.  

Artful knew it was true that the initial attraction he had to Wild was physical. While Wild was not officially a knight, he was handsome and he wielded a sword, a combination of which made something inside of Artful tingle pleasantly. After seeing Wild in all his glory during the tournament, Artful decided to approach him.  

In the following days and weeks that Artful knew Wild, it wasn’t uncommon for Artful to fall asleep or to wake up to certain fantasies he had. He rubbed himself on the bed sheets as he imagined pleasuring Wild, feeling wanted and desired, the two exchanging hot, passionate kisses. He longed to feel Wild’s muscles as they moved to pleasure Artful, to hear his moans, to see him in all his sexy glory, and there were many more images Artful had that he kept to himself. One day, perhaps they would be real, but Artful knew not to push where it wasn’t welcome.

Wild was, without a doubt, not the kind of person who would go for casual sex or would easily allow intimacy in general. It all came from his personality, and what Artful discovered of it would, perhaps, make others quickly change their mind on pursuing Wild.  

First of all, Wild shied away from touch, which already made him, in the eyes of others, odd and weird. Touch was, universally among ponies, the language of love and care, a form of communication most grew up with since they were born. Artful, however, knew what it was like to not want to be touched. Before his body was changed to fit who he really was, he did not like physical contact, for every touch was a reminder that he was wearing a skin not his own. He could never fully look at himself in the mirror then, knowing that all he could ever see was wrong wrong wrong, as if someone was screaming those very words at him. Once his body fit him, once it stopped feeling like a flesh prison, he still, for a long time, shunned touch, fearing he would feel just like before. To this day, he sometimes had to remind himself that his body was now truly his own, that it was right, that it fit, that everything about it was just like he wanted it to be.

It had taken Artful a long time to unlearn the behavior his biological progenitors - he refused to call them parents - wanted of him. They only saw him for his wrong body, not for his mind or his soul. They thought he was lying, that he was simply seeking attention he was not owed, that he had to swallow his complaints and be a mare his biological progenitors wanted him to be. He had come a long way since he feared discovery when he tried to deepen his voice despite his then-youth, when he tried to find a way to make himself into a mare despite how much he didn’t want to if only so that his biological progenitors would accept him, when... there were enough things to remember indeed, and he had no desire to relive them anymore.

Now, Artful knew they were wrong to treat him like that, and he would be quite happy if he never saw them again. He, of course, knew their names, and he could perhaps learn of their fate after the authorities were involved and had launched an investigation into what they had done to him. 

When he was asked if he wished to learn, if he wanted to follow the court case, if he wanted to confront them... he decided that it was not worth it. 

"I don't want to know," he had said then, his voice steady, "I don't want them in my life, and I won't give them my attention."

Sometimes, he wanted to go back on his word, to request to learn about it all, but he had held himself back. With time, he knew he would cease thinking about what could be, could stop thinking of what would happen if only his biological progenitors were not only that but proper parents, but he couldn’t help it sometimes. Rarely now, he dreamed of them saying the words he wanted them to say.

"Good morning, son."

"We are proud of you."

Those dreams happened less and less the more time passed, and he was grateful for it. What those people thought of him was not important, not anymore, and he would neither seek their approval nor hope that they would change.

Artful now had his own name, his own body, and his own future, all in his grasp. He would live his own life, and he would discover his own happiness.

Once he had grown brave enough to look at himself in the mirror, he could finally feel the rightness of his own body. It was finally his own, not just a thing he hated yet could not get rid of. Over time, Artful had gotten into a habit of casual touch, and the insistence of his therapist helped. He remembered how, at the time, it was scary to let anyone this close, and he thought it would be for the best if it never happened. However, he had overcome this despite the difficulties and the awkwardness stemming from his lack of experience. Fortunately, no one judged him for it, no one even asked why, and so he had learned to like the touch and willingly go after the sensation.

Not to say that everything was perfect. Artful knew he was still quite shy and uncertain, and initiating that touch took some effort others simply didn’t need to spend on it. He still had trouble with casual friendly bumps, but at least he could give and receive hugs without much difficulty.

When it came to Wild, it was clear he had experienced some trauma, although Artful did not know what and would not dare ask. The scars that he had had until recently told a story, and Artful had a terrible feeling about it, yet still he did not speak a word of it. Without being told, he knew it was something Wild would want to be kept private, that any interest in it was entirely unwelcome. If Wild ever chose to reveal what those scars were, it would be on his own terms, Artful understood that much.

Despite this, Artful remained attracted not just to his looks but to his personality. There was a certain gentleness to Wild, one that would not be apparent if all anyone ever saw of him was him fighting in his swordsmanship club. Perhaps some would label him a brute, but that was not true, not true at all. There was a side of him that cared about others rather deeply, though Artful could only guess just how deeply it went. This was what made Artful want to pursue him further. Then he learned that Wild cared about the changelings and did not want to see them suffer for the actions of their queen, and that was when it solidified the deal for Artful. It was simple - he decided Wild was truly worth pursuing despite all the hurdles.

Artful, when he was rejected, understood why it happened. Wild was not ready and wanted to become ready, which reminded Artful of times when he was not ready, when he needed to get better first before involving himself with anyone. He wondered when Wild would be ready, and if Artful would be the one Wild would pursue. While it would perhaps sting if Wild chose someone over him, Artful would do his best to let it go. Attraction was not something one could control, after all.

When Artful exited the Art Club, he realized that perhaps he would get an answer to the relationship question this very day. Wild was standing off to the side, his eyes on Artful, although there was nervousness about him. Artful couldn't say he was the best at figuring ponies out, but there was really one thing Wild could be at all nervous about when it came to Artful.

“Oh, hi!” Artful greeted him cheerfully, “Everything alright?”

Artful was possibly the only one that knew of Wild’s therapy sessions, and he made it clear that he supported Wild and would never make fun of him for getting therapy. Whatever happened during the last session, led Wild to Artful, and Artful had a feeling he knew what Wild and his therapist talked about. However, he decided to let Wild speak his mind, just in case Artful was wrong.  

“Hi,” Wild greeted him in that pleasant and soft voice of his, which bore an accent Artful knew nothing of, “I...” he swallowed, an expression of frustration appearing on his face, and then he started signing. He asked if Artful wanted to talk, somewhere in private.  

“Alright,” Artful gave him a nod, then let Wild lead the way. Unsurprisingly, Wild had already picked a spot, which was one of the many rooms in the Royal Orphanage. This one was a simple sitting room, with just enough space for two ponies to sit opposite each other on the sofas, surrounded by a bookshelf on one side and a large painting of a boreal forest on the other.  

Artful set his painting supplies bag to the side after unbuckling it from his body, and sat down on one of the sofas. Wild, stiffly and awkwardly, sat on the other.

“I...” Wild cleared his throat, “I thought about... um... I, uh...” he did not look at Artful as he fumbled with his words, “Remember when I... when we, when we talked about... having a relationship?”

Artful nodded, giving Wild an encouraging smile.  

“So, I... I said I was not ready, and... I mean...” Wild continued, one of his front hooves tapping against the sofa, his body rocking slowly side to side, “I have... problems. With touch. Sometimes, I have... bad days. It’s... difficult for me... to understand my emotions. And I... do not know much about, um, having friends. Or... romantic things,” he seemed to swallow his next few words, but Artful waited patiently, listening closely, “And I thought... um... well, uh... I... want to try a relationship. With you. If, um, you accept my... difficulties,” Wild seemingly wilted after saying those words.

“Sometimes I have difficulties too,” Artful confessed, aiming to reassure Wild that he wasn’t alone, that it was nothing to be ashamed about, “I’m not very good at, um, touching. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that my body is my own. Bad days happen too, when I... remember some bad things.”

Wild straightened and looked at him, now fully attentive.

“I... experience the same,” Wild nodded, “I have... many bad memories.”

“Yeah... me too,” Artful said, “But I remind myself that it’s behind me, that I have a life outside of that. I know it’s never going away, because it happened, you know? But... there are things to look forward to too. I just need to, well, allow myself to feel bad sometimes, because it’s alright to feel bad about those things, but I also have to recognize that, well, they’re not happening anymore.”

“Yes, that, exactly!” Wild nodded enthusiastically, “I... I want to move on, and... I know things are going to be bad, but... I want something better.”

“Yeah,” Artful smiled widely at him, “So, I’m fine with having difficulties. You have your difficulties, and I have mine, and that’s fine. I’m fine with working with your difficulties.”

“And... I am fine with yours,” Wild’s face gained a small smile, “So... we are... trying... a relationship, yes?”

“Yep,” Artful said, “So, I guess, well, it’s time we talk about what we want out of this relationship. You know, I tell you my deal-breakers, you tell me yours, all that.”

“Oh. Okay,” Wild nodded, “Do I... start?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Alright,” Wild nodded again, “I, um... I...” he blushed in embarrassment, “I never... did this before, and... I need... some time to think.”

“No problem, there’s no need to hurry,” Artful said encouragingly. He silently congratulated himself for not becoming a stuttery mess much like Wild was. Having known Wild for some time now, it definitely helped with finding his words and speaking them. When he first talked with Wild, it was likely that he would babble on and on about one vaguely related thing or the other while trying to find a thread to follow so that the conversation would end well.

For a while, the two sat in silence as  Wild thought of what to say. It could be called awkward, but, in truth, it wasn’t. Artful was perfectly willing to give him time, to be patient with him, as he was aware that their relationship would not be simple. Wild had his past, Artful had his own, and the two would have to figure out how to work together.  

“I know one thing I do not want,” Wild finally spoke, “I... do not want foals. Ever.”

“To be frank, neither do I,” Artful said.  

Any talk of having foals reminded Artful of his old body’s capability of bearing them, which firmly put them out of any future possibilities. It was perhaps unfair to the concept of having foals, considering that it was entirely possible to go the adoption route, but it couldn’t be helped. Artful simply had no desire to have foals in any way. It was true that he was young, and that many young ponies went to experience life before settling down with foals later in life, but Artful simply could not see himself doing the same. Having foals, that is - he was perfectly willing to experience more things that life had to offer, once he saved up enough money. Art wasn't exactly the easiest thing in the world to earn money off of, after all. 

“I... may sometimes need... time for myself,” Wild continued.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Artful nodded, “You have to have your alone time, you know?”

Wild nodded to that before growing thoughtful again.

“If we... sleep together, sometimes... I will want to sleep alone,” he said, “And it’s not... it’s just...”

“You don’t need to justify it to me,” Artful stopped him, “I understand. Don’t feel bad about it.”

“And there is also... things about sex,” Wild said, “I... well, I... would want it... someday. Don’t know when. But... it, um... it may be awkward. And... I maybe will have bad memories in the middle, and, um, want to stop.”

“Alright,” Artful said softly, getting an idea of what Wild truly meant, and the realization of exactly why Wild would have difficulties with intimacy was... far from pleasant. Still, he didn't let it take over him, and he certainly would not ask Wild to elaborate on it. Whenever Wild wanted to stop for whatever reason, Artful would do just that and not even wonder as to the reason why. It was simply something that he didn't need to know, “When you need to stop, we stop. No questions asked.”

“Good,” Wild nodded, relaxing minutely, “It’s just...”

“Wild,” Artful said, making him look at him, “You don’t need to justify any of it. I can accommodate, and I want to accommodate. You don’t need to explain if you don’t want to.”

“Oh. Um, thank you,” Wild dipped his head in a nod, relaxing even further, “Um... and, most important... please do not ask me about the... bad memories.”

“Unless you want me to, I won’t,” Artful promised, “And same with mine. Anything about me before my transition is, well, off-limits.”

“Alright,” Wild replied easily, “You are, well... a stallion. You are... who you now are. You know?”

“...Thank you,” Artful gave a nod. Despite how awkward Wild’s words were, they were certainly sincere, and Artful appreciated them.

“And... I think that is... everything?” Wild let out a large sigh then, “Maybe more, but... I cannot think of more.”

“We’ll figure it out as we go along,” Artful offered, “Now, you, well, just heard my own deal-breakers. No talk of pre-transition, no talking about bad memories, well, unless I offer, and, you know, same for you, and no foals. If there’s more, we’ll figure it out. Communication and all that, it’s important in a relationship.”

Wild nodded. For a short while, both were silent.

“So, we now... begin?” Wild asked awkwardly, “What... changes?”

“Well, we can do, you know, things,” Artful let out a small laugh, eliciting a smile on Wild’s face, “We don’t need to change anything if it works. We do things together sometimes and all.”

“Yes... I like that. Doing things together,” Wild said, “Um...” he now had a deep, dark blush, “If... if we are in a relationship now... I want it to start... if you want to... with a... with a,” then, the next word was almost a whisper, “Kiss.”

Artful felt a blush of his own arise even as he nodded and stood up from the sofa, Wild following him. Wordlessly, the two got close together, close enough that each could feel the other’s hot breath on their faces. Artful noticed how their front legs almost collided and, to avoid an awkward situation, he made a few tiny steps so that his right front leg went in the space between Wild's front legs, and his left leg would be to Wild's side. This way, they can be close without actually bumping their legs together. 

“I... never kissed before,” Wild admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes aimed straight at Artful’s lips with both desire and uncertainty.

“It’s my first kiss too,” Artful admitted, his voice soft, “It is... my first relationship.”

“My first too,” Wild said, and then two got even closer. It would have probably been awkward if either of the two really thought about it, but Wild was all too focused on not messing it up, and Artful was close along similar lines. They were so close that, if one of them stuck their tongue out, they’d be able to touch the lips of the other.

It was Wild who, slowly and carefully, closed the rest of the distance, pressing his lips to Artful’s. The two closed their eyes, and Artful heard Wild’s rear hooves changing position, and Wild pushed slightly forward, adjusting the position of his lips until both could feel the moisture. Artful’s wings fluttered slightly at the sensation, and he could feel a deep warmth spread throughout his body.

After what felt like forever, it was Wild who stepped back first, opening his eyes, his breath heavier than before.

“Wow...” he said, his eyes full of amazement and joy, his cheeks full of crimson. He licked his lips, then repeated, “Wow...”

“Do you want me to give you a kiss?” Artful asked, feeling flushed with heat as well.

“Yes,” Wild said, and the two met again, this time with Artful who initiated the kiss. There was no tongue play, no moans, and little movement, just the soft pressure of his lips on Wild’s and the sensation of moisture where they pressed together.  

A while passed, and the two separated at the same time, blushing furiously and with wide, happy smiles on their faces, breathing heavily.

Artful couldn’t say what Wild felt, but he was ecstatic. His first relationship, his first kiss, and all with a stallion that he really wanted to be his. He couldn’t know what the future held for them, but he had a very good feeling about it, and he would embrace this future with the entirety of himself. But first, he wanted to ask a question.

“Would you like to... cuddle with me?” he asked. Either of the two sofas was big enough for the two of them, after all, and the privacy of this room meant the two, hopefully, would be left alone for a while.

Wild did not hesitate to offer a nod, and then the two shuffled until both of them fit comfortably on the sofa, with Artful draping a wing over Wild, his head comfortably in the nook between Wild’s head and chest. Artful wondered what spooning would feel like, but, unfortunately, it would be difficult, considering that his wings would get in the way.  

Wild shifted in place, then Artful’s muzzle received a kiss from the side. Wild then turned his head away.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be,” Artful said, returning with a kiss to Wild’s jaw, “You can kiss me if you want. I will tell you if I want you to stop.”

“A-alright,” Wild nodded, “And... same for me.”

And so the two rested, exchanging soft kisses every so often, and everything felt as if it was exactly how it was supposed to be, and neither of them minded that feeling.
> Chapter 86: Joy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wild’s head was full of jumbled thoughts and emotions as the day ended and he went to bed alone. He wished, or how he wished that wasn’t the case, but he needed the time to, time to...

It seemed as if the corners of his mouth were perpetually lifted in a bright smile, and the energy inside him was overflowing, making him nearly bounce around and scream and shout and yell and maybe bawl because-

The moment he kissed - his first kiss! - Artful was when all thoughts left his head, when the only thing he could hear was the thundering of his heart inside his chest, when all he could feel was his lips on Artful’s, their warm breaths combining and nearly tickling his nostrils. He had feared rejection then, feared being pushed away, unwanted, yet those fears were gone the moment the kiss happened, and then the second one, and then they were cuddling and exchanging kisses, and-

Wild, distantly, knew he should write all those feelings down in his journal to reflect on them later, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Not because he didn’t know what to write, but because there was so much, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to put it in cohesive words that made sense. How would one put into words the bright feeling of joy that he had? It was as if everything was right in the world, and that nothing could ever go wrong again. But it could go wrong, Wild knew that, yet he did his best not to think about because, well, he didn’t want to. The feeling of joy, amazement, wonder, happiness, he basked in it, unwilling to let go of it, unwilling to let it fade.

He cried now, but it was not because of something bad, no. For the first time in his life, they were tears of joy. He hugged a pillow tight and buried his face into it, pressing on his eyes until he saw weird colors and patterns bloom in his sight. His body shuddered and shivered, yet the warmth inside of him felt like a furnace, and the fuel was nowhere close to ending.

He was aware that some would possibly think him pathetic for being this sort of a mess after it all, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. What he wanted was more of it, more of the affection and the pleasure and the warmth, to make himself forget all but those feelings and sensations.

Shamefully, he couldn’t say he loved Artful. There was still a certain distance between them, too many unspoken secrets. Wild, without a doubt, considered Artful handsome and very pleasant to be around, and his body was clearly in agreement considering how difficult it was to deal with his certain urges that day. Yet he knew to limit himself, knew when to stop. He did not wish to show his desperation nor did he want to push Artful into what he possibly didn’t want to do. And even if their physical interactions ended up going further, he didn’t want to find himself shuddering or shying away from touch that should be pleasant but still carried some echoes of his memories of his abuse. Perhaps if they went slow and careful, and if Wild was not in any fearfully familiar position, maybe then it would be alright, but he couldn’t make it certain, no.

Wild ended up falling asleep as his mind drifted off from the mess of his emotions.

***

In the morning, Wild was finishing his business in the bathroom when a knock came from his entrance door. He could feel who was on the other side, and so he brushed his mane and tail just a bit extra, making them look the best they could. The memories of the day before were still bright and apparent in his mind, and he felt his heartbeat increase as he went to the door and opened it. Unsurprisingly, it was Artful, and on his back, nested between the wings, were two trays with food. One of them, somewhat surprisingly, contained Wild’s favorite foods: a bowl of oatmeal with chopped apple pieces, a couple of slices of bread that he liked the most, fried vegetables with rice, and a bowl of fresh soybean sprouts.  

“Hi,” Wild greeted Artful shyly and stepped aside, allowing the pegasus to come inside, “Um, thank you.”

“I thought we, you know... share a meal. Just the two of us,” Artful said, blushing, “So... breakfast in bed. Well, you’re awake and not in bed and all, but...”

Wild pressed a kiss to Artful’s cheek. He would never grow tired of this.  

“It is fine,” he said as Artful’s blush got brighter and he stammered whatever he wanted to say, “It is... very thoughtful of you. And you got what I most like. I... I will do the same for you. But I, I do not know what you like most.”

“Lucky for you, I brought my own favorites with me,” Artful told him brightly as he carefully set the trays down on the table near the sofa.  

“I will learn,” Wild nodded, then committed the contents of Artful’s tray to his mind. A vegetable salad, mushroom and buckwheat soup, an assortment of peanut butter cookies, and a pear. Wild considered the thought of learning how to bake so that he could perhaps make those cookies himself one day. He thought it would be quite a nice gesture.

The two young stallions settled down on the sofa together and, for a time, ate in companionable silence, leaning on each other. Wild idly wondered if they would grow old together and do this very same thing time and time again, possibly every morning. It seemed... romantic.  

He silently chastised himself for thinking this far ahead. It was entirely possible that their relationship simply wouldn’t work out, that their differences and individual issues would eventually make it all fall apart. He hoped it would not be the case, but he still remained aware of the possibility.

As they ate, a thought came to Wild’s mind, which he decided to voice.

“When we are in Canterlot,” he started, “Is... is there something- somewhere we can go... together? For, a uh, a... romantic... thing?”

He cringed inwardly at his own awkwardness, but Artful didn’t seem to mind it. If anything, Wild could feel that Artful thought it was endearing and cute. Wild didn’t see why, but then he was continuously baffled by the fact that Artful saw anything likable about him at all in the first place. He was aware he really should someday stop thinking so badly about himself, but he just couldn’t help himself.  

“Well, we’ll be given some small allowance to do, um, whatever, so...” Artful became thoughtful for a moment, “I don’t really know any places, so I guess we can just, you know, walk around and see if anything catches our eye. Are you thinking of something, um, specific?”

“...I do not know,” Wild admitted, “We could... go eat together at a place? Or... something else.”

Wild knew a few things about dating, though nothing from personal experience. And it was dating that he was doing now or, perhaps, was supposed to do. People in a romantic relationship went to restaurants to dine together, that much he knew. Maybe go watch a movie, and he didn’t quite remember whether Equestria even had movies. There were romantic outings on a beach, though Canterlot couldn’t possibly have one.

Wild wished he could ask his parents about their own experiences, especially his father’s. After all, he had admitted to Wild that he had had some gay relationships over the years before he settled with Wild’s mother. Wild would never get the answers now, he knew, but he still couldn’t help but wonder what his father would’ve said.  

Wild tried to picture himself and Artful being in a family like his parents were, and he couldn’t. He could picture himself together with Artful, just in a general sense of the word, but living in the same house, working jobs, that was beyond his imagination at that point. Without a doubt, Artful would be an artist, he clearly had talent and skill, and Wild... considering his magical power, he would be able to find something, possibly even something that paid very well, but he didn’t know if that was what he wanted to do forever.  

“We will figure it out,” Artful said, and Wild nodded. At least he wasn’t alone in navigating the path to adulthood.

***

“Well hello, lovebirds,” Precision quipped when Wild and Artful showed up at dinner. Wild would have shrunk away from this attention, yet the presence of his... coltfriend? Whatever the term was, Artful was with him, and that made it easier. Even if he was not particularly comfortable with being completely public. He was certainly far from ready to kiss Artful where anyone could see, but at least he was strong enough not to hide the relationship entirely.  

“Oh, you two are in a relationship now?” Swingblade said, “Neat, congrats,” and then he returned to his food.  

“Hey there, gay brothers from different mothers,” Pebbles said. She had stuck around at meal times and also spent her time with Precision doing... possibly what Wild was doing with Artful, Wild guessed. Or perhaps something more, but it wasn’t his business, so he did his best not to think of it, “What’s up?”

“Yep, we’re together now,” Artful confirmed, his heavy blush betraying how he felt despite his calm and chirpy answer.

Wild simply nodded as he set down his food tray and also helped Artful with his own. It was the right thing to do. He remembered that when a boy dated a girl, the boy would need to do that kind of thing, like pulling the chair out for the girl to sit on. Wild decided that following those half-forgotten second-hand things he saw about dating was better than nothing.

“Sooo, the sleepover’s still on?” Pebbles asked, “Or are you two gonna, y’know, have your own?”

“Peebs,” Precision spoke in a light warning tone.

“What?”

“Some ponies are a bit more private than you, you know.”

“It’s not like I’m outright saying that they’re fu-”

At that moment, an apple lodged itself in Pebbles’ maw courtesy of Precision’s magic, which Wild was grateful for. It wasn’t exactly vague what it was that she wanted to say, and the picture that it brought to Wild’s mind was, while not unpleasant by any stretch of imagination, would likely lead to an awkward moment if he let himself focus on it. Pebbles muttered something before taking the apple out and taking a chunk out of it.

“A’ight, point taken,” she shrugged, but still gave a meaningful glance towards Wild and Artful. Wild did his very best not to catch whatever it was that she thought about it all.

A few beats of silence passed before Artful broke it, changing the topic.

“Jade said they’re not going to the sleepover,” he said, “Busy with some things. But I’m still in.”

“Same with me,” Swingblade said in between bites of his food, “Won’t be bringing anyone, though.”

“As if you ever could,” Precision teased him.

“When I do, I’m gonna kiss her right in front of you,” Swingblade promised.

“What if she’s into it?” Pebbles chimed in, leading to Swingblade sputtering.

“I’m not!” Precision denied vehemently, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Wild lost some color in his face. He would never be able to do... the deed if someone was watching purposefully. And there would never be a camera to capture any of the action. He breathed in deeply, held it for a moment, and breathed out. It was fine, it was alright, none of them meant it in the way that happened to him. Another deep breath, another slow exhale, and he became aware of Artful’s concerned gaze.  

“I am fine,” Wild assured him quietly as Precision and Swingblade bickered, Pebbles encouraging them from the side, “Some... bad memories.”

“You want me to help you ground yourself?” Artful asked seriously.  

Wild shook his head even as gratitude bloomed in his chest. What did he ever do to deserve someone as thoughtful as Artful?  

“When I experience bad memories, it helps,” Artful explained, “I don’t get those moments much anymore, but it’s good when I, you know, realize where and when I am. That I’m not back then, right?”

“I know grounding,” Wild said, “But I am fine. It is... a moment. Not... not getting deep into a memory. Not... reliving it.”

“Alright,” Artful said, “If you ever need my help, just ask, alright? Even if all you need is just me talking. It’s no problem at all, really.”

“I... should not burden you with my things,” Wild said shamefully.

“It is not a burden,” Artful assured him, leaning a bit closer. Wild caught a thought from Pebbles that she had noticed what was going on but was purposefully distracting Precision and Swingblade from doing the same. A tiny drop of guilt was there too, shame at having caused it. Wild let the rest wash over him.

“It is not?” he asked.

“No. I chose you, and that means I chose all of you,” Artful said, “It is my choice. Don’t be ashamed of who you are, okay? You’ll pull through, and I’ll help when I can.”

Wild swallowed and nodded. He really did not deserve Artful, but he didn’t voice that thought. Instead, he would allow himself to calm down and to bask in the presence of someone who cared about him and who, honestly, without reservations, chose him over many, many, many others.  

Over time, the bickering ceased, and the group returned to discussing the sleepover. Thanks to Pebbles’ efforts, Swingblade and Precision did indeed not notice anything wrong, and so the conversation continued without the heavy shadow of Wild’s memories and reactions hanging over it.

“So, tomorrow, we’re gonna assemble at an hour past noon,” Precision said. While it was Wild who proposed the entire thing, he was more than happy to leave any concrete planning to someone who could speak about it without stutters and pauses, “Bring some games, bring our sleeping bags because I doubt we’ll have enough space for everyone without them, and off we go. Everyone’s alright with that?”

Everyone nodded.

“So yeah, we do some stuff, we sleep, then we go to meet Powder Nose, and he’s gonna lead us to the train station and all. He said he’s gonna explain how our Canterlot visit is going to happen,” Precision finished, “We should be mostly on our own, though, so we’ll do whatever once we’re in Canterlot. See what happens then, yeah?”

Everyone agreed once again, and now the only thing they needed to do was finish dinner and attend to whatever business they had. Wild was more than alright with that, and he felt like he would very much like to cuddle with Artful, maybe even long enough for the two of them to fall asleep together. It would distract him from any bad thoughts that could arise, and it would no doubt be quite pleasant as well.

Despite his reservations, he was very glad he decided to try and see if he could make a relationship work. So far so good, and he intended to keep it that way.