Applied Mathemagics

[Riddlest]

I wake on impact.

The first thing I feel is pain.

Sharp, agonizing pain, lancing up my legs like fire.

A sickening crack splinters through my bones as I hit the ground, the force rattling through me like a snapped wire. The breath is ripped from my lungs, my body folding against itself as I skid through burning-hot sand, my broken legs twisting wrong.

I don't scream.

I don't have the air to scream.

I just exist in the pain, my body writhing against itself, my mind struggling to catch up with reality.

I don't know how long I lay there.

Seconds. Minutes.

Long enough for the world to settle around me.

Long enough for the pain to become real.

It's bright. Too bright. The sky overhead is searing, empty and endless, the sun beating down like an executioner's blade. There's nothing but sand, stretching far and wide, an ocean of dull, shifting gold.

My breath shudders out of me in weak, ragged bursts. My body hurts in a way that doesn't feel fixable.

But something is wrong.

I can't move.

Not just because of the pain—though that would be enough—but because my body is sinking.

The realization hits me too late.

The sand around me is shifting, pulling, dragging.

A sinkhole.

A slow, merciless descent into the earth, swallowing me inch by inch.

My chest tightens. Panic flickers at the edges of my mind, creeping in like a whisper.

No.

No, no, no, no—

I try to move, try to shift, try to crawl, but my legs are useless.

My magic—

I reach for it, but it slips through my mind like water through broken fingers. The pain—the pain—it's too much, my focus splintering apart, my ability to grasp my own power severed by the agony radiating through my body.

I can't breathe.

The sand rises past my chest, past my shoulders.

I struggle, but it only pulls me down faster.

I try to speak, but my throat is dry, my voice shredded from the impact.

I try to think, but my mind is clouded, dizzy, unable to string together anything that will save me.

I try to do anything—

But I sink.

The sand swallows my neck.

My mouth.

My eyes.

Darkness.

Thick, heavy, suffocating.

The weight of the sand presses in from all sides, coarse grains grinding against my fur, forcing themselves into my mouth, my nose, my eyes. My lungs burn, my body screams, and my mind—

My mind is fraying.

I reach for my magic again, but it slips through my grasp, slipping through the cracks of my fractured concentration. The pain is overwhelming, drowning out my focus, making it impossible to think.

This is it.

This is how I die.

Buried. Crushed. Alone.

A forgotten thing, swallowed by the desert.

I refuse.

With the last shred of my will, I force my magic outward—not as a shield, not as a grand spell, but as the simplest, most desperate thing I can manage.

Push.

The sand resists. It fights me, pressing, collapsing in from all sides.

But I push back.

It takes everything I have left. The sheer pain of it makes my head spin, my skull feel like it's fracturing under the pressure of my own magic. But I keep going, gritting my teeth as I carve out the smallest, barest pocket of space—

Just enough to keep my head fron the suffocating weight.

Just enough to breathe.

The sand churns around me, pulling me deeper, deeper, dragging me down like I'm caught in the throat of a starving beast. My broken legs are useless, twisted in the wrong directions, sending white-hot agony through me with every slight movement.

I don't know how long I sink.

Minutes? Hours?

It feels endless.

The pressure builds, the air thick and stale. The deeper I go, the harder it becomes to hold the pocket open. My magic flickers, my focus fraying, exhaustion creeping in like a death sentence.

The crushing sunlight is gone, replaced by an eerie, absolute darkness. There's no sound, no wind, no movement—just the steady grind of shifting sand, an invisible force dragging me downward.

I feel like I'm falling.

Like I'm plummeting into the belly of the world.

And there's no bottom in sight.

---

I don't hit the bottom.

I spill into it.

The sand collapses beneath me, and suddenly, I'm falling, tumbling, rolling down a steep incline of shifting grains. The momentum tears at my broken legs, jolting the shattered bones with every sickening bounce. My body twists, limp and weightless, before slamming into solid ground.

Jagged rock.

A fresh wave of pain lances through me. My breath leaves in a choked, rasping gasp, sand filling my mouth and clinging to my fur.

I'm alive.

Somehow.

But I don't move.

I can't.

Not yet.

I just lay there, sprawled on my side at the foot of the sand pile, trembling, trying to breathe past the sheer agony of it all. My pulse thunders in my skull, and the heat—gods, the heat—presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating, like a living thing.

It's hot.

Not desert hot. Not sunburnt sand hot.

This is wrong.

I force my eyes open, blinking against the grit. My vision swims, unfocused and hazy, but the colors—

Deep, burning reds. Veins of molten rock pulse dimly in the distance, casting eerie, flickering light against the jagged cavern walls. Shadows stretch unnaturally, twisting against the uneven surfaces like something alive. The air is thick with the scent of sulfur, acrid and bitter against the back of my throat.

This isn't the Badlands.

Is this hell?

The land does not end. It just keeps going, stretching out into blackened rock and yawning chasms, into depths I can't even see.

I have no idea how far I fell.

No idea how deep this place goes.

But I know one thing for certain—

I'm not supposed to be here.

I lay there.

I don't move.

I don't think.

I just breathe. Shallow, ragged breaths that barely fill my lungs. Each inhale tastes like sulfur and scorched earth, burning my throat, making my chest ache.

The pain is unbearable.

My legs are ruined. Broken in ways that shouldn't be possible. I can't even tell which part of me hurts anymore, because it's all just one giant, throbbing wrongness.

I should give up.

Just lay here. Let this place take me.

I let the thought sit there for a while.

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.

I don't want to move.

But I know I have to.

Slowly—carefully—I reach for my magic again.

It flickers at first, weak, unstable. Pain lances through my skull as I try to focus, my broken body rebelling against the very act of existing. The agony is too much, my mind too scattered.

I try again.

And again.

And on the fourth attempt, my horn sparks to life.

I exhale sharply, forcing my concentration forward, focusing not on my body, not on my pain, but on the ground beneath me.

I shift the intergranular bonds of the stone, manipulating the forces between them, weakening their cohesion just enough to cut.

A slab.

I carve out a thick, flat piece of stone, just large enough to support my midsection.

The first attempt is a failure—my magic sputters, the pain in my legs breaking my concentration, and the slab crumbles before I can even lift it.

I grit my teeth and try again.

The second attempt holds.

I breathe.

And then, with painful, deliberate effort, I shift my weight, sliding my torso onto the slab, dragging it under with shaky telekinesis.

The moment my broken legs leave the ground, the pain shifts—less sharp, more dull and distant. The relief is temporary, but it's enough.

I dangle my useless limbs off the edges, letting them hang there, limp and motionless.

I move.

Slowly.

The slab glides above the rocky floor, carrying me forward, bypassing my shattered legs entirely.

I can't move quickly.

It's not efficient.

But it's something.

And right now, something is all I have.

The stone slab glides forward, slow and uneven, shifting slightly with each pulse of my telekinesis. It's a rough ride, but it's movement. It's progress.

And as I move, I start to see.

Really see this place.

It's massive.

Impossibly massive.

Despite being underground, the ceiling is high, huge stalactites covering the surface. The air is thick with the scent of sulfur and burning rock, oppressive and suffocating, but beneath that, there's something else.

Something alive.

The cavern isn't still.

It breathes.

Huge magma rivers twist and snake through the landscape, carving through jagged black rock like glowing arteries, their molten glow the only real source of light. Shadows flicker and stretch across the cavern walls, distorted and elongated by the wavering heat.

Massive, mountainous structures loom in the distance, formed not from time or erosion, but from something else. Something deliberate. The shapes are too precise, too carved, like remnants of things that once stood, now eroded into barely recognizable silhouettes.

Ruins?

I don't know.

I don't want to know.

Because the worst part—the part that really gets under my skin—

Is the sound.

I can hear them.

Creatures.

Moving. Watching.

Never close enough to see. Never more than a glimpse—a flicker of motion in my peripheral vision, a shifting shadow against the cavern walls.

But they're there.

They skitter. They breathe. They whisper.

Soft, guttural sounds, low and distant, but unmistakably alive.

I am not alone down here.

The first warning is the wind.

A rush of air, sudden and unnatural, swirling the heat around me in a violent spiral.

Then comes the shadow.

It falls over me like a predator's gaze, vast and shifting, moving too fast to be something natural. I barely have time to react before the thing dives, a rolling wave of blackened soot cascading toward me like a living storm.

I move.

The slab beneath me jerks as I throw everything I have into pushing it sideways, my magic flickering from the sheer effort. Pain lances through my skull, my broken legs jolting uselessly with every shift.

I'm too slow.

The thing engulfs me.

Heat.

Burning, suffocating heat, wrapping around me like living smoke. The air is ripped from my lungs as the ash seeps into every crevice, pressing into my mouth, my nose, trying to choke me. My vision vanishes in the swirling black haze, thick and alive, coiling around me like it wants to be inside my lungs.

My magic sputters.

I panic.

Instinct kicks in, raw and desperate, and I lash out with the only thing I can still control—

Telekinesis.

I push.

The force ripples through the air, shoving the ashen mass back in a sudden explosion of movement.

The heat relents.

I gasp, sucking in the acrid, sulfur-choked air, coughing violently as the remnants of the burning soot cling to my fur. I can barely see through the haze, but the thing is still there, reforming, swirling back toward me, an amorphous cloud with glints of deep, angry red glowing within.

I see it now.

A drake.

Not flesh. Not bone.

A creature of pure ash, with wings made of smoke and a body of shifting, weightless soot. It doesn't have a form, not really—just a roiling, semi-dragon shape, barely holding itself together.

It moves again.

I don't think.

I grab.

Telekinesis locks around the swirling mass, seizing it mid-air.

It struggles.

The ash thrashes against my grip, shifting, breaking apart, trying to slip through. The heat burns against my magic, resisting, fighting—alive.

It's strong.

I grit my teeth, pouring more into it, my horn aching from the exertion. My magic wobbles under the strain, nearly breaking—

No.

No, I won't let go.

I tighten my grip.

The thing shrieks.

The sound is distorted, hollow, like wind howling through an empty canyon. It writhes in my grasp, twisting, trying to escape, but I won't let it.

I condense.

I force the swirling cloud inward, crushing it, pulling it together like compacting a dying star. The resistance is immediate—a violent pulse of heat radiates outward, my magic straining to hold it.

It screams.

A horrible, fractured wail—deep, resonant, dying.

Then—

A crack.

Something shatters.

The heat vanishes.

The ash collapses in on itself, spiraling downward in a fine, lifeless dust.

And then—

A clink.

Shards of a red gem drops to the stone floor.

Dead.

I stare at it for a long moment, my breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

The drake is gone.

Silence settles over the cavern once more.

I don't move.

I don't breathe.

I sit there for a long moment, staring at the crumbling remains of the gem, my breath still unsteady.

Then, finally, I exhale and force myself to think.

I'm hurt. I'm exhausted. And now, apparently, I'm in a place where even the air wants to kill me.

I need to take stock.

Slowly, I shift my weight on the slab, wincing as the pain in my legs flares back to the forefront of my mind. I reach for my saddlebags, fumbling slightly as I check inside.

Still there.

I breathe a little easier.

Inventory:

• Two books on runes (good condition, slightly sand-covered)
• Small bag of bits (useless here, but still nice to have)
• Chalk bag (thank everything for that, I'd be screwed without it)
• A few odds and ends (quill, ink, some old notes, nothing particularly useful)

Nothing for food.

Nothing for water.

A pit settles in my stomach.

I don't feel hungry or thirsty yet, but I will.

I need a plan.

I need to move.

I glance back at the pile of fine dust that was once a drake, then down at the shattered remnants of its gem core.

I don't know what that thing was.

But I know it won't be the last.

I steel myself, sucking in a slow breath.

Then, carefully, I direct my magic to the slab beneath me, tilting it forward slightly.

And I keep moving.

The glow of the magma river grows brighter as I drift closer, the heat intensifying with every inch. The air ripples around it, thick with sulfur and shimmering waves of distortion, making the whole cavern feel alive.

I don't get too close. I'm not that stupid.

But the river is a landmark. A guide. A light. If I stay near it, I can keep track of where I'm going, maybe find something useful.

I don't trust this place.

But I can use it.

Cautiously, I reach out with my magic, focusing on the air around me. The heat here is oppressive, rolling off the magma in waves, but I have an idea.

I slow the atoms, pulling the energy from them, forcing the surrounding heat to drop.

It works.

The air cools slightly in a small radius around me—not much, but enough to give me a moment to breathe.

I inch closer, scanning the river curiously, I've never seen lava before, I wonder if—

The surface erupts.

A massive form bursts from the molten depths, a wave of liquid fire cascading outward.

I barely pull my slab back in time, a blast of scalding air washing over me as something lands with a thud against the rock.

I see it now.

A salamander.

A big one.

Its skin is dark, mottled with ember-like patterns glowing just beneath the surface. Its limbs are thick, its claws sharp, its mouth stretching into a jagged snarl.

And it is angry.

It lunges.

I react.

I reach out with my telekinesis, grabbing a section of magma—pure, molten rock—and rip it from the river.

The heat is overwhelming. The strain on my magic is immense, the liquid fire resisting my grip, trying to burn through my hold.

But I don't let go.

I wrap it around the oversized salamander.

And I cool it near-instantaneously.

The magma hardens, its heat ripped away in a fraction of a second, shifting from molten to solid obsidian in an instant.

And the salamander is caught.

The black volcanic glass encases its limbs, trapping it mid-strike, its jaws snapping just short of me.

It thrashes, eyes flaring with rage, but it's too late.

I let out a slow, shuddering breath, staring at the half-trapped beast.

Then, with grim determination, I reach out again—

And pull another chunk of magma free.

I shape it. Fast.

The transition from liquid to solid is near-instantaneous, forming a long, jagged blade of pure, cooled obsidian.

A sword.

Not perfect. Not balanced.

But sharp.

The salamander lets out a shrill, furious cry, straining against its bonds, but I don't hesitate.

I end it.

The obsidian blade drives deep, piercing through flesh and fire, silencing it in a single strike.

For a moment, all is still.

Then the cavern falls silent once more, save for the quiet hiss of cooling rock.

I stare at the creature's lifeless body.

Then, slowly, I pull the blade free, the black glass gleaming in the dim, flickering light.

I have a weapon now.

And I'm going to need it.

I stare at the dead salamander for a long moment, my body aching, my head heavy from exertion. The heat from the magma river flickers across the cavern walls, casting deep, shifting shadows over its massive form.

My stomach twists.

It takes me a second to recognize why.

Hunger.

Thirst.

I haven't had anything since… Canterlot. Since before I was blasted into this hellscape, before I woke up buried in sand with shattered legs.

It's not desperate yet. Not bad. But it will be.

And down here, there's no telling when I'll get another opportunity.

I drag in a slow, measured breath and get to work.

The first step is liquid.

I use telekinesis to separate the salamander in half, pulling apart its molecular bonds with careful precision. The flesh parts effortlessly, cleanly, the inside still radiating warmth from the heat of its molten environment.

And it's meat.

Not stone. Not fire. Not some incomprehensible, otherworldly anatomy.

Just flesh.

I exhale slightly in relief, forcing the ache in my limbs to the background.

Then I focus on what I really need.

Water.

I know bodies are mostly water. I know I can extract it, I've done it before.

I pull.

The effect is immediate.

The salamander's body shudders, its flesh darkening and shriveling as the moisture leaves it, rising into the air in shimmering droplets before merging into a floating, twisting mass of pure liquid.

More and more rises, pulling from deep within, until—

I realize just how much there is.

A lot.

A disturbing amount.

The sphere of water in front of me grows huge, shimmering in my telekinetic grip, the weight of it pressing against my magic in heavy, shifting waves.

Sixty liters.

At least.

I stare at it, stunned.

I knew creatures carried water, but this much?

Maybe it had something to do with its environment, how it survived inside magma. Maybe the water inside it had to be pressurized, compacted in some weird biological way to keep it from evaporating.

Doesn't matter.

What does matter is that it's pure.

By pulling the molecules apart and reconstructing them into a single mass, I'd stripped away everything else—minerals, impurities, contaminants. What I have now is clean.

I don't even hesitate.

I drink.

I pull some of the liquid free from the main mass and down it in greedy gulps, the cool sensation spreading through me like life itself. The dryness in my throat vanishes, the burning ache in my chest fading slightly.

It's like oxygen after drowning.

I don't drink it all. I need to ration.

I separate thirty liters, keeping it suspended in my magic, the rest dripping uselessly into the rock below.

I can't store it. I have no bottles, no canteens. The only way I can carry it is with my telekinesis.

So that's what I do.

Water problem: solved.

Next step: meat.

I move the dried husk of one half of the salamander aside and turn to the other.

It's still fresh. Still raw.

Still useful.

I shift it onto a slab and move it closer to the magma river, letting the waves of radiating energy cook the meat slowly. I control it, monitoring the temperature, keeping the process steady and even.

It sizzles, the outer layers crisping, the smell of roasting flesh thick in the air.

By the time it's done, my body is tired. Every movement, every pulse of magic, every moment spent awake is agony.

But I eat.

I force myself to eat.

And I keep moving.

I keep moving until I can't.

My body is done.

The pain, the exhaustion, the slow gnawing ache of my broken legs—it all catches up at once, pressing down like a weight I can't shake off.

I need to rest.

I glance around, scanning the cavern for anything that could be shelter, anything that would hide me from the creatures I know are lurking just out of view.

The mountainous formations in the distance catch my attention.

Large. Solid.

They'll do.

I glide toward one, slowing as I reach its jagged, uneven base. It's pure rock—dense, thick. Good. I need something that will hold, something that won't shift or crumble while I sleep.

I reach out with my magic, pressing my will into the stone, searching for the bonds that hold it together.

And I separate them.

It's like slicing into butter.

The mountain yields beneath my will, the intergranular bonds of the rock breaking apart in an instant, clean and precise. A massive chunk detaches, revealing a deep, hollowed-out space inside.

It's large enough for me and my stuff to fit, but not much else.

Good.

I glide my slab forward, sliding myself inside, and carefully trim the back wall, deepening the space just enough so I won't feel trapped.

Then I seal it.

The rock I cut out shifts back into place, my magic sealing it with near-perfect precision—except for a few, small air holes.

I don't trust the air in this place, but I trust suffocation even less.

With that done, I shift my focus to my water.

I still have about 22 liters hovering in my grasp, but I need it to keep.

I slow the atoms, pulling the energy out of them, dropping the temperature as far as I can, adjusting the atoms into a lattice, and freezing it solid.

It should hold.

I sleep.

I don't know for how long. The exhaustion runs deeper than just my body—it sinks into my bones, my mind, pressing me down into a nothingness so complete that for a while, I forget where I am.

But when I wake—

The water is gone.

I don't understand at first.

I reach for it instinctively, expecting the cool weight of frozen liquid in my magic's grasp—only to find nothing.

Not spilled. Not stolen.

Just... gone.

Evaporated.

Even after freezing it solid, this place stole it from me.

I stare at the empty space where it used to be, my mouth dry, my throat aching.

Fuck. Why did I even think that would work?

I don't waste time panicking. I don't have time to panic.

I need water.

And I know where to find it.

I leave my shelter, gliding forward on my slab, my body still aching, my broken legs dangling uselessly beneath me. The cavern stretches out before me, as desolate and merciless as before.

I make my way back to the magma river.

The heat is suffocating, thick, pressing down against me like an invisible weight. The molten rock churns below, the light flickering, casting distorted shadows against the cavern walls.

I poke at it.

I use my magic to mess with the surface—adjusting the flow, disrupting the patterns, sending small pulses of telekinetic force across the top.

Bait.

I learned my lesson the first time.

I don't want to be ambushed. I don't want something waiting for me beneath the surface, creeping closer when I least expect it.

I want it to come now.

I want it to think it has the advantage.

For a few seconds, nothing happens.

Then—

The magma explodes.

A massive shape bursts out, sending molten rock splattering in every direction, the sheer size of it casting an impossible shadow against the cavern walls.

A centipede.

Huge.

Monstrous.

Its segmented body is covered in rocky plates, cracked and jagged, glowing deep red from the heat beneath its shell. A dozen legs, each ending in sharp, hooked claws, scramble for purchase against the cavern floor, its massive, gaping mandibles clacking open and shut, dripping with molten saliva.

It doesn't hesitate.

It lunges.

My slab yanks backward in an instant, my telekinesis ripping me out of range just as the centipede's mandibles slam down where I was moments ago. The impact shakes the cavern, cracks splitting across the stone from the sheer force.

I don't wait.

I look up.

The cavern ceiling is jagged, filled with sharp, towering stalactites, each one stretching downward like spears.

I grab one.

With a precise pulse of magic, I sever the bonds holding it in place.

The rock snaps free.

The centipede rears back, preparing to lunge again—

I guide the stalactites down, making slight adjustments as it falls.

It plunges through the air, its mass multiplied by the sheer force of gravity, cutting through the heat, cutting through the shadows—

And slams straight through the centipede's back.

A wet crack fills the air.

The centipede screeches—a horrible, reverberating wail that echoes across the cavern walls. It thrashes, its entire body convulsing as the rock pierces through its armored shell, splitting it open like a cracked stone.

Blood spills out in thick rivers, oozing from the wound, hissing as it makes contact with the cold stone floor.

It twitches.

Shudders.

Then—

It stops.

Dead.

I let out a slow, shaking breath.

Then, I move forward.

I don't waste time.

I do what I did before.

I pull the water from its body, ripping the moisture out, watching as the liquid coalesces in front of me

I pull a portion toward me, drinking deeply, letting the cool relief flood my parched throat. The taste is neutral, clean—better than anything I could have hoped for in this hellscape.

But I can't afford to lose the rest.

I need storage—something this place can't steal from me.

My eyes flick to the cavern floor, jagged and unyielding, but solid. I reach out with my magic, carefully manipulating the intergranular bonds of the rock beneath me.

Separate. Cut. Shape.

A hollowed-out stone container takes form, its sides smooth and thick. I lift it, inspecting it closely, making sure there are no cracks or imperfections.

It'll hold.

I gently guide the water inside, watching as the shimmering mass pours in, filling the carved basin.

Then, with a precise application of magic, I seal the top, fusing the stone together. The result is a solid container, airtight, unyielding.

The weight is noticeable—heavier than carrying it as a floating mass—but that's good.

It won't evaporate.

Water: secured. Again.

With water no longer a concern, I turn my attention to food.

The centipede's massive form is still sprawled across the cavern floor.

I move closer.

Using my telekinesis, I separate the flesh from the carapace, peeling away the rocky plating to reveal the soft meat inside. The texture is… strange, fibrous but not dissimilar to what I've eaten before.

I only take the fleshy bits, tearing them off before slicing it into manageable portions.

Then, like before, I use the magma river as a heat source, suspending the meat over the glowing surface, letting the intense radiating energy cook it through.

The scent is strong, rich, edible.

It isn't perfect, but it will sustain me.

I eat while I cook, not rationing yet—I'll have plenty to store when I'm done.

Food: secured.

Now I need to carry it all.

I could float everything with telekinesis, but that's too much strain to maintain indefinitely. I need a solution—something to move itself.

Something simple.

I glance at my rune books and open them, flipping through the pages, refreshing my memory on the symbols I need.

A cart.

Something that can move without me needing to constantly guide it.

I carve out the base first, shaping a flat, thick slab of stone, reinforcing it so it won't crumble under the weight. Then I carve raised edges, forming a container deep enough to hold my sealed water and cooked food.

Next, the movement system.

I etch two primary runes onto the underside:

A Fly Rune – to suspend the cart just above the ground, preventing unnecessary friction.
Direction Runes – one for each cardinal direction, ensuring the cart continues moving until told otherwise.
I don't want to constantly direct it, so instead of an order-based system, I keep it simple:

INITIAL CONDITIONS
cart_active = false
direction_set = false
current_direction = [0,0]

ACTIVATION RUNE
if command_heard("activate")
→ cart_active = true

DIRECTION RUNE
if command_heard("north")
→ direction_set = true
→ current_direction = [0,1]

if command_heard("south")
→ direction_set = true
→ current_direction = [0,-1]

if command_heard("east")
→ direction_set = true
→ current_direction = [1,0]

if command_heard("west")
→ direction_set = true
→ current_direction = [-1,0]

if cart_active and direction_set
→ fly(current_direction)

STOP RUNE
if command_heard("stop")
→ cart_active = false
→ direction_set = false

Unfortunately the cardinal directions in this case just correlate to random directions I chose.

I carve the runes deeply, ensuring they hold, then activate the system.

The cart hovers just slightly, stable and waiting.

I guide the sealed water into place, stacking the cooked meat beside it.

Finally, supplies secured, I take one last look at the cavern— "Activate: North."

And move forward.

I follow the magma river for what feels like hours.

The glow of the molten rock flickers against the cavern walls, casting twisted, flickering shadows that stretch impossibly far. The heat is relentless, rolling off the river in waves, but I've gotten used to it—or at least, as used to it as I can be.

The cart follows steadily behind me, hovering just above the ground, the runes humming faintly with latent energy. It's working perfectly, moving in the direction I set without complaint. All I have to do is supply the mana.

But my body is aching.

Even though I'm not walking, even though I'm not dragging anything, my exhaustion is growing again, pressing at the edges of my mind like a dull hammer.

And then—

The river ends.

I stop the cart.

Blink.

Stare.

The massive flow of magma I'd been following—my one reliable landmark—doesn't twist or branch or lead to some deeper passage.

It just slams into a wall.

No cracks. No openings. No tunnels leading deeper.

Just a fucking wall.

My ears flatten. My eye twitches.

I spit onto the ground.

"Fuck... Shit!"

The words echo through the cavern, swallowed quickly by the oppressive silence.

I stare at the wall for a long moment, jaw clenched.

I have no idea where to go.

This had been my plan—just follow the river. It had been working.

And now?

Nothing.

No direction. No clear path forward.

Just a wall and a lot of fucking magma.

I grit my teeth, breathing slowly, trying not to let the frustration take hold.

I need to stop for the night.

Even if I wanted to search for another path, I don't have the energy right now.

I turn, scanning the rocky surface, looking for a solid place to carve out shelter. The cavern wall where the river meets it is thick, dense, made of the same blackened volcanic stone as the rest of this place.

It'll do.

I reach out with my magic, pressing into the structure, feeling for its weakest points—

And cut through it.

The bonds break cleanly, and a section of the wall slides away, revealing a small, hollowed-out space just large enough for me and my cart.

I roll inside, hovering the cart in behind me, and seal the entrance—not completely, but enough that nothing can get in easily.

It's not perfect.

But it'll hold for the night.

And in the morning, I'll figure out where the fuck I'm supposed to go next.

---

I wake up feeling wrong.

Not just tired. Not just sore.

Wrong.

My legs—they don't move.

The moment I try, pain explodes through them, white-hot and unbearable. My breath catches in my throat, my vision going dark at the edges as I barely manage to not scream.

I grit my teeth, my whole body trembling as I force myself to breathe.

Slowly.

Shallow.

The swelling is worse. I don't even have to look to know. The joints feel locked, the muscles frozen in place, the kind of stiffness that means nothing is working right anymore.

I can't move them.

I can't move them at all.

I stare at the ceiling of my little alcove.

I don't move.

I don't try again.

For a long, long while, I just lay there.

I think about stopping.

I think about giving up.

It would be easy.

Just… stop fighting. Stop trying.

This place is going to take me eventually, isn't it?

The food will run out. The water will run out. I'll run out.

And for the first time since I got here, I realize—

I'm not even afraid anymore.

I feel numb.

Empty.

Maybe it would be better this way.

Maybe I should—

Thud Thud Thud

I freeze.

There's a sound.

Something moving outside.

I hold my breath, ears straining, listening harder.

The shuffling is faint, but fast. Deliberate.

Getting closer.

I go still, my entire body locking up, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.

I thought I wasn't scared.

I thought I had already stopped caring.

But now, I hold my breath like my life depends on it.

Now, I wait.

I don't move.

I don't breathe.

I want to live.

I don't want to die here, in this fucking hole in the wall.

The sound stops.

Right outside my alcove.

I wait.

One minute.

Two.

An hour.

It doesn't leave.

It doesn't move.

I'm not going to die in a box.

I can't take it anymore.

I let out a slow, controlled exhale, my magic coiling, ready to strike the moment I open my makeshift door—

I open it.

And it's Rachel.

I stare at her.

I don't breathe. I don't move. I just stare.

My mind struggles to catch up with what I'm seeing.

She's here.

Rachel is here.

The follow command. It was still active.

She stands perfectly still, her carved stone body unmoving, her expression as neutral as it always was. Her joints, her stance, her posture—exactly as I designed them.

And yet—

I have never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life.

My throat tightens, a choked sound catching before I can stop it. My body wants to move, to reach out, to grab hold of her like she's the only real thing in this nightmare—

But I can't.

I can't stand.

I can't hug her.

I can barely even breathe.

So I do the only thing I can do.

I move my slab closer, floating myself right next to her, my magic flickering with the sheer weight of exhaustion and relief crashing into me all at once.

And I nuzzle her.

I press my face against the cool, solid surface of her chest, the stone smooth and familiar, and sob.

I don't try to stop it.

I can't.

Tears burn hot trails down my face, my shoulders shaking, my entire body shuddering as the weight of everything—everything—finally cracks me open.

She's here.

I am not alone.

For the first time since waking up in this hell, I don't feel like I'm going to die here.

I cling to that feeling, to her presence, to the only thing in this place that doesn't want me dead.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself cry.

 

[Riddlest]

Eventually, the sobs slow.

My body still aches, my breath still shudders, but the sheer overwhelming relief has settled into something else.

Something solid.

Something determined.

I sniff, rubbing the tears and snot off my face with a half-hearted flick of my magic. Rachel's stone chest is damp with them, a dark streak marring the otherwise pristine surface.

I fix that too.

A precise application of telekinesis wipes her clean, smoothing the surface, returning her to the perfect, immaculate construct she was meant to be.

She stands there, unmoved, as I do it.

As if my breakdown meant nothing to her.

Because it didn't.

Because she isn't alive.

And that's… good.

That's why I made her.

She isn't alive. She isn't vulnerable. She doesn't die or break down or lose hope when things get bad.

She is constant.

And that is exactly what I need.

I sniff again, grabbing my rune book from the cart and flipping it open, my eyes scanning the pages as my resolve hardens.

I need to make her stronger.

If I deteriorate any further, if I get too weak to defend myself, Rachel needs to be able to protect me.

She's already durable—stone is stone, and her construction is solid—but right now, she's just an extension of my will. A tool. A glorified pack mule with arms.

That's not enough.

I carve.

My magic presses into her stone gently, adjusting the surface, etching new runes into her back and limbs with deliberate precision. If I mess up, it doesn't matter—I can fill in the mistakes and adjust.

The process is fast, efficient, methodical.

She will be able to fly.
She will be able to strike.
She will be able to avoid attacks automatically.
She will be able to defend.

She will be able to fight for me.

INITIAL CONDITIONS
creator_detected = false
following_creator = false
stopped = false
holding_target = false
target_detected = false
destination_set = false
attacking = false
flying = false
evading = false
defending = false

creator_position = [0,0]
golem_position = [0,0]
target_position = [0,0]
destination_position = [0,0]
attack_target = [0,0]
defend_target = [0,0]

body_parts = struct('head', true, 'arms', true, 'legs', true, 'torso', true)
total_mass = initial_mass

DETECTION RUNE
if detect(creator)
→ creator_detected = true
→ creator_position = get_position(creator)

if detect(target)
→ target_detected = true
→ target_position = get_position(target)

FLIGHT COMMAND RUNE
if command_heard("fly")
→ flying = true

if command_heard("land")
→ flying = false

if flying
→ disable_gravity()
→ engage_flight_stabilization()
→ adjust_altitude(creator_position or attack_target or destination_position)

if not flying
→ apply_gravity()

FOLLOW COMMAND RUNE
if command_heard("follow")
→ following_creator = true
→ stopped = false

if following_creator and not stopped
→ if flying
→ fly_to(creator_position)
→ else
→ move_to(creator_position)

STOP COMMAND RUNE
if command_heard("stop")
→ following_creator = false
→ stopped = true

PICK-UP RUNE
if command_heard("pick up") and target_detected and not holding_target
→ move_to(target_position)
→ hold(target)
→ holding_target = true

HOLD & FOLLOW / TRANSPORT RUNE
if holding_target and following_creator
→ if flying
→ fly_to(creator_position)
→ else
→ move_to(creator_position)

if command_heard("bring to") and target_detected
→ destination_position = get_destination()
→ destination_set = true

if holding_target and destination_set
→ if flying
→ fly_to(destination_position)
→ else
→ move_to(destination_position)

SET DOWN RUNE
if holding_target and command_heard("set down")
→ release(target)
→ holding_target = false
→ destination_set = false

MOVEMENT CORRECTION RUNE
if flying
→ engage_flight_stabilization()
→ adjust_altitude(creator_position or attack_target or destination_position)

if not flying
→ if following_creator or moving_to_target or moving_to_destination
→ engage_leg_joints()
→ balance_weight_distribution()
→ step_toward(target_position or creator_position or destination_position)

if off_ground and not intentional_float and not flying
→ apply_gravity()

ATTACK COMMAND RUNE
if command_heard("attack") and target_detected
→ attacking = true
→ attack_target = target_position

if attacking
→ if flying
→ fly_to(attack_target)
→ else
→ move_to(attack_target)

→ if within_range(attack_target)
→ strike(attack_target)
→ evaluate_damage(attack_target)
→ if target_defeated(attack_target)
→ attacking = false
→ target_detected = false

DEFEND COMMAND RUNE
if command_heard("defend") and target_detected
→ defending = true
→ defend_target = target_position

if command_heard("stop defending")
→ defending = false
→ defend_target = [0,0]

if defending
→ monitor_area(defend_target)
→ if detect(entity) and entity != defend_target
→ attack_target = get_position(entity)
→ attacking = true

ATTACK AVOIDANCE RUNE
if detect(incoming_attack)
→ evading = true
→ determine_evasion_path()

if evading
→ if flying
→ execute_aerial_evasion()
→ else
→ execute_ground_evasion()

→ if attack_missed()
→ evading = false

REGENERATION RUNE
if any_missing(body_parts)
→ nearest_earth = find_earth_source()
→ move_to_source(nearest_earth)
→ absorb_earth()
→ restore_missing_parts(body_parts)
→ update_mass(total_mass)
→ motion_state = "repairing"

I move back, inspecting my work, rolling the concepts through my mind, ensuring every function is sound before I activate anything.

She's almost perfect now.

…But there is one more thing I could add.

My eyes flick to the sentience rune.

The one that would make her think.

That would make her aware.

That would give her a mind of her own.

I stare at it for a long moment, my magic hovering over the page, hesitation curling in my chest like a slow, creeping shadow.

Rachel would be more than a construct.

She would be herself.

She would be alive.

I swallow hard.

I look around at the hellscape I'm trapped in.

The blackened stone. The endless caverns. The monsters lurking in the dark.

The sheer, merciless cruelty of this place.

Rachel is perfect because she is unfazed.

Unyielding.

Unbroken.

What would happen if she could think? If she could feel? If she could want?

She would suffer.

Just like me.

My eyes linger on the sentience rune for a moment longer.

Then, slowly, I pull back.

Rachel stays as she is.

I hover myself onto the cart, positioning myself carefully so that my weight is evenly distributed. My legs ache, but it's dull—manageable.

For now.

I inject magic into the runes, feeling the faint hum of power as the carved symbols activate. The cart shifts slightly beneath me, responding instantly.

"Activate: West."

The cart moves.

Rachel follows.

The wall of the massive cavern stretches endlessly to my right as we glide forward, the lava river flickering dimly in the distance. The air is thick, humid from the heat, but it feels lifeless—like something that hasn't changed in centuries.

I occasionally open the stone basin and drink from the water, letting the coolness refresh me. I eat some of the centipede meat, chewing slowly, deliberately.

But I can tell.

I'm getting worse.

My legs ache more than before. The swelling hasn't gone down, not really. I don't know if I moved too much today or if it's just progressing on its own, but the realization sits heavy in my mind.

Still, I push forward.

There's nothing else to do.

Nothing but keep going, resting in-between.

---

After resting, we push out of the small cave within a cave and set off again.

My legs aren't stiff anymore. They're dead weight.

The pain isn't sharp—not yet—but it feels wrong, deep beneath the skin. Like something has settled inside my flesh and started rotting from within.

But I don't have time to think about it.

Because I hear them before I see them.

A low, buzzing drone, faint at first.

Then closer.

Louder.

Something is coming.

I lift my head weakly, scanning the cavern.

Then I see them.

A swarm.

Dark, writhing, crawling over itself in a living mass.

I don't know what they are.

I don't care.

They move with purpose, rushing toward us in a shifting, wriggling wave, hundreds of them, their small, chittering bodies glinting in the lava light.

I react instantly.

"Rachel—attack!"

She moves.

For the first time since she arrived, Rachel lunges forward, her stone limbs shifting fluidly, her joints moving seamlessly. The runes work perfectly—she dodges, she strikes, her fists crushing the creatures beneath her, sending shattered carapaces flying.

But there are too many.

I lift myself into the air, hovering just above the cart. My telekinesis lashes out, grabbing a chunk of loose stone from the cavern floor and pulverizing it midair, turning it into a cloud of fine, razor-sharp dust.

Then I force it outward.

A shockwave of sharp particles erupts, slicing through the swarm, tearing wings and limbs from their bodies.

They screech.

They scatter.

And then—

It's over.

The cavern is silent again.

I exhale, shaking, my body trembling from exertion. I check myself over, making sure no bugs got through.

Then I realize—

One of my legs is worse than the others.

Much worse.

I look down.

The leg looks wrong.

The other three? Still swollen, still aching, but not as bad. The pain has eased slightly, the stiffness less suffocating.

But the fourth leg…

The flesh is taut, stretched too tight over the limb. Darker than before. Bruised? Maybe. But there's something else.

Something off.

A dull, throbbing heat pulses beneath the skin, slow and wrong. The kind of warmth that feels unnatural, like something is cooking me from the inside out.

I swallow hard.

This isn't good.

This is really not good.

I try to move it, just to test it—

A sharp, searing pain explodes up my limb, tearing through my body like fire.

I bite down a shout, my vision flashing white from the agony. My stomach churns, my mind blurs with the sheer intensity of it.

I pull away, breathing heavily.

The realization sinks in.

It's not just pain.

It's dying.

My leg is dying.

---

It's been around a day. Or not, hard to tell.

I can't move the leg anymore.

It's heavy. Dead weight.

I barely slept. Every time I drifted off, I'd jolt awake from the deep, gnawing ache crawling up my bones.

I drink. I eat.

But I don't feel better.

It's spreading.

I can tell.

My body feels wrong—not just in my legs, but all over, like my blood isn't moving right.

Like something inside me is failing.

I don't want to think about it.

I just keep moving.

The cart hums softly as it drifts forward, Rachel walking silently beside it. She never tired, never slowed, never felt pain.

She just existed.

I stare at her as we move, my body cold, my chest tight.

I wonder how much longer I will.

I'm burning up.

Not from the heat of the cavern—not from the magma river still flickering in the distance.

It's internal. Deep.

A sickness crawling through my blood, thick and heavy like molten lead. My body aches, the fever sinking into my bones, leaving me lightheaded and detached.

I barely notice when I start shivering.

It's not cold here.

But my body doesn't know that anymore.

I glance down at my dead leg—the rotting, useless limb still attached to me.

It's black.

Cold. Numb.

The flesh looks dry, cracked—like it belongs to something long-dead.

I don't need a doctor to tell me what comes next.

I either cut it off now—or I die with it.

I veer off course, directing the cart toward a smaller magma stream branching from the main river.

Rachel follows.

She doesn't question. She doesn't understand.

Good.

I hover myself onto solid ground, lowering my slab carefully. Every movement shakes me, my limbs trembling uncontrollably from fever, exhaustion, pure fucking dread—

But I can't stop now.

I won't.

"Rachel, Defend: Creator."

I gather my materials.

A plan. A method. A way to make it work.

If I mess this up, I bleed out.

If I hesitate, the infection spreads.

I take a shaking breath.

And I begin.

I lift my obsidian sword over the magma, holding it still as the heat bleeds into it.

The black glass darkens—then glows red-hot, the heat rippling through the air.

The edges are sharp, but I don't need to cut with it.

Not yet.

I press the flat edge close to the surface of the magma, ensuring it's evenly heated, making sure it holds the temperature.

The world tilts slightly.

I can feel my heartbeat in my ears.

Too fast. Too weak.

I don't have long.

I lift the blade.

And press it against my leg.

Pain explodes.

A searing shockwave tears through my nerves, and my magic flickers.

The blade shudders, nearly slipping from my grip.

I grit my teeth, pulling my power back under control.

The heated obsidian sinks into dead flesh, sealing arteries before they can open.

I can't scream.

I can't breathe.

I just focus on the method.

Small sections. Work in pieces.

I sear the blood vessels before the stump is fully exposed, keeping control, not letting it get out of hand.

The smell of burnt flesh is thick—suffocating.

But it means it's working.

I keep going.

The blade dips for a moment. My telekinesis flickers again.

The heat bites into raw nerve endings, and for a second, I nearly drop it.

I catch it just before it falls, forcing the magic steady.

Almost there.

Another pulse of agony—my horn sparks, my grip weakens.

No—

I shove the blade back against the wound, finishing the last section before my power gives out completely.

It clatters to the ground.

I barely register it.

I nearly black out when the cauterization is finished.

Everything spins.

My whole body is screaming in protest, drenched in sweat, burning with fever, shaking so violently I almost lose control of my magic.

But I can't stop yet.

I grab a chunk of earth, compacting it, shaping it carefully, pressing it into form.

I heat it over the magma—not to glowing-hot levels, but just enough.

Sterilized.

I smooth the inner surface, ensuring it won't cut into the healing flesh, making sure it's not rough or jagged.

The heat is seeping into me, pressing against my already burning skin, my fever-wrecked body barely holding together.

Just a little longer.

I hold the cap in my grip, hovering it over the stump, ready to seal the wound.

I brace myself.

I press it down.

Gently—but firmly.

The heat bites into my raw, cauterized flesh, the pressure securing the wound, keeping it from reopening, locking out infection. I adjust it to clamp on my stub.

It cools slowly, hardening in place.

A barrier. A pressure dressing. A foundation for whatever comes next.

It's over.

I exhale sharply, my vision blurring, my limbs failing—

I slump sideways, collapsing against Rachel's stone legs, my body giving out completely.

Everything feels far away.

Distant.

My mind drifts, slipping further—

Until everything goes dark.

---

The world is a blur.

My body burns, my mind floats, slipping between fevered delirium and brief moments of agonizing awareness.

I am dying.

I feel it.

And yet… I am not dead yet.

Because every time I fade out, something pulls me back.

The sounds of stone meeting flesh—a wet crunch, a final gasp of some unseen attacker before silence falls again.

Bodies pile up around me.

I see them in glimpses—half-dissolved shapes of twisted creatures, their forms shattered, limbs crushed.

Rachel is protecting me.

Of course she is.

She doesn't tire.

She doesn't fear.

She doesn't fail.

I shudder, my breath ragged, my fevered mind clawing for clarity.

I am weak. Too weak.

If this continues…

If I slip any further…

Rachel will keep fighting.

But that's all she will do.

And when the monsters stop coming?

When the threats are gone?

What will she do then?

She will wait.

She will stand beside my corpse, unmoving, unthinking.

And she will do nothing.

Because I never made her understand me.

I need her to be more.

I don't get up.

I don't need to.

I carve.

My magic flickers, barely holding together, but I force it to obey. The rune is simple, its lines already burned into my mind.

The rune etches deep into her surface, glowing faintly as it sets.

And as it seals itself, a thought—a whisper of intent—bleeds into the magic, accidental, unbidden.

I hope she'll recognize that she's mine…

And I hope she'll still care for me.

My magic seeps away, the rune pulsing once before dimming.

I watch.

I wait.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then—

Rachel moves.

Not her limbs. Not her body.

Her head.

Slowly, deliberately, she turns—not in response to a command, not from some pre-written function, but because she wants to look.

She does not speak—she has no mouth.

She does not blink—her eyes are motionless stone.

But she is aware.

I can see it.

She takes in the world like it's new, because to her—

It is.

The world tilts around me, my vision swimming in and out of focus.

I can barely keep my eyes open.

My body is burning, every breath feeling like embers in my lungs. My skin is slick with fever, my head too heavy to lift.

I need water.

I try to speak, but my throat is too dry—the words scrape out like something dying, barely audible.

"Bring...water."

Rachel doesn't react.

Not at first.

She is still, her massive form looming over me, her unmoving stone face watching.

She doesn't understand.

I watch her in return, my mind sluggish, but aware. Her posture is different. There is a hesitation to her stance—not like before.

She is thinking.

Slowly, she moves. Not with purpose, not with certainty—but with a hesitant curiosity.

She bends, reaching for something.

A moment later, she sets a chunk of centipede meat in front of me.

I blink.

No—

I push it away weakly with my magic, shaking my head.

"...No... Water."

Rachel pauses.

Her head tilts slightly.

The movement is slow, deliberate.

She is trying to understand.

For a long moment, she just stares at me.

Then, she turns—searching.

I hold my breath, my chest tight with desperation, my body aching with thirst.

Rachel finds the sealed water basin.

She hesitates.

Then she picks it up and brings it to me, setting it down carefully beside me.

Relief floods through me, but I am too weak to even reach for it.

I struggle, my hooves trembling, my magic flickering in an attempt to unseal it—but I can't.

Rachel watches.

She sees my struggle.

She sees my need.

And something clicks.

Without hesitation, she lifts the basin in both hands—

And crushes the side of it open.

The stone shatters, and water pours out, spilling across the ground.

I don't get any of it.

It soaks into the cavern floor, disappearing before I can even taste it.

I let out a weak, broken noise, my breath hitching, my vision blurring from exhaustion and frustration.

Rachel is still.

She sees.

She knows she did something wrong.

But she doesn't understand why.

Not yet.

The water is so close.

I force my body to move, my limbs trembling, the pain unbearable as I try to wiggle forward.

Every shift sends sharp shocks through my shattered bones, my breathing ragged, my vision blackening at the edges.

But I keep going.

I have to.

The half-full basin is just out of reach.

Rachel watches.

She doesn't move.

But she sees.

She sees me struggle.

She sees me reach for something I cannot reach.

And—

She acts.

Without command.

Without hesitation.

She lifts the basin in her hands—carefully, delicately—and brings it closer.

Then she tilts it, just enough.

Water pools near the edge.

Close enough for me to drink.

The moment the first drop touches my tongue, my body shudders, something raw and instinctive taking over. I gulp it down desperately, my throat aching, my body demanding more.

Rachel does not move.

She keeps the basin steady, letting me take what I need.

The water is warm, but it doesn't matter.

It is life.

I pull away eventually, gasping for air, my body shaking from exertion.

I have three legs.

All of them broken.

But I am still alive.

And so is Rachel.

Watching. Learning.

Understanding.

I lay back down, my body too weak to fight anymore.

The water settles in my stomach, a cool weight in the burning ache of my fever. My limbs are numb, the pain still there, but distant—like my body is finally too tired to scream at me anymore.

I let my eyes close.

Rachel is still there.

Waiting.

---

I wake abruptly, my body jolting from deep sleep—

And immediately regret it.

Pain flares through me, every muscle and joint stiff and unforgiving. My breathing is shallow, my mind still foggy, still slow.

And then—

I realize something is there.

Right there.

An inch from my face.

I flinch violently, my pulse spiking, my magic sparking weakly in defense—

Rachel.

She is crouched low, staring at me.

Not moving.

Not blinking.

Just watching.

I breathe hard, heart hammering from the shock, my body frozen for a moment before my mind catches up.

It's her.

Of course it's her.

I let out a slow, shaky breath, willing my racing heart to settle.

Rachel does not react.

She does not understand why I was afraid.

But she sees the tension leave my body.

She waits.

I cough weakly, my throat still dry, and whisper:

"Water."

She does not move immediately.

For a moment, I think she doesn't understand.

Then, she slowly stands, turns, and moves toward the half-broken basin still sitting nearby.

She picks it up—more carefully than before—and brings it to me.

She doesn't spill it this time.

I drink.

This time, I do not feel desperate.

This time, it is controlled.

Rachel crouches again as I drink, watching me intently, her massive stone form motionless.

She waits.

When I finish, I take a slow, measured breath, exhaling weakly.

"Food."

She stands again.

This time, there is no hesitation.

She picks up a chunk of cooked centipede, moves forward, and places it beside me.

She is learning.

She is understanding.

I chew slowly, forcing my body to accept the food, my limbs still aching, my mind still swimming in fevered exhaustion.

Rachel crouches again.

She does not look away.

---

Time blurs.

I drift in and out of fevered sleep, the pain and exhaustion too much to fight for long.

But I wake.

I drink.

I eat.

And Rachel is always there.

She keeps the monsters away.

She keeps the water close.

She brings food when I ask.

I am still broken.

Still weak.

Still far from okay.

But I am alive.

And now?

Rachel makes sure I stay that way.

---

Time has blurred beyond recognition.

I don't know how many days have passed.

But I know this—

I don't feel good, but I feel better.

Not strong. Not healed.

But enough to work.

Enough to move again.

My magic thrums faintly in my mind, a familiar hum that had once been barely a whisper. It isn't at full strength, but it's growing, recovering alongside me.

Which is good.

Because my water is gone.

I sigh, using magic to rub at my face. The last drop had vanished yesterday—or maybe longer ago, I don't know anymore.

I need more.

And there's only one way to get it.

I grit my teeth and lift myself, my broken body floating up as the slab beneath me shifts gently under my magic.

The pain is distant now, dull and constant, but I have adjusted.

I move toward the nearest corpse—one of the massive lobster-looking monsters that Rachel has killed.

Its chitinous shell is cracked open, its many legs curled inward in the way of dead insects. It must have attacked in the night, and Rachel silently crushed it without me waking.

I slowly pull a the water free, extracting the liquid with delicate control, watching as it coalesces into a floating mass, gathering into a single clear sphere of purified water.

When it's enough, I direct it into the basin, refilling it once more.

Relief settles in my chest.

I am not dying today.

I breathe out, hovering back slightly, my exhausted body still shaking from exertion.

I glance at Rachel.

She stands motionless, watching me, just like she always does.

Waiting.

I look at the massive lobster-thing's body, then at the magma stream nearby.

I have an idea.

Slowly, I speak:

"Rachel… cook."

She doesn't move.

She does not understand.

Yet.

I exhale, gathering my strength, and try again.

I gesture weakly toward the corpse.

"Take… meat."

Rachel pauses, tilting her head slightly.

Then she moves.

Not fluidly. Not perfectly.

But purposefully.

She reaches down, her stone fingers digging into the corpse, pulling free a large chunk of meat.

I nod, ignoring the ache in my body.

"Now… magma."

Rachel turns her head, following my nod toward the lava flow nearby.

She moves toward it slowly, standing at the edge.

Then she pauses.

And waits.

She is thinking.

She does not know what to do next.

I take a shaky breath.

"Put… meat… near."

Rachel tilts her head again.

I nod my head at the magma.

She moves carefully, kneeling beside the magma, placing the raw chunk of meat on the hot stone at the edge, just near enough for the heat to sear it.

I watch.

She watches.

And as the meat begins to sizzle, the surface darkening, the smell of cooked flesh filling the air, I see it.

Something clicks in Rachel's still, unmoving form.

She understands.

Not perfectly.

Not deeply.

But enough.

Days pass.

I drift between sleep and wakefulness, my mind a constant haze of pain, exhaustion, and slow recovery.

Rachel cooks for me.

She guards me.

She kills for me.

And I barely have to ask anymore.

She has learned.

When I wake, there is always food waiting. Always Rachel, watching silently, unmoving unless I need her.

And when monsters come, she tears through them like an unstoppable force of nature—a living stone weapon with no hesitation, no exhaustion, no fear.

Her battles are brutal.

Efficient.

Ruthless.

But when she turns back to me?

She is careful.

Gentle.

Caring.

She lifts my water basin delicately, tilting it just enough to let me drink.

She helps me eat, ripping the meat to bite-sized pieces, setting it in front of me, waiting patiently as I take my time.

She even adjusts my positioning, setting me upright, making sure I'm comfortable.

It's a stark contrast to the way she fights.

A part of me should be unnerved by how easily she switches between the two states.

But I'm not.

I am grateful.

Because without her, I would be dead.

---

More days pass.

The fever has broken, but my body is wrecked.

My legs are still useless, but my magic is stronger now—strong enough that I can lift myself onto the cart without slipping into unconsciousness.

I take a slow, shaking breath and brace myself.

Rachel stands at my side, watching, waiting.

She always waits.

Her battles have not slowed—if anything, they have intensified. The creatures never stop coming, but she never stops winning.

And when she is finished, she turns to me with the same soft patience, the same careful attentiveness, making sure I drink, eat, and rest.

She does it without orders now.

Even when I'd rather she didn't.

She frets, adjusting my position when I shift too much, moving the basin of water closer before I even ask.

I sigh, rubbing at my face with weak magic.

"Rachel… I can do things myself, you know."

She does not react.

But she does not stop, either.

I huff. Too tired to argue.

Instead, I float myself onto the cart, my limbs aching from the effort, my muscles still too weak to function.

Rachel moves forward, adjusting the cart as I settle in, her hands brushing against me briefly, adjusting my positioning so I don't slide too much.

I roll my eyes.

"Rachel… I'm not going to break."

She still doesn't react.

I sigh again.

I reach for the rune commands, my magic settling into them, feeling the faint hum of power beneath my hooves.

"Activate: West."

The cart begins to move.

Rachel follows.

The cart moves steadily, the runes humming beneath me.

Rachel walks beside me, her movements eerily smooth, her stone form silent except for the occasional crunch of a dead thing beneath her feet.

I don't talk.

There's nothing to say.

Nothing except the growing bitterness in my chest.

My thoughts drift.

I saved them.

I fought for them.

And they cast me out like a monster.

Like I was just another thing to be rid of—no different from the changelings.

Like I was a threat, not an ally.

Not one of them.

I should have known better.

I should have stayed out of it.

The wedding wasn't my problem.

Chrysalis wasn't my fight.

I could have just let it happen—let Twilight get thrown into the caverns, let her find Cadance on her own, let Celestia fall, let it all play out the way it was supposed to.

But no.

I had to get involved.

I had to pull at the threads.

I had to think, for some idiotic reason, that I could help.

And now I was paying for it.

Cadance.

That fucking idiot.

Of all the ponies in that room, she should have understood.

She's the Princess of Love.

Love is her entire existence.

She doesn't just feel it—she can sense it, she can manipulate it, she can change ponies with it.

So how?

How in the hell did she look at me—at everything I did, at everything I sacrificed—and see a monster?

I protected them.

I worked hard to keep their perfect little story on track.

I let Twilight play her part, let her get cast aside, let her find Cadance in the caves so that everything would unfold as it was meant to.

And when Chrysalis revealed herself, I didn't stop her.

Not because I couldn't.

Because I chose not to.

Because Shining Armor and Cadance had to win together.

Because the only way to purge every changeling from Canterlot was to let their love do it.

And what did I get for my trouble?

Cadance flinching away from me like I was some kind of beast, clinging to her brainwashed fiancé like he was her only protection.

She said it first.

Not Twilight. Not Celestia. Not the nobles.

She looked at me, at what I was, and decided—without hesitation—that I was something to be feared.

Like I was wrong.

Like I was unnatural.

Like I didn't belong.

She should have known better.

She should have felt it.

I had no hatred for them.

No malice.

I didn't want to rule Canterlot.

I didn't want to hurt them.

Everything I did was for them.

To ensure the best outcome.

And yet, the moment I spoke outside the script, the moment I didn't fit into the storybook fantasy—

She cast me out.

I breathe in, slow and measured, forcing down the growing bitterness clawing at my chest.

I can't let this consume me.

I can't afford to.

But I also can't let it go.

Not when it still hurts.

Rachel doesn't understand.

She walks beside me, silent, her heavy stone steps an unshakable rhythm against the cavern floor. She doesn't ask what's wrong. She doesn't question the anger simmering off me in waves.

But she reacts.

At first, it's just small things.

She adjusts the cart's position with more care, ensuring the ride is smooth.

She lingers closer, her fingers brushing the edge of the cart every so often, like she's making sure I'm still there.

And then—

She reaches out.

It's awkward. Stiff. Hesitant.

Her stone hand presses lightly against my side, then retreats, then presses again. Not forceful. Not demanding.

Just checking.

Like she's trying to comfort me.

Even if she doesn't know why.

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly, forcing the tension out of my jaw.

I can't be angry forever.

Not here.

Not when I have bigger problems.

Rachel's still learning.

She understands enough—how to fight, how to help, how to keep me alive—but she still isn't complete.

And if we're going to survive this place?

She needs to be.

I glance at her, then at my rune book, my magic flipping the pages until I find what I need, the True Sight rune.

I carve her eyes, separating them from the stone encasing them. They're free moving balls instead of carved in divots. I add little curved hoods, following the eye back, able move up and down, eyelids.

It's easier now, my magic strong enough to guide the stone with precision. The runes etch deep into the pupil of Rachel's eyes, as small as I can make them, forming the intricate patterns needed to grant sight beyond sight.

I move back.

And her eyes move.

Not randomly.

Not wildly.

They track me.

I freeze, watching as her newly carved stone irises shift, adjusting their focus, locking onto me with a sharp precision she didn't have before.

I stare back.

I have no idea what she's thinking.

And it unsettles me.

Rachel tilts her head, her new true sight irises tracking me in a way that feels too… deliberate. Too human.

I swallow hard.

I've already gone this far.

Might as well finish the job.

I let my magic settle into her face, scanning the structure of her jaw, the rigid lines where her lips should be. Right now, she has no mouth—just a sculpted pout, an eternally neutral expression.

If I'm going to give her speech, I need to give her a mouth.

Even if she doesn't need it.

Even if the rune will handle the talking for her.

Even if this is all just to make her feel more real.

The problem with stone is that it doesn't bend.

A human mouth moves with soft tissues—lips, muscles, tendons all working together in a precise, flexible system.

Stone? Rigid. Unyielding.

So I have to cheat.

I begin by etching out the mouth, carving a thin opening along where her lips should be, just deep enough to separate the upper and lower jaw into independent sections.

The lower jaw has to be able to move, to open and close freely.

For that, I need a hinge.

I create two anchor points inside the jaw, acting as pivots—smooth sockets carved directly into the sides of her face.

I separate the jaw itself, rounding the upper corners into ball joints, making them perfectly spherical.

Now, the jaw can rotate freely, swinging open like a human jaw, but only within the limits of the sockets.

Good.

But she needs more than just a jaw that opens and closes.

She needs to articulate.

The tongue is the tricky part.

A human tongue is a complex mass of muscle, shifting in every direction to form words.

I can't do that with solid stone.

So instead?

I make segments.

I carve a series of thin, overlapping stone plates, stacked in a way that allows sliding motion—each one connected by thin joints that allow for slight movement in multiple directions.

Each segment is cut with precise, curved edges, allowing the plates to slide over one another while still appearing as a single structure when at rest.

At the base of the tongue, I carve a pivot joint, allowing it to lift and press against the roof of the mouth like a real tongue would.

It can't move as fluidly as a human tongue.

But it can rise, lower, press, retract—enough for basic articulation.

Enough to make speech believable.

I move back, taking in my work.

Rachel's mouth moves now, at least in the way I need it to. Her jaw hinges open and closed, her tongue shifts just enough to be useful.

But her lips…

I can't fix them.

Not here. Not yet.

I try. I carve, I adjust, but every attempt leaves them looking wrong—unnatural in a way that unsettles even me.

The tops and bottoms are just too stiff, too unyielding. Without soft tissue, they can't press together in any way that looks right.

I need rubber. Or leather. Or something that can flex without breaking the illusion.

I don't have it.

So I stop.

For now, the entire mouth moves together—opening and closing as a single unit. Her lips remain stiff, unchanging, no matter what shape she makes.

It's not perfect, but I'll fix it later.

When I find something better.

I let out a slow breath.

One step at a time.

Her mouth moves, but she still can't speak.

I flip through my rune book, scanning each poorly named, vaguely described marking, searching for something that might work.

Most runes don't have names—not proper ones, anyway. Some are labeled, but the names rarely have anything to do with their actual function.

It's all guesswork. A scholar's best attempt at understanding magic that was never really standardized or studied.

I've been renaming them myself in my own notebook—making them clearer, easier to reference later.

But right now?

I'm at the mercy of centuries-old descriptions.

My eyes catch on something.

A rune. Small. Simple.

It's not labeled as a speech rune, but the description stands out.

To carry forth shaking waves unseen. A touch of the air, and the weight of the world, pulled into form.

I frown.

That sounds… close?

It doesn't mention voices exactly, just waves, carrying forth.

I read it again.

"...shaking waves unseen."

Vibrations.

It has to be about vibrations.

I don't know if this will work.

But it's the closest thing I have.

I etch the rune carefully, carving it into the roof of Rachel's mouth, right where the tongue can press against it.

The moment it seals, I feel a faint hum of energy pulse through her.

She doesn't move.

She doesn't speak.

But something has changed.

I stare at her.

She tilts her head, stone irises tracking me with unsettling precision.

She's waiting.

But for what?

I frown, moving closer. "Rachel."

She doesn't respond.

Her mouth is open slightly, the segmented tongue resting against the rune I carved into the roof of her mouth.

But she doesn't understand.

Of course she doesn't.

The function is there—the capability—but she doesn't know what to do with it.

I sigh, wishing i could rub a hoof down my face. "You can talk now," I tell her. "Try."

Rachel doesn't move.

I wait.

She still doesn't try.

"Come on." I gesture vaguely with my head. "You can do anything else I tell you to do. Just… say something."

Nothing.

Her mouth shifts slightly, but no sound comes out.

I grit my teeth.

She's not refusing—she just doesn't understand.

For every rune I've ever put on her, I've always told her what it does via the rune code. I gave her commands—clear, structured logic to follow.

But now?

I haven't written logic for her.

Rachel is the logic.

I didn't write an order for speaking.

I just gave her the ability.

She has to figure it out herself.

As I'm thinking, her eyes slowly drift off to our surroundings.

I exhale slowly, adjusting my approach.

"Rachel."

Her eyes flick to me immediately.

"Liiike thiiis," I say, exaggerating my voice. "Vibrate the air. Push it out."

Still nothing.

Her jaw shifts again—just slightly—but it's hesitant.

She doesn't know what "push it out" means.

I sigh. "Just… try. Do anything."

A pause.

Then—

A low, uneven hum.

Not a word.

Not speech.

But something.

Rachel stiffens slightly, like she felt it more than she expected.

I blink.

"That's it," I say, cautiously hopeful. "Again."

She does it again—this time stronger, more deliberate.

The hum warbles, disjointed, shifting in tone as she experiments, trying different intensities.

I watch, fascinated.

She's learning.

The vibrations are off, the sound warped, but she's figuring it out.

The thought sends a chill down my spine.

She's never done this before.

Never tried to learn something outside of what I explicitly built her for.

She has initiative.

I swallow, shoving the thought down.

One thing at a time.

"Keep going," I tell her, keeping my voice steady. "Try shaping it. Make… words."

She tilts her head, mouth shifting again.

The hum deepens, cracks, warps—she's trying, but the sound is still just… noise.

I frown.

The rune works, but it's like giving someone vocal cords without any muscle control.

She has the ability to speak, but she doesn't have the practice.

She doesn't know how to shape it into meaning.

I'm going to have to teach her.

I take a breath.

One step at a time.

The hum sputters, shifting into a harsh, grating pitch before dying away entirely.

I lift my head, forcing a softer tone. "It's okay. You're doing fine."

Rachel's eyes track me the moment I speak, the faintest tilt of her stone jaw acknowledging my words. She tries again—a broken warble, halting in mid-breath.

"Good—very good." My voice lifts, a slight coo of encouragement. "Keep going."

The reaction is immediate.

Her posture straightens, her segmented tongue flexing with renewed effort, adjusting as if searching for a stable pitch. She emits a trembling note, still oddly mechanical, but closer to something like a voice.

I exhale, letting my relief slip into my words. "That's it! That's better."

At that, Rachel's eyes flick toward me, focusing on my face. Her jaw moves in a stuttering half-circle, mouth opening and closing with uneven timing as if she's feeling through the motion. The initial humming noise returns—softer this time, rising and falling in quick succession.

"See?" I coo again, nodding my approval. "You're making real sounds now. Good."

Her entire form seems to settle, as though basking in the wake of my words. She attempts the hum once more—first a low rumble, then a ragged slide upward. It cracks near the top, but she holds it, determined not to lose the note again.

I find myself chuckling despite the roughness of the sound. "That's perfect. Just… keep trying."

She presses on, forging one awkward pitch into another, her gaze never leaving me. Every time I murmur a quiet word or two—"That's it," "Not bad," "You've got this"—her movements become more insistent, her attempts more frequent. She shifts her shoulders in measured, fluid motions, as though steadying her body helps her find and hold the right vibrations.

The harsh scraping eventually settles into a semi-stable tone, building in subtle volume. She sustains it, tongue moving fractionally, testing subtle changes in pitch. Though it's still far from a true word, it's closer than ever before.

"Excellent," I murmur, my voice filled with gentle praise.

Something in her stance shifts again, and she tries a new angle, letting the tone waver back and forth, almost mimicking the way I naturally let my words rise and fall. Her stone fingers clench briefly, then relax against her side.

I smile, nodding as I speak. "You're learning really fast, Rachel. Keep it—"

She cuts me off with a sudden lurch in pitch—too high, too abrupt—then falls into silence. Her mouth snaps closed. The newly formed jaw stiffens, as if bracing for my reaction.

I keep my tone gentle. "That's okay. That was a great try. Just keep practicing."

She lifts her head slightly, eyes fixed on me once more. After a moment of stillness, she returns to that low, halting hum, picking up where she left off.

It's messy. It's uneven. It's somehow endearing.

And she doesn't stop. Not until I finally move back, letting out a breath and offering another soft coo of approval.

Her response is unmistakable in the way she shifts closer, drawing herself up as though waiting for more. But I just smile, nodding and murmuring one last, "Nice work," before trailing off.

Rachel's eyes flicker to my lips—where the sounds come from—then back to meet my gaze. She tries once more, a final, shaky note escaping her newly carved mouth.

At that, she goes still. There is no subtle adjustment, no hum of correction—the session is over for now. But she remains poised, as if ready to continue the moment she thinks I want her to.

I let the silence settle.

She stands there, unmoving except for the slight tilt of her head, gaze never wavering from my face. I notice the slow, steady rhythm of her movements—a little more fluid, a little more confident than before.

Rachel follows in steady silence as the cart continues its slow trek forward.

---

I don't know how long it's been. Days? Weeks? The cavern walls blur together in endless darkness, an infinite stretch of stone and molten rivers.

I'm exhausted.

But then—

I see it.

A door.

Huge. Monolithic. Black as obsidian, etched with glowing red runes—twisting, curling, spiraling across its surface like veins of molten light.

The center bears a round design, vaguely reminiscent of the sun.

And beneath it—

Four square locks, each perfectly aligned, unyielding.

I stare.

My chest tightens—not in fear, but in something dangerously close to relief.

I know what this is.

This place—this twisted, warped hellscape—it isn't just some random cavern.

This is Tartarus.

Not exactly the Tartarus from the show—no cages, no towering prisons—but the concept is here.

And if this is Tartarus…

This is the way out.

I exhale, letting my magic tighten around the cart's controls, stopping it just short of the massive structure.

Rachel halts beside me, her eyes locking onto the door, studying it with eerie stillness.

It looms over us, ancient, unmoving.

But before I can even begin to examine the locks—

A huff.

A deep, low breath—heavy, gravelly, shaking the air.

I freeze.

Slowly, very slowly, I turn my head.

And I see him.

Cerberus.

He's right there.

Massive, hulking, curled in on himself just feet away from where I stopped, his enormous, three-headed form resting against the cavern wall.

His fur is charcoal black, thick and matted, his sheer size making him look more like a living mountain than an animal.

Three heads—three massive, brutal jaws capable of tearing through anything.

He could kill me instantly.

Rachel is already turning, shifting her stance, prepared to fight if necessary—

But Cerberus doesn't move.

One of his heads lazily cracks open an eye, his glowing red pupil locking onto me.

I hold my breath.

A long, slow huff escapes his throat.

And then—

He closes his eye again.

That's it.

No snarl.

No immediate attack.

No acknowledgment beyond sheer apathy.

He doesn't care about me.

I exhale sharply, shoulders loosening slightly.

Rachel remains tense, her gaze flicking between me and the beast, but I shake my head.

"Stop defending," I murmur.

She doesn't react at first, her hands still raised in preparation—until I repeat it, firmer this time.

"Rachel. Stop defending."

Slowly, she lowers her hands.

The tension lingers, but she listens.

Cerberus doesn't react to any of it.

He just exists, sprawled across the stone, radiating indifference.

I turn my gaze back to the door, my mind already calculating.

Four locks.

A sealed gateway.

A guardian that apparently doesn't care if I pass or not.

This is it.

This is my way out.

I stare at the massive obsidian door, its runes glowing with an ominous red light, each square lock humming with a faint magical presence.

I exhale sharply. "Wow."

This looks… complicated.

My gaze drifts along the intricate carvings, the way the symbols weave together in an ancient, unreadable pattern. This kind of lock? This would take time.

Time I don't have.

My eyes flick to the wall beside the door.

The unmarked, regular stone wall.

I tilt my head.

Rachel tilts hers, mirroring me.

I nod once, decisive. "Yeah, screw this."

I reach out with my magic—careful, deliberate, spreading my telekinetic force across the structure, pressing into the space between its particles.

And I cut.

The stone separates instantly, breaking apart along the intergranular bonds, clean and precise.

Chunks of rock pull free, slabs of unsealed stone breaking away as I carve a hole directly next to the door.

Rachel watches, unmoving, her tracking irises following each section as I pull them away.

Then—

A breeze.

Light.

The last layer crumbles away, and through the opening, I see it.

The outside.

Sky. Open air.

I freeze for a second, mind struggling to process the sheer normalcy of it.

And then—

I turn my head, gaze locking onto Cerberus.

The massive, three-headed beast doesn't move.

Not even when I pull another chunk free.

Not when I widen the tunnel.

Not when I begin sliding forward.

One of his heads lifts slightly, cracking an eye open to watch me.

A long, slow huff escapes his throat.

And then—he shuts his eye again.

I don't question it.

I don't hesitate.

I guide the cart forward, Rachel following silently, her massive stone form ducking under the tunnel's low ceiling as we pass through.

I keep one eye on Cerberus the entire time, my body tense, waiting for a reaction—

But he doesn't care.

He doesn't try to stop me.

He doesn't even move.

And when we finally reach the other side, I turn back, watching as the jagged tunnel we just made seals itself behind us, my magic fusing the rock back together, closing off the path forever.

Still—Cerberus stays.

Silent. Unbothered.

Like I was never his problem to begin with.

I exhale sharply, my chest tightening as I turn back toward the light.

And then—

The world blinds me.

The moment we emerge, my eyes burn, the sheer intensity of the sunlight stabbing into my vision like a blade.

For so long, there had only been darkness.

Now—there is sky.

It takes a few seconds for my vision to adjust, for the details to take shape beyond the blinding glow.

Rachel steps out beside me, the sun glinting off her stone surface, her new irises flicking between the open space and me.

I breathe in.

Air. Fresh air.

For the first time in weeks—maybe longer—I am outside.

I made it.

I escaped Tartarus.

I take a slow breath, letting the hot air fill my lungs.

The Badlands stretch before me, an endless sea of sand and rock, the horizon hazy with heat waves.

No trees. No water. Nothing.

I close my eyes briefly, steadying myself.

I didn't escape Tartarus just to die in a desert.

I need to find civilization. Fast.

With a flicker of magic, I lift myself higher, my slab gliding smoothly into the air, carrying me above the dunes.

Rachel stands motionless below, waiting, her new irises tracking my ascent.

The wind howls, whipping sand in every direction. Blinding. Suffocating.

But then—

Far in the distance, beyond the dunes, past the cracked, barren landscape—

A village.

I barely process my own relief before I'm already descending, guiding the slab back to the cart.

Rachel doesn't react when I land, her stone form as unshaken as ever.

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. I add four more in-between directions to my cart. "Activate: North-East."

The runes hum to life, the cart smoothly adjusting direction before gliding forward, carrying us toward the only sign of life I've seen in weeks.

Rachel follows, her heavy footfalls trailing beside me.

 

[Yuki no Yue]

These last chapters made me read with my throat closed by the whole situation. Good job!
Still, kinetic Flux is a bit more than just socially blind, uh? I mean...

The whole thing with Twilight, the smartest way would be to just tell her that he doesn't find anypony attractive and stop the whole situation before it spiral down into a worse mess. But he is also pretty conflict-averse, if my read is correct (feel free to tell me that I'm wrong, this is just my read as a reader), so he tries to delay the confrontation.

And the whole mess with Cadence... Well, I can understand how he would think that she should have known, but, on the other hand, Cadenca had just come out of emprisonment, saw him not do anything whiel Celestia got defeated and then he threw himself in what was a villainous monologue. Her overreaction was, from her point of view, justified: using any magic require focus and she definitely wasn't in condition of focusing on it.

Not saying that she didn't overreact, just that the situation is complex, especially if you take the whole series of events in consideration.

It's a fantastic story. Congrats for writing it, I'm jealous.

 

[TheFabulousCustodes]

Just cutting through the wall is definitely a timesaver.

Thanks for the chapters.

 

[Calamity]

Damn, that was badass.

The reunion is going to be.....a thing.
Ponies, losing their minds.
Celestia, mourning.
Twilight, raging.
Cadence, confused.

And then comes Kinetic:


View: https://youtu.be/z6YfLHq6Dpk?si=YrI_rzE0Lwcw0N

 

[Mastigos2]

To be honest ... "hesitate to intervene, then get massively injured and left traumatized out in a dangerous environment" is ... well it's already way too played out in this story. I didn't care in the slightest about the re-re-re-repeat and his trauma meant nothing to me anymore. My biggest emotional investment amounted to "why is he not just flying up and cutting his way out?"

 

[Riddlest]

"why is he not just flying up and cutting his way out?"

Click to shrink...

sand

 

[King_of_Idiocy]

Awesome chapters Kinetic needs to embrace his humanity the good, the bad and the ugly and understand that he will never be like the ponies, yet that just might be a good thing, for he offers a new perspective a new way to do things, going through adversities and suffering doing the impossible and never truly giving up.

 

[Riddlest]

The village appears out of place—a cluster of buildings and tents nestled among the barren wasteland, as if it shouldn't exist here at all. The architecture is crude but sturdy, built from salvaged stone and hardened clay, blending with the Badlands' color palette of dull browns and faded oranges.

As I approach, the streets grow silent.

Ponies stop what they're doing.

Eyes wide, muscles tense, ears flicking rapidly.

They don't speak.

They just watch me.

I feel their unease immediately.

And, to be fair—I probably look like a fucking horror show.

A unicorn, floating on a slab of stone, three legs mangled beyond use, one completely missing, capped with a smoothly sealed chunk of earth as if it had always been part of me.

A second slab follows behind me, loaded with cooked monster meat, a basin of water, and an obsidian sword resting beside it.

And then, Rachel.

She follows closely, her towering stone form an imposing, inpony silhouette against the desert sky, her gaze tracking every pony around us.

I look like a fucking war veteran.

No wonder they're terrified.

I clear my throat, wincing at how dry my voice sounds.

"…Do you have a healer?"

The silence stretches.

A few ponies exchange wary glances.

Then, slowly, one steps forward—a mare, her coat a dusty gray, her eyes a little too bright, her movements too careful.

She nods once, hesitantly. "This way."

I follow, the cart gliding smoothly behind me, Rachel silent and watchful at my side.

The ponies whisper as I pass, their voices low, hurried.

Their unease lingers.

Something about them feels… off.

But right now?

I don't have the strength to care.

I need to get my legs fixed.

The mare leads me toward the edge of the village, where a large canvas tent stands separate from the other structures. The material is old but well-maintained, stitched together from multiple faded fabrics.

She stops at the entrance and gestures silently for me to go in.

I glance at her once—her expression is unreadable—before guiding my cart inside.

Rachel ducks slightly to fit through the entrance, her stone form brushing the fabric walls as she follows.

The air inside is thick with incense, the sharp scent of herbs mixing with something… off. Something I can't place.

A stallion sits in the center of the space, hunched over a low wooden table covered in scattered tools and vials of murky liquid. His coat is a washed-out green, his mane a deep, messy brown. His eyes flick up immediately, sharp and assessing.

I don't like them.

They linger a little too long.

He doesn't greet me, doesn't flinch at the walking corpse of a unicorn floating in front of him.

He just tilts his head. "Sit."

I hover myself down onto a woven mat, gritting my teeth as my limbs protest.

Rachel stays standing, looming just behind me she looms over the healer.

She doesn't move.

But she watches.

So does the cat.

I blink, noticing it for the first time—a sleek black cat curled lazily in a corner, eyes half-lidded, tail flicking.

It watches me.

I watch it back.

Neither of us blink.

The healer clears his throat. "Your legs."

I tear my gaze away from the cat and look at him.

His horn glows a sickly green, magic weaving through the air as he scans my limbs.

For a moment, he just… stares.

Then he exhales sharply. "This is worse than I expected."

No shit.

His expression remains neutral as his horn dims. "I can fix them. The remaining three."

I let out a slow breath, relief settling in my chest. "Good. Do it."

But the stallion doesn't move.

He just watches me, head tilting slightly.

"You understand, of course, that I can't regrow what was lost."

I blink.

"What?"

The healer shrugs, like it's obvious. "No unicorn could restore a missing limb. Once it's gone, it's gone."

I stare at him.

Something cold settles in my stomach.

That's… not how pony magic works.

I was sure I could just waltz into a village, find a healer, and have them slap a new leg onto me with their bullshit magic.

Because that's what ponies do.

They bend reality over their knee like a cheap toy.

They fix impossible things.

They solve problems that shouldn't have solutions.

But now?

Now he's saying it's impossible?

I can't think of anything to say.

I feel like I just got sucker-punched in the ribs.

"You're joking," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady.

The stallion simply shakes his head. "I don't joke about these things."

I glance at Rachel. She doesn't react.

I glance at the cat.

It yawns.

I inhale sharply through my nose. "Fine. Just—just fix the rest of me."

The healer nods, his horn lighting up once more.

And as the magic settles over my ruined legs, I can't shake the weight of loss sitting heavy in my chest.

The healer works in silence.

His magic seeps into my broken limbs, a deep pulse of energy sinking into bone and muscle, knitting me back together. It's slow, uncomfortable—not painful, but not pleasant either.

I don't watch.

I just sit there, staring at nothing, waiting for it to be over.

Rachel looms beside me, silent and still.

She doesn't understand what's wrong.

But she watches.

When the magic finally fades, the healer steps back. "It is done."

I flex my legs experimentally. They work.

They ache, sore from the healing, but they respond.

But the fourth one—the missing one—doesn't.

Because it's not there.

And it never will be again.

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight.

The healer says nothing, already moving to clean up his supplies. Like this is routine. Like I'm not sitting here realizing I've lost something forever.

My chest feels hollow.

It's not fair.

I expected to be fixed. To be whole again.

But I'm not.

I don't know how long I sit there.

At some point, Rachel moves.

She kneels beside me, pressing the weight of her stone form gently against my side, as if shielding me from something I can't see.

I don't react at first.

But then—

A soft weight presses against my remaining foreleg.

I glance down.

The cat.

It curls against me, its sleek black fur warm, its golden eyes blinking up at me with a slow, lazy curiosity.

I hesitate.

Then, cautiously, I reach out.

The fur is soft, surprisingly so, warm beneath my hoof as I trail it down the cat's back.

It leans into the touch.

I let out a shaky breath.

I get it now.

This is why the cat is here.

The same reason human hospitals keep animals around—to calm patients down, to give them something simple to focus on, something alive.

Something that doesn't demand anything from them.

I scratch behind its ears, watching the way it pushes into the touch, its tail flicking lazily.

Rachel shifts closer, still pressed against my side.

I sit there for a while, absently stroking the cat, my mind still too full, too raw.

I don't know how long I stay there.

Eventually, though, I sigh, pulling my hoof back.

The cat immediately protests, shoving its head into my leg again, tail flicking in irritation.

I snort, rubbing my forehead. "I gotta go, little guy."

The cat disagrees.

It claws gently at my hoof, then rubs against it again, purring loudly, trying to burrow into my side.

I frown. "Seriously?"

It mews loudly, the sound sharp and almost accusing.

The healer glances over but doesn't say anything, his expression soft.

I sigh again, rubbing the cat's head one last time before gently nudging it away. "I'll be fine. Go bother someone else."

The cat huffs, flicking its tail, but finally strides back to the healer.

I push myself up—my body protests but doesn't fail—and make my way out of the tent.

Rachel follows without a sound.

The moment I step outside, the brightness stabs into my retinas like a knife.

I flinch, squinting against the sunlight. How long was I in there?

Everything feels too open.

Too… exposed.

I shake myself off and take a step forward—

—and nearly faceplant into the dirt.

My missing leg moves out of habit, like it's still there, like it should be bearing my weight.

Except it isn't.

I grind my teeth. "Right hoof. Had to be my right hoof."

I adjust, forcing myself into a three-legged gait, ignoring the awkwardness, the unfamiliarity.

I hate this.

But I keep moving.

And soon, I meet the locals.

The town is a lot livelier now.

Ponies are out and about, watching me still, but with less fear and more… curiosity.

I don't trust it.

Not yet.

Still, it doesn't take long before a few of them approach.

A short, stocky stallion with a rough brown coat and a thick, tangled mane grins at me, stepping forward with an easy confidence. "Hey there, stranger. Name's Brick, this is Dandelion and over there's Soot," he says, gesturing to a few ponies around. "You look like you've had one hell of a trip."

No shit.

I give a noncommittal shrug. "Something like that."

A tall, thin mare with a pale yellow coat—Dandelion—steps up beside him, her expression more cautious but not unfriendly. "We were… a little surprised to see somepony like you out here. It's not often we get visitors in the Badlands."

I raise an eyebrow. "What, is this place off the map?"

Dandelion and Brick exchange glances.

Then Brick grins again, "Something like that. You're probably the first new face we've seen in months."

Another pony—a young, bright-eyed mare previously named Soot—pipes up from behind them. "Yeah! It's just—well, we don't get a lot of unicorns out here, let alone ones as…"

She trails off, eyeing me carefully.

I know exactly what she was about to say.

I snort. "Fucked up?"

Soot turns red, sputtering. "I—I wasn't gonna say that! I was just—um—"

Brick chuckles. "Well, you're not exactly subtle, friend."

I roll my eyes, but I don't actually mind the banter. It's a stark contrast to how the town watched me before—now, they almost seem like they're trying to keep things light.

Trying to lift my spirits.

I doubt it'll work.

But… I appreciate the attempt.

Rachel, however, does not.

She looms beside me, unnervingly still, her carved irises tracking every movement around us. She doesn't look at me. Not once.

But she watches everyone else like they're a problem she's waiting to deal with.

It's subtle.

Her body doesn't shift. She doesn't make any aggressive movements. But she's tense, the same way she would be when a monster was approaching.

She's not used to this.

She was born in Tartarus, where everything that moved tried to kill us. Where watching, waiting, and reacting with maximum efficiency was the only reason we made it out alive.

She doesn't understand that these ponies aren't enemies.

Brick keeps talking, seemingly unaware of the way Rachel's gaze drills into him. "So, what's with the… uh…" He gestures vaguely at Rachel, clearly struggling for words.

I hesitate.

How do I even explain her?

I glance at Rachel, who hasn't looked at me once since we started talking.

Her focus is entirely on the others, her posture coiled, calculating.

I lick my lips. "She's my… friend."

I don't know why I said it like that.

Maybe because I'm still figuring it out myself.

Rachel doesn't react.

Brick, however, raises an eyebrow, his grin growing a little wider. "That so? Well, she's… ah, unique. Didn't take you for a sculptor."

I snort. "I'm not."

Soot leans forward, curious but hesitant. "Does she… talk?"

Rachel finally moves, her head snapping to Soot so fast it makes her flinch.

There's no hostility in it, no actual aggression.

But there's intent.

Rachel is still trying to figure them out.

And they're still trying to figure her out.

I clear my throat. "Not yet."

Dandelion, still eyeing Rachel cautiously, nods slowly. "Well, she certainly seems… protective."

Understatement of the fucking century.

"Yeah," I mutter. "She is."

The conversation shifts, and I finally get to the most important question.

"How far am I from Ponyville?"

The question hangs in the air longer than I expect.

Brick furrows his brow. "Ponyville?"

I don't like the way he says it. Like it's something he's never heard before.

Dandelion shifts slightly. "I don't think we've ever had anypony from… Ponyville? You're sure that's the name?"

I nod, frowning. "Yeah. Small town, near the Everfree. Shouldn't be that hard to—"

Brick interrupts, shaking his head. "Sorry, friend. We don't know it."

I blink.

I was expecting some distance.

But not this.

Ponyville isn't some obscure dot on the map. It's a real place. It should be known.

Shouldn't it?

I push down my unease. "What about Canterlot?"

This time, their reactions aren't hesitant—they nod, a few of them perking up slightly.

"Canterlot, yeah." Dandelion gestures northward. "It's about a month's trip that way."

A month.

I let out a sharp exhale. "That's... farther than I thought."

"You'd be better off stopping at Redstone Gulch first," she continues. "From there, you could reach Dodge City before hitting the train. It's the safest route."

Safest.

That's an interesting way to phrase it.

I nod slowly, filing that information away.

Brick flashes a smile "Hey, don't look so down. With that fancy ride of yours, I bet you'll be faster than a month's trek."

I force a half-smile back. "Yeah. Probably."

Soot perks up. "If you're heading out, we can get you some supplies! Nopony lasts long in the Badlands without extra rations."

That actually surprises me. "Really?"

Brick grins. "Yeah! Ain't right to send somepony off without helping 'em out. We don't get visitors, but we take care of our own."

Something about the way he says it almost makes me pause.

But the thought doesn't settle.

Instead, I nod. "Alright. I appreciate it."

They lead me to a supply area—mostly clay pots filled with what looks like dried fruits and grains, alongside water skins wrapped in thick cloth. A few wrapped packages that smell vaguely like salted meat.

It's more than generous.

More than I expected.

I reach into my saddlebags, magic pulling out the same worn pouch I've been carrying since before all of this. The bits inside jingle as I levitate them toward the pile of supplies.

Dandelion's eyes widen. "Oh—no, no, we don't need—"

I frown. "What? Of course you do. This is a trade."

Brick shakes his head quickly, pushing the bag back toward me. "Nah, friend. We don't take bits out here. Ain't worth much in the Badlands."

I narrow my eyes slightly. "You sure?"

Soot waves a hoof. "Positive. Besides, you need them more than us. You'll need actual currency when you hit Dodge City."

I glance between them, waiting for some kind of catch.

But they just smile.

My chest warms a bit. It's uncomfortable.

I'm not used to... whatever this feeling is.

I hesitate, but eventually relent, stuffing the pouch back into my bags. "Fine."

Rachel shifts beside me, her head tilting slightly—watching them, watching me.

I don't know what she's thinking.

But she doesn't like something.

She doesn't act, though. Doesn't move.

She's waiting.

I begin loading the supplies onto my cart, levitating the wrapped food bundles into the floating storage slab.

One of the ponies—a younger stallion, maybe Soot's brother—takes a step closer.

"Here, let me help—"

Rachel moves instantly.

A deep, grinding boom rumbles through her core as she pivots, her arm snapping up between me and him, blocking him entirely.

The stallion stumbles back, eyes wide. "Whoa—!"

I snap up before things escalate. "Rachel—Stop."

She freezes.

She obeys.

But she doesn't move away.

Her head turns toward me slowly, her carved irises shifting as if she's double-checking my order.

The tension lingers.

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. "She doesn't like ponies getting too close. She's, uh… very protective."

Soot swallows, her ears twitching. "Yeah, we noticed."

Brick lets out a nervous chuckle. "Guess we spooked her. No harm done."

The other ponies visibly relax, though a few glance at Rachel uneasily.

Rachel, meanwhile, stays where she is, gaze locked on the stallion who got too close.

Like she's memorizing him.

I make a note to be more careful.

I can't have her attacking random ponies just for standing near me.

I make a few modifications to the cart, ensuring that north is properly north, and adjusting the rest of the directions to match.

The ponies make a few more polite attempts to keep me in town.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay the night?"

"The desert's dangerous after dark, friend."

"You just got healed, no need to rush."

I wave them off. "I appreciate it, but I need to keep moving."

Dandelion sighs, clearly disappointed. "Alright. But take care of yourself, yeah?"

Brick grins, slapping my shoulder again. "Redstone Gulch is a few days that way. Stick to the valleys if you can—less heat, more shade."

I nod, storing that away. "Got it."

Rachel and I move back to the cart.

I float myself onto my slab and take one last glance at the strange village.

They all watch me go.

Some waving.

Some smiling.

"Activate: Northwest."

The runes hum, and the cart begins to move.

The journey starts smooth. The runes hum beneath me, the floating slab gliding forward in a steady rhythm. The supplies are secure, the food and water stored neatly behind me.

Rachel follows.

As always.

Her pace is steady, her gaze locked forward, every so often shifting to scan the horizon. I know exactly what she's looking for—anything that moves. Anything that might be a threat.

She won't find much, though. The Badlands are barren. At least, for now.

I glance back at her.

She's been walking since we left.

I frown.

She doesn't get tired. She doesn't feel exhaustion the way I do.

But still.

The thought of her walking endlessly beside the cart, never stopping, never resting, starts to bother me.

"…Rachel."

She turns immediately, stone irises locking onto me in perfect focus.

I gesture to the cart. "Get on."

She doesn't move.

I sigh. "You don't have to walk."

Still, she just stares.

I groan, rubbing my face. "Just—just do it, alright? I'll manage."

A pause.

Then, finally, she moves.

She climbs up onto the floating slab with me, shifting her massive frame with slow, deliberate movements, adjusting until she's settled beside me. The cart dips slightly under her weight, but I adjust the levitation runes accordingly, keeping us balanced.

It's heavier now.

I feel the drain immediately.

But I ignore it.

Rachel doesn't need to walk forever just because she can.

For a while, she just sits there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Then, without warning, she reaches out.

Her stone fingers press into my mane, combing through the tangled strands with slow, deliberate strokes.

I freeze.

"Rachel—"

She continues.

Her fingers slide down my neck, smoothing my fur, adjusting the strands as if grooming me.

"Okay, you don't—" I shift slightly. "Rachel, you really—"

She doesn't listen.

She keeps brushing, her hands moving with unnatural precision, her fingers spreading through my hair, carefully fixing it.

I sigh, exasperated.

"This is not what I meant."

She ignores me.

Of course she does.

She pets me like I'm some kind of fussy, exhausted animal, adjusting my mane, smoothing out stray hairs, carefully fixing me piece by piece.

It's so dumb.

But.

But I let her do it.

Because… I don't hate it.

While Rachel frets over me like a worried nursemaid, I pull my rune book out.

I flip through the pages, searching for what I need.

The Badlands are wide. Flat.

The scorpions I spot scuttling in the distance are huge, their armored forms gliding across the sand, their tails arching high. The slower, reptilian creatures—hulking things with rock-like shells—move in a way that makes them almost indistinguishable from the landscape.

Neither have noticed us yet.

I don't want them to.

I need to get higher.

I find what I need.

My horn glows faintly as I carve two new runes into the cart's surface.

One for Up.

One for Down.

And one to hold it in place.

I inject magic into them, feeling the hum of energy settle.

Then, I give the command.

"Activate: Up."

The cart shudders—then rises.

The desert shrinks beneath us, the ground pulling away inch by inch until we hover far above the creatures below.

The scorpions remain oblivious.

The reptilian beasts don't even look up.

I exhale slowly. Good.

Less risk of confrontation.

Less reason for Rachel to start breaking things.

The temperature up here is actually milder than I expected. The higher altitude takes the worst of the heat away, leaving us in a strange pocket of calm.

We travel in silence.

The Badlands stretch out beneath us, vast and lifeless, the cracked earth fading into a dull, endless horizon. The only movement is the occasional gust of wind kicking up loose sand, sending it swirling into the air before it settles again.

Rachel sits beside me on the cart, her weight shifting slightly as we hover over the terrain. Every so often, her hands twitch like she's about to resume fussing over me, but I keep one ear flicked toward her in warning.

She seems to get the message.

Mostly.

I let my gaze wander across the landscape, my mind drifting in and out of focus.

Then—

Movement.

I squint.

A cluster of shapes circles in the sky, dark against the pale expanse of the clouds.

Vultures.

Circling low.

Something's dying.

I hesitate for a moment before guiding the cart lower, shifting the runes. As we descend, the source of the vultures' interest becomes clear.

A pony.

Sinking.

The sand around them churns in slow, deliberate spirals—quicksand. How familiar.

Even from here, I can see the telltale signs of a struggle. Wings flared, hooves paddling uselessly, the mare's expression a mix of frustration and stubborn determination.

I recognize her almost immediately.

Daring Do.

I stare.

Huh.

I let the cart glide forward, stopping just within range.

I exhale through my nose and float a little closer. "Hey."

Daring Do startles, her raspberry red eyes snapping to me.

I tilt my head toward her predicament. "You, uh… need a hoof?"

Her glare is immediate. "I don't need help," she snaps. "Daring Do handles her own business."

Oh wow.

Okay.

I raise an eyebrow. "Yeah? That so?"

She scoffs, struggling harder. "I've gotten out of worse."

I shrug. "Alright then."

And I watch.

The quicksand pulls her lower.

Her wings flap harder, but it's useless—the more she fights, the faster she sinks.

She grits her teeth.

Her chest is almost fully submerged now.

I lean forward slightly, voice dry. "You do know that even if the sand doesn't kill you, the sinkholes here mostly lead to Tartarus, right?"

Low sample size, but true.

She freezes.

Then narrows her eyes. "You're lying."

I smirk. "Why would I lie to a dying mare?"

She doesn't answer immediately.

Her wings falter.

The sand pulls her a little further down.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face.

Daring glares at me, her jaw clenched tight.

She's sinking faster now, the quicksand pulling her down past her shoulders. Her wings twitch uselessly, one hanging limply at an awkward angle—sprained at the very least.

Her eyes dart around, searching for something—anything—to grab onto.

There's nothing.

And she knows it.

Her expression shifts. The bravado falters, just for a second. A flicker of hesitation.

She doesn't want to ask.

She really doesn't.

But she's running out of time.

I watch her.

I wait.

Her nostrils flare as the sand creeps up her neck.

Her glare sharpens, but there's something else behind it now.

A silent plea.

But I don't move.

Not yet.

She growls under her breath, struggling one last time—

—and sinks deeper.

Her head tilts back, her ears flatten, her mouth presses into a thin line.

She looks at me.

She really looks at me.

"…Fine," she mutters through gritted teeth. "Help me out."

I smile. "What was that?"

Her eye twitches.

"Just pull me out!"

I don't push her any further.

My horn glows, my magic condensing some sand around her with careful precision, using it to grip her.

She tenses—not used to being the one saved, huh?—but she doesn't fight it.

I lift her slowly, making sure not to pull too hard or too fast.

Quicksand is tricky—yank too hard, and it'll take whatever limb is deepest—so I spread the force evenly, guiding her body up and out, shifting the sand away as I do.

It takes a few seconds, but then—

She's free.

I set her down gently on a solid patch of ground nearby.

She stays down.

Panting.

Covered in sweat and sand, her mane matted, her feathers ruffled.

I glance at her wing—yep, definitely sprained. She won't be flying anytime soon.

She shifts, testing her limbs, then winces.

I raise an eyebrow. "Not your best work, huh?"

She glares at me but doesn't deny it.

Instead, her eyes flick past me, finally taking in my cart.

The floating slab of stone, the smooth runes glowing faintly along its surface, the way it just hovers, defying gravity like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"…That's not normal," she mutters.

I smirk. "Yeah, well. Neither am I."

She stares at it, her frustration briefly forgotten.

She's intrigued.

Daring pushes herself up, groaning slightly as she tests her weight on her injured wing. She doesn't bother dusting herself off—just gives her feathers a quick shake before locking eyes with me again.

She jerks her chin toward the floating slab. "Alright, I'll take that."

I blink. "…What?"

She gestures impatiently. "Your flying rock thing. I need it."

I snort. "Yeah, that's not happening."

She glares. "I don't think you understand. I'm in the middle of something very important. This isn't just some treasure hunt—I'm looking for the Sunstone."

I tilt my head, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. And?"

Her ears flick in irritation. "And Ahuizotl already has one half. If he finds the other, he'll have control over an artifact that can amplify sunlight to devastating levels."

I raise an eyebrow. "Devastating how?"

She huffs. "Enough to wipe out an entire city if he misuses it."

That makes me pause.

She sees it—seizes it—and doubles down. "I need to reach the temple before he does. I don't have time to mess around in the sand, and since you just happened to fly in on that fancy little slab of yours, you're going to give it to me."

I scoff. "Yeah, no. I'm not."

Her wings twitch. "What?"

I roll my eyes. "Even if I gave you the cart, it wouldn't do you any good. It only works because I'm powering it. Without a unicorn feeding it magic, it'd be dead in minutes."

Daring's eye twitches. She takes a breath, squares her shoulders, and switches tactics.

"Fine. Then you're coming with me."

I stare at her. "What."

She stomps a hoof. "You heard me. If I can't use the cart without you, then you are coming with me."

I let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, that's funny. That's really funny."

She scowls. "What's so funny?"

I level her with a look. "The last time I tried to help somepony out, I lost a leg for my troubles." I lift my stump slightly, my voice sharp. "So forgive me if I'm not jumping at the chance to do it again."

Daring freezes. Just for a second.

Her gaze flickers to my stump, her mouth opening slightly like she wants to say something—but nothing comes out.

She wasn't expecting that.

Good.

Maybe now she'll back off.

But then—she takes a slow breath. Closes her eyes. And when she opens them again…

Her entire demeanor shifts.

The sharp, forceful adventurer vanishes in an instant.

Instead, she softens.

Her expression shifts—her ears dip back slightly, her red eyes gleaming with something almost gentle. When she speaks again, her voice is smooth, persuasive, sweet.

"Hey," she murmurs, tilting her head just slightly. "I get it. You've been through a lot."

I narrow my eyes. Oh, she's good.

She takes a step closer, careful, measured. "I didn't mean to be so… pushy. I just—this is really important, you know?"

I don't respond.

She pushes further.

Daring's voice dips into something softer, smoother. Calculated.

"I mean, look at you." She gestures, her eyes gleaming with something almost admiring. "You show up out of nowhere, floating on this incredible artifact—this thing that shouldn't exist—with a golem at your side?"

She lets out a breath, shaking her head as if in awe.

"It's like something out of a legend."

I snort, unimpressed. "It's a floating rock."

Daring smirks. "Oh, please. This isn't just some rock—you and I both know that. It's a masterpiece. How old is it?" Her eyes flick to the runes, tracing them with genuine interest. "This kind of magic… it's pre-Equestrian, isn't it? Did you find it in some ruin? Was it passed down? I have to know."

I blink.

Then, slowly, I smirk.

"You think I found this?"

She tilts her head. "Didn't you?"

I let out a short, amused laugh. "No. I made this."

Daring's ears flick upward, her wings twitching slightly. "Wait. You mean—you built this?"

I grin, the edge of my exhaustion peeling back slightly. "Yeah. And if I wanted to, I could make fifty more."

For a brief second, she actually looks impressed.

Her gaze drags over the floating slab, her hoof lightly brushing one of the rune markings. "You made this?" she repeats, more to herself than to me. She glances back up. "That's… wow. This is some serious work."

I shrug, but my ego is thriving.

"Oh, it's nothing."

It is very much something.

And she knows it.

She smiles, "Alright, you got me. That's really cool."

I try not to look too pleased.

She steps closer, eyes flicking toward Rachel now.

"And her?" Daring's tone is still warm, still curious. "Did you make her too?"

Rachel, who up until now had been silent, tilts her head, her stone irises shifting to track Daring.

Surprisingly, she doesn't seem to care how close Daring is getting.

Maybe because she doesn't see her as a threat.

I hesitate.

Then nod. "Yeah."

Daring lets out a low whistle. "Okay, now I'm impressed. Golems are ancient magic—barely anypony knows how to make them anymore. And yours? She's… I mean, she's perfect. The detail, the movement—it's like she was made by a master craftspony."

My chest puffs slightly.

Daring notices.

And keeps going.

"You're a genius, aren't you?" she teases, her voice light, playful. "A prodigy. You didn't just find magic like this—you built it from the ground up. Ponies probably don't even realize what you're capable of, huh?"

I smirk. "They really don't."

Daring Do grins, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping into that silky smooth persuasion that I'm quickly realizing is very practiced.

"But I do."

I narrow my eyes slightly. "Oh, do you now?"

She smirks. "Of course! It's obvious. You're brilliant, you're innovative, and you're wasting that big, beautiful brain flying aimlessly through the desert instead of, you know, actually solving problems."

I roll my eyes. "Right, because I totally don't have problems of my own."

She waves a hoof. "Oh please. Surely a big, smart stallion like you can handle more than one thing at a time."

I pause.

She presses on, sensing the hesitation. "I mean, really—think about it. This is exactly the kind of thing a pony like you should be doing. A lost temple? A legendary artifact? Ancient magic that's just begging to be uncovered?"

She gestures wildly. "I mean, come on! Some hack out there would be writing books about your discoveries! Ponies would study your methods! And here you are, sitting on a technological marvel, brushing me off like you'd rather do nothing with it."

I scowl. "I'm not doing nothing with it."

She smirks. "Then prove it."

I open my mouth, ready to argue.

But… she's got me.

She knows she's got me.

Because, dammit, she's right.

This Sunstone artifact?

If it's real, and if it's as powerful as she claims, it's not just her problem.

It's my problem.

Because I know how this kind of thing goes—if I ignore it, some idiot is going to get their hooves on it, and suddenly I'm dealing with a massive crisis later.

Better to handle it now.

Better to be ahead of the problem.

I let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing my forehead.

Daring sees the shift—the crack in my resistance—and grins.

"So," she says, casually rolling a hoof. "Where exactly do I sit on this fancy flying thing?"

I groan, rubbing my temple with my hoof. "Fine. Just—get on."

Daring Do grins like she's just won a bet, adjusting her hat before hopping onto the floating slab with obnoxious enthusiasm. Rachel doesn't react, her carved irises barely shifting to acknowledge the new passenger.

Daring settles in quickly, adjusting her wings with a small wince. "Alright, we head that way." She gestures vaguely to the northwest, where the rocky formations of the Badlands stretch into the distance.

I adjust the runes, sending a pulse of magic through the cart. "Activate: Northwest."

The slab shifts smoothly, picking up speed, the landscape rolling beneath us.

Daring takes in the ride, her eyes darting between the glowing runes and the seamless motion. "Okay, this is seriously impressive."

I don't answer.

Instead, I grab a few chunks of rock from the ground below and start working.

I just focus, compressing the intergranular bonds, layering the stone, reinforcing it piece by piece. I craft segments, locking them together in a structure that moves freely, adjusting itself as needed. Each part is separate, but the runes will handle cohesion.

Daring watches for a moment before narrowing her eyes. "Wait a minute…"

She leans in, scrutinizing the pieces as they snap into place.

Finally, she asks, "What the hay are you making?"

I exhale through my nose. "A leg."

She blinks. "A what?"

I gesture vaguely to my very-missing right foreleg. "Y'know. A leg."

Her eyes widen slightly. "Why didn't you make that before?"

I shoot her a look. "Haven't had the time."

She tilts her head, as if considering that. "…Okay."

She watches closely as I carve the runes into the surface—ground detection, weight balancing, movement control—integrating them directly into the core of the structure.

Her curiosity gets the better of her. "How the heck is that going to work?"

I smirk. "Magic."

She rolls her eyes. "No, really."

I smirk wider. "Magic."

She groans, rubbing her temple. "You're impossible."

I keep working, refining the load distribution, adjusting the shock absorption channels so I don't shatter the damn thing the moment I step on uneven terrain.

INITIAL CONDITIONS
ground_detected = false
terrain_angle = 0
leg_extension = default_length
adjusting = false

GROUND DETECTION RUNE
if detect(ground)
→ ground_detected = true
→ terrain_angle = get_terrain_angle()
→ leg_extension = get_ground_distance()

LEG ADJUSTMENT RUNE
if ground_detected
→ adjusting = true
→ adjust_leg_length(leg_extension)
→ align_leg_angle(terrain_angle)
→ balance_weight_distribution()

if adjusting and leg_stable()
→ adjusting = false

TERRAIN COMPENSATION RUNE
if detect(incline)
→ shift_weight_upward()
→ extend_front_legs()
→ retract_rear_legs()

if detect_decline()
→ shift_weight_downward()
→ extend_rear_legs()
→ retract_front_legs()

if detect_uneven_surface()
→ independently_adjust_each_leg()

if off_ground and not intentional_float
→ apply_gravity()

MOVEMENT CORRECTION RUNE
if moving and ground_detected
→ engage_leg_joints()
→ step_with_adjustment(terrain_angle, leg_extension)
→ balance_weight_distribution()

I finish the last set of adjustments, double-checking the load distribution runes and terrain compensation engravings before lifting the leg up in my magic.

Daring leans forward, watching intently as I align it with the cap already fused to my stump. The stone socket was designed for this—it was always the first step in making something permanent, should the need arise.

The moment I press the leg into place, the runes flare to life.

A deep hum vibrates through the new limb as the segments shift, adjusting seamlessly to the connection point. The directional runes synchronize instantly, sending pulses of energy through the structure, checking angles, weight, and balance.

Then—

The leg moves.

Not with a delay. Not with stiffness.

But fluidly.

It adjusts its own stance, shifting subtly to match my posture. When I lift it slightly, the ankle joint flexes, the weight-distribution runes counterbalancing perfectly.

Daring Do stares.

"…What the buck."

I test it further, pressing it against the slab. The ground detection rune picks up the surface instantly, feeding information back to the adjustment runes. The leg compensates, the interlocking plates shifting like a real limb.

Daring's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

"Okay," she says, shaking her head. "This is insane."

I flex the hoof experimentally, feeling the way the magic threads through the structure, making micro-adjustments in real-time.

"Yeah," I murmur, almost to myself. "That's about right."

Daring waves a hoof at it wildly. "This—this is beyond normal rune work. I mean, ponies do runes, yeah, but this?" She gestures again, as if trying to encompass the absurd level of engineering in front of her. "This is next-level stuff. Who even taught you how to do this?"

I shrug, rolling the new hoof against the slab's surface. "No one."

She squints. "Bullshit."

I smirk. "Self-taught."

She gawks at me, then at the leg, then back at me. "You just—figured this out? On your own?"

I nod.

I rummage in my saddlebags, pulling out my worn rune book. Runes and Their Applications: A Mage's Guide.

Daring's ears flick toward me as I crack it open, flipping past the first few pages of cramped, archaic writing and half-sketched runes. "This was given to me by a... mare, a while back." I clear my throat. "Never really told me where she got it, just dumped it on me and told me to 'try not to blow anything up.'"

She arches an eyebrow. "Sounds like a delightful friend."

I snort. "You'd think so. I had to figure out about half of it on my own. The original text doesn't exactly believe in clarity."

I tilt the book, showing her the dense runic diagrams scrawled across page after page. Sections are scribbled over with my own notes—lines of more modern Equestrian script, directional arrows, corrections to the original text. It's messy, but it's mine.

Daring leans in, her eyes shining with fascination. "So this is where you got your starting point?"

"Something like that," I admit, tapping a particular diagram with my hoof. "I cross-referenced it with other sources, but this was… well, the biggest piece of the puzzle."

She squints at the page, then flips to the inside cover. Her gaze sharpens. "Uh, you realize this says Property of the Canterlot Royal Archives, right?"

I blink. "It says what now?"

She points a hoof, tracing the faintly embossed letters. They're faded, barely visible, but definitely there:
PROPERTY OF THE CANTERLOT ROYAL ARCHIVES

I stare. "...Oh."

Daring gives me a flat look. "You didn't notice that?"

"I—" I shrug awkwardly. "I didn't, actually. She shoved the book in my face, I shoved it in my pack. That's the end of it."

She smirks. "So you stole from the Crown?"

"Hey, she stole it, at most." I lift a hoof in defense. "I had no idea it was from the archives."

Daring's smirk only widens. "Riiight. No clue at all."

I roll my eyes and flip the tome shut. "Can't exactly return it now, can I? It's been incredibly useful—not to mention I've heavily edited a lot of these pages. Pretty sure the archivists wouldn't appreciate my notes scribbled all over the margins."

"Probably not." She laughs under her breath. "Well, guess that explains why it's so old and... cryptic. Ponies from the archives aren't known for user-friendly texts. More like user-unfriendly."

"You're telling me. Half the lines in here are references to references. I had to invent new diagrams just to keep things straight. And I keep a separate translation of the runes I actually use in my notebook." I tuck the book away, ignoring the pang of guilt that I technically shouldn't have it. "Anyway, it's mine now. Let them try and take it from me."

"Brave words," she says, waggling her brow. "I'd pay bits to see that showdown."

"Right," I mutter, eyeing the distant horizon. "I'm sure it'll be a hoot."

Daring just chuckles, settling back on the cart as our makeshift airship continues northwest across the desolate Badlands. Rachel, true to form, hasn't moved, her stone posture as unyielding as ever—though her eyes flick once toward me, then back to Daring.

I stare at the newly attached stone leg, shifting it a bit and feeling the runes hum in response. It's not quite like a natural limb—I can feel the absence of muscle, the subtle pressure differences—but it's a step up from limping around on three legs.

At least I'm mobile.

And from the sly way Daring keeps eyeing my half-finished runes in the book, I suspect she hasn't quite run out of questions yet.

We float across the Badlands for what feels like hours, scanning the broken terrain from our comfortable spot high above the desert floor. The sun beats down mercilessly, but the steady wind up here keeps things tolerable. Daring perches at the edge of the slab, her gaze sharp, ears twitching whenever she spots movement below.

I try not to look too self-satisfied about my brand-new leg, but I'll admit: it's a relief to not feel lopsided. It's not connected to my mind—there's no direct nerve link or anything—yet the runes interpret my weight shifts and forward motion, moving the stone with only a slight delay. I can feel the difference, but it's far from debilitating.

Rachel, uncharacteristically, hasn't fussed over me since we started flying again. She sits at the back of the slab, stony eyes set on the horizon. We're all on the lookout for any hint of a looming structure or telltale shape… and then Daring makes a small gasp.

"There!" she exclaims, pointing with her uninjured foreleg. "You see it? Over by that weird jagged outcrop."

It doesn't take me long to spot it: a squat, crumbling stone complex partially buried in the sand, its arches and pillars sticking out at odd angles. From the air, it looks like half the building has collapsed inward. Vines snake around the ruins, and I can just make out faint, worn carvings on the outer walls.

I nod. "Must be the temple."

Daring smirks. "That's where we'll find the other half of the Sunstone—if the legends are true."

I roll my eyes. "Because legends always get it right."

She swats my shoulder lightly. "Sometimes they do."

I just grunt and lean forward to adjust the cart's runes. "All right, heading in."

With a pulse of magic, I guide us downward. The floating slab descends in an almost straight line, slowing as it nears the sand. A rush of hot desert air buffets my face, and a swirl of dust envelops us when we finally touch down a safe distance from the temple entrance.

I test my new leg again. The runes hum quietly as the segmented plates shift, settling into the sand with a surprising degree of give. It's… jarring to have the limb move without me consciously doing anything, but it works. It's reading my body's weight shifts, matching them, supporting me in each step.

Daring jumps off the slab, stumbling just a bit when she lands—her sprained wing is clearly bothering her. She scowls but doesn't complain. "We should be careful," she mutters. "Ruins like this tend to be… well, booby-trapped out the wazoo."

"Fabulous." I glance at Rachel, who's climbed down with all the poise of a statue coming to life. "At least I'm prepared for… whatever."

Rachel offers no opinion. She simply stands guard, scanning the dusty surroundings in her ever-watchful way.

Daring leads the way forward, her hooves kicking up small clouds of sand. I follow, still reacquainting myself with having four limbs. The sand shifts under my new leg, but the runes compensate fluidly, adjusting the angle and extension so I don't trip.

"This is going to take some getting used to," I mutter.

"Hey, you're doing great," Daring calls over her shoulder, surprisingly chipper now that we're near our destination. She halts just a few yards from the temple entrance—a crumbling archway flanked by sculpted stone figures, their faces eroded beyond recognition.

"Well," I say, eyeing the archway. "After you, Ms. Do."

She smirks, adjusting her hat with her good hoof. "Don't worry, I won't let you lose another limb."

I scoff. "Yeah, you'd better not. This one took me long enough to replace."

She steps inside, carefully angling her body to avoid jostling her hurt wing. Rachel and I move to follow, the dry wind scraping across the walls of the temple behind us, whistling like the ghosts of adventurers past. Already, I can see faint glyphs on the stone, telling stories worn away by time and sand.

Off to the side, the remains of an ancient door hinge still cling to the stone—evidence that once, this temple had a grand entrance. Now it's just rubble. And possibly some lethal traps, a small voice reminds me.

But there's no turning back. We're here, and if Daring's right, so is the other half of that Sunstone. We press on, cautious yet determined, my new prosthetic leg clacking against the ancient floor, runes humming softly as if excited by the temple's hidden energies.

The temple's interior is surprisingly intact, despite the collapsed outer walls. Ancient reliefs along the corridors depict half-eroded figures bowing to a solar disc—likely referencing the very Sunstone we're here to find. The ambiance is exactly what you'd expect from an old ruin: dusty air, stale heat, and an ever-present sense that something (or someone) wants to skewer you.

Daring Do, despite her injured wing, takes the lead. She points out pressure plates camouflaged in the floor, bypasses a tripwire or two, and gestures when to step carefully around uneven stones. It's all very practiced for her.

For me, it's a new kind of frustration. My stone leg, guided by the runes, tends to overcorrect on uncertain ground. So whenever it tries to 'help' me by shifting weight, I have to counter that impulse with my magic—manually holding it in place so I don't accidentally stomp on something lethal. But after a few tries, I get into a rhythm.

"Watch your step," Daring calls from up ahead, hovering a hoof over a row of exposed floor tiles. "These are definitely rigged. See the tiny holes in that relief on the wall? Arrows. Guaranteed."

I snort. "Great." I guide my hoof carefully around the suspicious tiles, balancing my body weight as my leg's runes attempt to tilt me forward. "Stop doing that," I mutter at the unfeeling chunk of rock attached to my stump. A tiny telekinetic nudge keeps it steady.

Daring smirks at me over her shoulder. "Worried?"

"Worried that my own invention might get me killed? Yes."

She laughs. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're doing fine."

We move a bit further, passing through a narrow doorway into a new chamber. Statues of long-forgotten deities stand along the walls, their once-proud faces weathered to lumps. The floor here seems stable—no obvious triggers.

For about three seconds.

Then click.

Daring's hoof sinks half an inch. She freezes, ears pinned back. "Oh, come on—"

The walls shift. Slots open up, revealing a forest of arrowheads. I don't hesitate. With a flare of magic, I compress the air on either side of me and Daring, creating an invisible barrier. The arrows fire in a deadly salvo, pock-pock-pock-pock rattling through the corridor in a blinding flurry.

But none reach us.

They clatter to the ground, deflected away by the compressed air layer wrapping around us like a tight bubble. The last arrow hits the stone with a dull thud, and a dusty silence settles.

Daring Do exhales shakily, relief clear on her face. "Thanks. That was… close."

I raise an eyebrow. "Told you I was good at this stuff."

She lets out a breathy laugh, stepping carefully off the pressure plate so it doesn't re-trigger. "I'm starting to see that. You saved my flank—again." She presses a hoof to the wall, wiping sweat from her brow. "Seriously, that air trick was insane. How'd you even have time to think of that?"

I flick an ear, arching an eyebrow at Daring's question. "—I am an archmage, after all."

She blinks. "An archmage?"

"Mm-hmm." I dispel the compressed air and roll my new stone leg, easing the tension in my shoulders. "Let's go, Indiana—uh, Daring. We've got a relic to find."

She opens her mouth, probably to ask for details, but I'm already turning away, guiding Rachel along through the corridor. We press deeper into the temple, carefully navigating more crumbling archways and suspicious-looking floor tiles. Every few steps, I raise my hoof so my stone leg doesn't auto-adjust onto another booby trap.

Eventually, the passage widens into a massive chamber. Shafts of sunlight filter in from cracks in the ceiling, illuminating a raised stone dais. At its center sits a small plinth, ancient glyphs crawling up its sides.

And on that plinth?

A glowing shard of golden crystal—light refracting across the walls in shifting, dancing patterns.

Daring inhales sharply. "The other half of the Sunstone," she breathes. "We found it."

I open my mouth to say something snarky—because of course we found it—but a deep laugh echoes through the chamber, bouncing off the old stone pillars.

Ahuizotl.

He steps from behind a broken statue, towering over us with that hulking, blue-furred monkey-dog body and an extra hand at the tip of his tail. His eyes gleam with triumph. And he's already holding another shard of the Sunstone—one that pulses in perfect harmony with the relic on the plinth.

"You ponies," he sneers, "are so predictable. Always prancing about, stealing artifacts that rightly belong to my people. But not this time."

He lifts his half of the Sunstone, eyes narrowing. "This time, I will take what's mine—and ensure the pony race never defiles our heritage again."

His cruel grin widens. "With both halves, the Sunstone's power can amplify sunlight to unimaginable levels… enough to wipe out Equestria, if I so choose." He huffs. "No more trespassing. No more theft. I'll eradicate every last one of you."

Daring's stance shifts. "Ahuizotl, that's insane! You don't know how to control it—"

He ignores her, striding forward, tail-hand poised to snatch the temple's Sunstone half from the plinth. "I'll figure it out. And I'll start by disposing of you first—"

CRACK!

Daring flicks her hoof, and before I can even register it, a whip snaps out, coiling around Ahuizotl's wrist. He snarls in surprise. The second shard slips from his grasp, clattering off the dais and tumbling across the chamber floor.

"What the—?!" He tugs, ripping the whip aside with a violent yank, but Daring twists deftly, maintaining tension. "Since when do you carry a whip?" I mutter, half-amused.

She flashes me a quick grin, sweat beading on her brow. "Always bring a backup plan."

Ahuizotl wrenches free, rage contorting his features. He lunges for Daring, but Rachel intervenes, stepping in with stone fists raised. Meanwhile, the artifact rolling across the stone floor bounces off a chipped tile and skitters right toward me.

I freeze.

It stops a hoof's length away, glowing with a soft, golden light that pulses like a heartbeat.

Daring's still tangling with Ahuizotl, her whip snapping around his tail-hand to keep him from the first half of the artifact. If those shards fuse, the resulting Sunstone might very well unleash a beam of scorching solar death on everypony in range.

And now, half the fate of Equestria is literally at my hooves.

Well, I think dryly, stooping to pick it up, guess it's my problem now.

Ahuizotl's gaze locks on me, his snarling features twisted in rage.
He lunges, tail-hand reaching for the Sunstone shard at my hooves.

I don't do chase scenes.

Instead, my horn flares, and I lift the glowing fragment in my telekinetic grip. Everypony—and thing—seems to freeze, as if the tension in the air reaches a breaking point.

Ahuizotl takes a single step forward, claws splayed.
"Don't you—"

Too late.

I separate the artifact atom by atom.

Crack.

A hush of radiant dust hangs in the air, where once the Sunstone half pulsed with ancient energy. I've torn every bond holding it together, letting it dissolve into a lifeless speckle of shimmering motes. A faint glimmer, then—nothing.

Ahuizotl's roar echoes in the chamber, pure fury laced with disbelief.
"You insolent—!"

But I'm already picking up a small stone with my magic—barely bigger than a pebble—before firing it with a whipcrack force. It whizzes by his head, close enough to make his ear twitch, before slamming into the temple wall behind him.

He stops dead, tail-hand hovering in midair.

I don't raise my voice. No need.
"I'm done with this," I say, my tone flat as I hold another projectile ready. "Get out. Or the next one goes through you, not past."

Ahuizotl snarls, chest heaving—but there's something in my eyes, or maybe in the unwavering hum of my magic, that makes him think twice. He spits a curse in his native tongue, then backs away.

He glares at Daring one last time, then turns and disappears into the shadows of the temple, his footsteps echoing until they fade.

Silence settles.

Daring Do's whip sags. She slumps, exhaling shakily.
"…That's one way to handle it."

I brush some dust off my new leg, ignoring the tremor of adrenaline in my spine.
"Better than letting him blow up Equestria," I say dryly.

Daring's gaze drops to the scattered motes where the Sunstone fragment once lay. She sighs, ears flattening slightly.
"That was history. It… belonged in a museum," she mutters, half to herself. But then her eyes flick up to me, and she offers a faint smile. "Still, guess it's better that this ended before a giant boulder tried to crush me or I got tied up above piranhas." She grabs the other half of the sunstone and sticks it in her hat.

I smirk. "Oh?"

She turns away, scanning the temple as if looking for something else to focus on. But It's such a low-hanging fruit.

I tilt my head, voice smooth. "You look like the kind of mare that likes to get tied up though."

Daring Do's wings twitch violently. She stiffens, her ears flicking back as a red hue creeps up her face.

Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide. "I—what?!"

I shrug innocently. "Just saying. That whole 'reckless adventurer in constant peril' thing? Sounds like a lifestyle choice."

She sputters. Actually sputters.

Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again—probably cycling through at least three different comebacks—before she finally scowls, shoving her hat down over her eyes. "You're insufferable."

I chuckle, messing with my new leg and testing the balance. "Yep."

Rachel, who has been watching this entire exchange silently, turns her head toward Daring. There's no way she understands the context, but she knows Daring is flustered. The stone golem tilts her head, eyes tracking Daring's ears as they flick in agitation.

Daring clears her throat aggressively, adjusting her saddlebag. "We should head back."

"Uh-huh." I flick some dust off my foreleg. "Before you end up dangling over lava or something."

She glares, but there's a twitch at the corner of her lips.

We make our way back through the temple ruins, Daring noticeably avoiding eye contact while I smirk the entire way.

As soon as we step out into the blazing desert sun, the floating cart comes into view.

Daring stops, squinting at it like she's seeing it for the first time all over again.

"Yeah," she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck. "That thing is still way too cool."

I step up onto it, adjusting the runes for flight. "You gonna keep staring or you getting on?"

She huffs, flicking her tail as she hops on beside me. "You're so lucky I need a ride."

I smirk as the runes glow beneath us. "Uh-huh."

Rachel climbs up last, settling into her usual spot, her gaze still flicking toward Daring every so often.

I feed magic into the controls. "Activate: Up."

The cart rises, lifting us above the scorching Badlands, leaving the temple, the ruined Sunstone shard, and Ahuizotl far behind.

The badlands stretch endlessly beneath us, the floating cart gliding smoothly through the sky. The wind is warm, dry, and unrelenting, but up here, it's not so bad. The altitude keeps the worst of the heat off, and with the traps and ancient death machines behind us, the ride is actually kind of… peaceful.

For once.

Daring Do stretches her wings—wincing slightly as she remembers one is still sprained—and sighs. "Alright, I gotta ask," she says, shooting me a sideways glance. "How'd a unicorn like you end up building this stuff?" She taps a hoof on the floating slab beneath us. "You don't exactly seem like the artifact-hunting, ruin-diving type."

I smirk. "What, you mean I'm not constantly throwing myself into danger for fun? Yeah. No."

She snorts. "So what do you do?"

"Stay inside. Read. Build things. Try not to lose limbs."

Daring chuckles, shaking her head. "You're one weird stallion, you know that?"

I shrug. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

She tilts her head, watching me for a moment. "Nah. Just different." Then, with a smirk of her own, she leans back slightly. "Still, it's weird that somepony as talented as you is wasting all that potential holed up at home."

I roll my eyes. "I get it, I get it—you think I should be 'out in the world,' making history or whatever."

She points a hoof at me. "Exactly."

I scoff. "Not everypony wants to go raiding ancient death traps."

"Yeah, yeah. Still—" she gestures at me vaguely, her eyes scanning me like she's trying to figure something out. "You're good at this. The magic, the problem-solving, the whole 'saving my flank' thing. You could do a lot of good if you, you know, stuck around."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Stuck around?"

Daring Do's ears flick back slightly. She clears her throat, avoiding my gaze for the first time since I met her. "Yeah, you know. Maybe we could do this again sometime." She rubs the back of her neck, suddenly very interested in the clouds passing by. "Wouldn't be the worst thing to have a partner who isn't actively trying to kill me."

Oh, she's flustered. That's interesting.

I smirk. "Are you asking me to be your sidekick, Daring?"

She groans, throwing her head back. "Oh, shut up."

I chuckle. "I dunno, you seem like you're asking me to be your sidekick. I mean, clearly you need the help, what with all the quicksand incidents—"

"I had it handled!"

"Right. Totally. If by 'handled' you mean 'sinking faster by the second.'"

She grumbles, crossing her forelegs and looking away. The redness in her face is almost impossible to miss. "I hate you."

I grin. "No, you don't."

She mutters something under her breath, flicking her tail.

The teasing aside, I let the silence linger for a moment. I could humor her, maybe even consider it.

But… no.

I shake my head, sighing. "Sorry, adventuring's not my thing. I'm a homebody, always have been. As soon as I get my bearings, I'm heading back to Ponyville. My house."

She doesn't answer right away.

Then—slowly—she nods, her ears drooping slightly. "Yeah… yeah, I figured."

I raise an eyebrow. "What, disappointed?"

She scoffs. "Pfft, no! I barely know you." She shifts, looking away again. "Just… would've been nice to have somepony watching my back for once, y'know?"

I smirk. "You're really bad at asking for things."

"Shut up."

The cart hums as we glide forward, leaving the temple behind. The adventure's over. And, for the first time in what feels like forever, I'm finally heading home.

But before the silence can settle too much, Daring Do flicks her tail, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. "You know…" she says, her voice casual, too casual, "I might stop by."

I blink. "What?"

She shrugs. "Ponyville's not that far. And if you happen to be around, maybe I'll swing by. See how the homebody life's treating you."

I smirk. "That so?"

She grins. "Yeah. Somepony's gotta make sure you don't get too boring."

I shake my head, amused. "Right. Because I'm the boring one."

"Exactly."

The cart drifts forward, the desert stretching out before us. And somewhere in the distance, the horizon beckons.

For now, though?

I'm just happy to be heading home.

 

[Riddlest]

The sun dips below the horizon, staining the desert in shades of deep amber and violet. The heat that had been relentless all day finally starts to fade, leaving behind a cooling breeze that ruffles my mane.

We glide for a while longer before I finally guide the cart down, settling us onto a relatively flat stretch of sand near a rocky outcrop.

"Alright," I mutter, stretching my legs as I step off the floating slab. "We stop here for the night."

Daring hops off after me, rolling her shoulders. "Good call. Flying all day takes it out of a mare."

I quirk an eyebrow. "You've been sitting all day."

She smirks. "Mental effort still counts."

I roll my eyes, but I'm too tired to argue. Instead, I focus on setting up camp. I gather some firewood—more accurately, dense chunks of dried cactus and desert brush—and ignite them with a simple spark of magic. The flames catch quickly, casting flickering shadows against the rocks. I grab out some of the food the ponies of Mirrormire gifted me, hoofing some to Daring.

Daring plops down next to the fire, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. "Now this is what I'm talking about. Good meal, warm fire, and good company. You're not half bad to travel with, you know."

I snort. "High praise, coming from the great Daring Do."

She smirks. "Damn right."

Rachel remains standing, watching over the area like an unmoving sentinel.

Daring watches Rachel for a moment, then turns back to me, shifting slightly so she's leaning against my side.

I blink.

She's not exactly cuddling, but she is closer than before. Too close for it to be just casual.

I glance at her. "...Comfortable?"

She smirks, stretching again, her wing brushing against me. "What? You're warm."

I roll my eyes. "Uh-huh."

She shifts again, now fully leaning against my shoulder. "Admit it," she says, her voice playfully low. "You like me."

I scoff. "I tolerate you."

She chuckles, her breath warm against my coat. "Mmhm. Keep telling yourself that."

I feel her tail flick lightly against my side.

Okay. This is getting weird.

I clear my throat, forcing some distance between us by leaning forward to poke at the fire. "Get some sleep, Daring. We've got another long day ahead."

She hums, a lazy, amused sound. "Yeah, yeah."

She doesn't move away immediately, but eventually, she stretches out beside me, resting her head on her forelegs.

I sit by the fire for a while longer, listening to the crackling flames, watching the stars slowly blink into view.

Rachel stands at the edge of the camp, unmoving, ever-watchful.

Daring shifts slightly in her sleep, her tail brushing my side again.

I sigh.

The sun rises over the Badlands, bleeding orange and gold across the endless dunes. The air is crisp in the early morning, the last traces of the desert night's coolness clinging to the sand before the heat sets in again. There's a large dead scorpion nearby, I guess Rachel took it out in our sleep.

I stretch, testing my new leg. The runes adjust instantly, balancing my weight without a hitch.

Daring stirs beside me, grumbling something incoherent as she lifts her head. Her mane is a mess—wild and tousled from sleep—but she doesn't seem to care. She rolls onto her back with a satisfied groan, stretching her limbs in every direction before shooting me a smirk.

"Morning, genius."

I arch an eyebrow. "You sure? You still look half-dead."

She snickers. "Yeah, well. That's what happens when you drag me across a desert." She sits up, shaking out her wings, then gives me a slow once-over, her red eyes gleaming with amusement. "You're up early."

I shrug. "Had things to check." I lift my leg for emphasis.

She watches the motion, tilting her head slightly. "Still weird seeing a rock move like that."

I let out a short laugh. "Magic."

She smirks. "Right, right. 'Magic.'" She flicks her tail lazily before hopping to her hooves. "So. We moving out, or do you wanna sit around and admire the sunrise some more?"

I snort. "Let's go."

Rachel follows without a word as I hop onto the cart. Daring joins me, settling in beside me with far less personal space than yesterday. I don't comment on it.

I send a pulse of magic through the runes.

"Activate: Northeast."

The cart lifts smoothly, floating forward with a steady hum. The morning air is still mild, but I can already feel the heat rising. The landscape rolls beneath us, vast and empty.

Daring stretches out, letting the warm wind ruffle her feathers. She's more relaxed now, her smirk turning lazy, almost smug.

She's up to something.

I glance at her. "What?"

She grins. "Nothing."

I narrow my eyes. "Bullshit."

She chuckles, shifting her position so she's very comfortably leaning against my side. "Relax, genius. Just getting cozy."

I roll my eyes, but I don't shove her off. "You're awfully touchy for somepony who just met me."

She shrugs, her wing brushing against my back. "What can I say? You're growing on me."

I snort. "Uh-huh."

She tilts her head, giving me a slow, knowing smile. "Besides… A stallion with brains and magic? You don't see that every day."

I blink.

That… felt different.

I shoot her a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Her smirk widens. "Nothing~."

I frown, thinking about that for a second.

It's subtle—so subtle I almost miss it—but there's something in the way she talks, the way she leans into me like it's expected, the way she teases without hesitation.

Something's different.

I don't fully get it yet.

But Daring is looking at me like she's on the hunt.

The cart hums steadily beneath us, floating smoothly across the desert air. The landscape stretches endlessly in every direction, the jagged rock formations and shifting dunes rolling by like an endless sea of gold and rust.

Daring shifts beside me, stretching her wings before tucking them in against her sides. "Not that I don't enjoy a good scenic flight, but we could stand to pick up the pace. Feels like we're crawling."

I nod. "Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing."

Now that I actually have all my limbs functioning—well, mostly—I can afford to increase speed. I glance down at the runes inscribed into the cart's surface. Right now, they're optimized for stability and controlled motion, not raw speed.

That's easy enough to fix.

I shift my weight slightly. "I'm landing us for a bit. Gotta make some upgrades."

Daring raises an eyebrow. "Upgrades?"

"You'll see."

I give the command. "Down."

The cart descends smoothly, settling onto the cracked, dry earth with a faint thud. I hop off, my new leg compensating for the uneven terrain instantly. The movement is still a little weird—the way it automatically balances when I move forward—but I'm getting used to it.

Daring stretches as she steps down, rolling her shoulders. "Alright, genius. What's the plan?"

I tap the surface of the cart. "Right now, it's designed for smooth, steady movement. But that's limiting our speed." I levitate my rune book, flipping to the right section. "I need to carve in a few acceleration runes."

She smirks. "That sounds fun."

I kneel down, my magic flaring as I begin carving.

The acceleration rune goes in first—a modification to the existing propulsion runes, allowing for a stronger burst of force without sacrificing control. Then, I add an adjustment rune to let me fine-tune the speed mid-flight.

As I work, Daring watches, her red eyes flicking between the glowing inscriptions. "You know," she muses, "I've seen some crazy artifacts, but I've never met somepony who could just make them."

I shrug, focused on my work. "Magic's not just about spells. It's about understanding how things work." I etch another line into the stone, refining the stabilization sigil. "A lot of ponies just throw magic at problems and hope it sticks."

Daring smirks. "And you?"

"I fix things," I say simply. "I don't just brute force my way through."

She tilts her head. "Is that why you're such a pain in the flank?"

I snort. "Probably."

She chuckles, watching as I carve a few more adjustments.

After a few minutes, I step back, inspecting my work. The cart hums faintly as the new runes settle in, their magic syncing with the existing runes.

"That should do it," I mutter. "But if we're going to be flying faster, we need actual seats."

Daring's ears perk. "Seats?"

"Unless you like the idea of getting flung off at high speed," I quip.

She smirks. "I do like a little danger."

I roll my eyes and get to work.

Using my magic, I add some mass, and adjust the stone surface, carving out two proper seats—angled slightly for comfort, with raised edges to keep us from sliding off. It's still rock, but it's better than the flat, featureless slab we've been sitting on.

Daring flops into hers as soon as I finish, testing it out. "Huh. Not bad. Could use some padding."

I sigh. "I'll get right on that when we aren't in the middle of nowhere."

She grins. "I'll hold you to that."

I settle into my own seat, adjusting my position until it feels right. The new configuration lets me brace myself better, making high-speed travel a lot safer.

Daring shifts beside me, flashing a smirk. "Alright, professor. Let's see what this thing can do."

I shake my head, amusement tugging at my lips. "Hang on."

I send a pulse of magic through the runes.

"Activate: Acceleration."

The cart lurches forward, the propulsion runes kicking in with far more force than before. The landscape blurs beneath us as we surge ahead, cutting through the desert air with a speed that makes Daring's hat nearly fly off. It sticks me to the back of my seat, so I slightly lower the speed.

She whoops, grinning. "Now we're moving!"

I smirk.

Yeah.

This is much better.

The desert rushes past us, a blur of sunbaked rock and shifting sand. The upgraded acceleration runes hum steadily, their magic keeping the cart smooth despite the sheer speed we're moving at. Though I do have to limit our speed due to the lack of a barrier to deflect the wind.

Daring adjusts her hat, holding it in place with a hoof. She's settled comfortably into her seat now, having gotten used to the pace. For a while, we just enjoy the flight, the wind rushing past, the heat less suffocating up here in the open air.

Then, after a stretch of silence, she speaks.

"So…" she starts casually, like she's not about to dig into something I definitely don't want to talk about. "How'd you lose the leg?"

I don't look at her.

I focus on the horizon, watching the Badlands stretch endlessly ahead. "You don't want to hear that story."

She leans back, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

I let out a slow breath through my nose.

I really don't want to get into this.

But… I doubt I'll ever see her again after this. Once we get back to civilization, we'll go our separate ways. She'll go back to adventuring, and I'll go back to my house in Ponyville.

So, really—what's the harm?

I exhale. "Tartarus."

Daring's ears twitch. "Come again?"

I glance at her. "I lost it in Tartarus."

She blinks.

Then sits up slightly. "You're joking."

I shake my head. "Wish I was."

She studies me, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to something more serious. "You're telling me you—what—fell into Tartarus? Got attacked? Escaped?"

"Yeah," I say simply. "All of the above."

She lets out a slow whistle. "Alright, you have to give me more than that."

I sigh, rubbing a hoof against my forehead. "Fine. But you're not gonna like it."

Daring Do leans forward, intrigued. "Try me."

I exhale, staring at the horizon. "You know about the Canterlot wedding invasion, right?"

She snorts. "Who doesn't? It was huge news. Changeling Queen infiltrates the royal wedding, brainwashes the groom, takes down Princess Celestia herself. Then—bam—the whole swarm gets blasted out of Canterlot in one massive love-powered shockwave." She glances at me. "Don't tell me you were there."

I smirk, but it doesn't reach my eyes. "I was there."

Daring's ears flick up. "What?"

I nod, my expression unreadable. "Friend of a friend got me in. I wasn't supposed to do much—just guard a bit. But when everything started going south, I figured I might as well make myself useful."

Daring squints. "Alright. And?"

I inhale slowly, the memories creeping back, sharp and vivid. "I stalled the queen."

Her brow furrows. "What, like—fought her?"

I shake my head. "No. That would've been stupid. I wasn't there to win, I was there to disrupt. I needed her focused on me, needed her distracted enough to give the others time."

Daring folds her forelegs. "How'd you pull that off?"

I glance at her, my smirk turning sharp. "By making myself look too badass to ignore."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh, please."

"I'm serious." I chuckle dryly. "I took down one of her guards in front of her. Clean. Quick. No hesitation."

Daring's amusement dims slightly, but she stays quiet.

"And then," I continue, "I said some things to throw her off her game."

"Like what?"

I tilt my head slightly. "I told her we were a lot alike."

Daring snorts. "That's usually her line."

"I know." I grin. "That's what made it work."

She shakes her head, but I can tell she's impressed. "Alright, fine. So you played mind games with the queen. Then what?"

I lean back, my voice turning a little distant. "I made myself seem... dangerous. More than just a rogue element. I made her think I had a bigger plan, that I was a real threat to her control."

Daring tilts her head. "How?"

I meet her gaze, a flicker of amusement in my eyes. "By telling her that after I took the city, I was going to claim her as my queen."

Daring's mouth drops open. "You what?"

I chuckle. "She didn't see that one coming, either."

She sputters, processing. "You—you—looked Queen Chrysalis in the eye and told her you were going to take her as your queen?"

"Yep."

Daring shakes her head, half laughing, half disbelieving. "You're insane."

"Worked, though." I smirk. "She was too confused, too pissed off to think straight. Gave Cadence the opening she needed to do her spell."

Daring hums. "Alright. So you helped save the day. But that doesn't explain the leg."

I sigh, my expression darkening. "Because she—Princess Cadence—betrayed me."

Daring blinks. "What?"

I exhale sharply. "I freed her. I gave her the chance to power up that shield spell with her fiancé. And when it went off—when it launched every changeling out of the city—it launched me too."

Daring frowns. "Wait—hold on. You're telling me—"

"She hit me with the same blast." My voice is bitter. "Like I was just another monster."

She stares at me. "...Shit."

"Yeah."

A silence stretches between us.

She watches me, her face unreadable, before she finally speaks. "And you woke up in the Badlands."

"With all my legs broken," I confirm. "Then I got swallowed up by a sand pit and ended up in Tartarus."

Daring exhales, rubbing her forehead. "And after all that, you still made it out?"

"More or less." I gesture at my prosthetic. "One leg lighter. Went bad while healing, had to cut it off myself."

She shakes her head, an odd mix of disbelief and respect on her face. "That is the most insane thing I've ever heard."

I smirk slightly. "And you're saying that."

She huffs a laugh, but it's subdued. "Yeah, well. I'd be pissed too."

I shrug, not wanting to dwell on it. "Not much to do about it now."

She watches me for a long moment. Then, finally, she nods.

"Still," she says, voice softer than before. "That's a hell of a thing to survive."

I don't respond.

I just keep my eyes on the horizon, the hum of the cart filling the silence between us.

---

Redstone Gulch appears on the horizon like an oasis of civilization in the middle of desolation. The town is built against the side of a red rock canyon, the structures a mix of sunbaked wood and weathered stone. It's not large, but it's lively—ponies, griffons, and even a few diamond dogs move through the dusty streets, their voices mingling in a low hum of trade and conversation.

I bring the cart down carefully, adjusting the descent with a flick of magic. The floating slab settles just outside the main street, dust kicking up as we touch ground.

Daring stretches as she hops off, rolling her shoulders. "Finally. Solid ground."

I dismount more carefully, stepping onto my prosthetic, feeling the weight distribution adjust automatically beneath me. "First stop's the healer," I remind her.

She sighs. "Yeah, yeah."

We make our way through the town, drawing a few curious looks. I can't blame them—between my runes and Rachel looming behind me like a living statue, we're probably the strangest thing they've seen in a while.

The healer's clinic is a modest building tucked near the canyon wall, a wooden sign with a red cross hanging outside. We step in, the air noticeably cooler inside.

A unicorn stallion in a white coat greets us, adjusting his spectacles as he looks us over. "What's the problem?"

Daring gestures to her wing. "Sprained it pretty bad."

He nods, motioning her to a cot. "Easy fix. 50 bits."

I reach into my saddlebag, already pulling out the payment, but before I can hand it over, Daring's hoof slaps mine away.

"Uh, no," she says firmly, reaching into her shirt pocket. "I can't have a stallion paying for me. That would hurt my pride."

I raise an eyebrow as she pulls out her own bits and drops them onto the healer's desk. "That so?"

She nods, grinning. "I have a reputation, you know."

I snort but don't argue.

The healer's magic flares to life, golden light weaving around Daring's wing. She winces at first, but within seconds, her feathers straighten, the muscles realigning properly. She flexes it, testing the range of motion.

"All set," the healer says, stepping back. "Try not to stress it too much today."

Daring flaps once, then grins. "Good as new."

I turn to leave, but she grabs my foreleg. "Hey."

I glance back. "What?"

She hesitates, her usual confidence flickering slightly. "Stick around a bit?"

I sigh. "Daring…"

"Come on, Redstone Gulch isn't so bad. We could grab a drink, find an inn—" She stops herself, clearing her throat. "Just for a little while."

I shake my head. "I was just sticking around long enough to make sure you were okay. Now I'm heading on to Dodge City."

Her ears dip just slightly before she schools her expression back into her usual smirk. "Alright, alright. Can't keep a genius cooped up too long, huh?"

"Something like that."

She sighs dramatically. "Fine. But don't think you're getting rid of me that easily. I will find you."

And before I can react, she darts in, pressing a quick, heated kiss to my cheek.

I freeze.

She pulls back, winking. "See you around, Archmage."

Then, with a powerful flap of her newly healed wings, she's airborne, disappearing over the rooftops before I can even find words.

I blink.

Rachel, standing at my side, tilts her head at me.

"…Shut up," I mutter, climbing back onto the cart.

I fire up the runes, setting my course for Dodge City.

Time to move on.

The journey to Dodge City is uneventful.

The wind sweeps through the open plains, the dry, cracked dirt shifting into firmer, well-traveled roads. The stars above are endless, untouched by city lights, stretching out in a way that makes the world feel far too big and far too empty at the same time.

I fly through the night, stopping only to rest briefly because I'm tired. Not physically, but mentally.

It gives me time to think.

Do I even want to go back?

That thought lingers, more than I expect it to.

Ponyville. My house. My life before all this.

But if I don't go back… where would I go?

The Badlands are behind me, Tartarus is buried in my past, and every road ahead leads somewhere I've never been. I could vanish if I wanted to. Start over.

But would that be better?

By the time I reach Dodge City, I still don't have an answer.

The town sprawls out beneath me, a true Old West settlement straight out of an era that should be long past. Wooden buildings, long porches, hitching posts—even a dusty main street wide enough for stagecoaches and wagons to roll through.

I bring the cart down, landing at the edge of town, dismissing the flight rune as I step onto solid ground.

Ponies move about, dressed in loose, practical clothes to combat the heat. I briefly wonder why they don't just forgo them. A few give me curious glances, my self-moving stone leg and looming golem companion drawing more than a few double takes.

I ignore it, looking around.

Then I see it.

A saloon.

An honest-to-Celestia saloon, with swinging doors and everything.

I grin.

"I've always wanted to bust in a saloon."

I thrust the swinging doors open with magic, stepping inside with the kind of controlled confidence that villains always have in movies.

The inside is dimly lit, warm, and lively. Ponies sit at round tables, gambling, drinking, laughing. A piano plays in the corner, the tune upbeat but lazy.

Everypony turns to look as I enter.

I walk forward, my stone leg moving with its automatic precision, my golem shadowing me like an ever-present specter.

I expect them to see something dangerous.

Something intimidating.

But instead, there's a different kind of tension.

A shift in the air.

I can't quite place it.

I make my way to the bar, ordering the first thing that comes to mind. "Mead."

The bartender—a sturdy earth pony stallion with a graying mane—raises an eyebrow but nods, pouring me a glass.

I take a sip, glancing around.

That's when she slides up beside me.

A mare settles onto the stool next to me, her presence casual, like she's been waiting for me to show up. She's got a coat the color of sunbaked wheat, with a wild auburn mane that falls just past her shoulders. A well-worn hat sits tilted over one ear, and her emerald eyes flick up at me with interest.

"Well now," she drawls, her voice thick with a country accent, smooth as honey but with an unmistakable bite. "Ain't every day a stallion like you waltzes into town."

I pause mid-sip, side-eyeing her. "A stallion like me?"

She leans an elbow on the bar, giving me a slow once-over. "All broody 'n mysterious. That's a look, sugar."

I blink.

That was… a line.

A flirtatious line.

At me.

I glance at my reflection in the polished surface of the bar.

I look like I belong in a villain's wanted poster—hair frayed from travel, dark eyes half-lidded from lack of sleep, my prosthetic leg shifting and adjusting on its own. And Rachel, looming behind me like a silent guardian made of stone.

"…You sure?" I ask, turning back to her, raising an eyebrow. "I don't exactly scream 'approachable.'"
She tips her hat back, letting me see more of those bright green eyes. "Oh, sugar, if a stallion sets hoof in a place like this, rest assured somepony's gonna mosey on over."

I blink slowly, taking another sip of mead. "Is that so?"

"Mmm-hmm." She leans in, not shy at all about bridging personal space. "Name's Meadow Lily. An' you?"

I cough softly, trying to gather myself. "Kinetic Flux."

She smiles, showing a hint of teeth. "Well, Mr. Flux, you sure do make an entrance. That fancy rock leg of yours, an'… what in tarnation is that behind you?" She points to Rachel, who stands silently at my flank.

"My golem," I say, watching Meadow Lily's reaction. She doesn't flinch, just takes in Rachel's towering form with keen curiosity.

"A golem, huh?" She nods, impressed. "You sure are full of surprises." Her gaze flicks back to me, something openly appraising there. "I like surprises."

I exhale slowly, processing the sudden attention. "I'm just getting a drink. Didn't expect… this."

She chuckles, a low, warm sound. "Oh, honey, a handsome stallion like you comes strollin' into a saloon and you think nopony's gonna notice?" Her tone suggests it's the most obvious fact in the world.

I squint slightly. "I… guess?"

Meadow Lily smirks, leaning an elbow on the bar. "You 'guess'? Darlin', you look like some mysterious loner blowin' into town, cloak billowin', fancy magic hummin'. That's quite the sight to see."

I don't have a cloak on.

I glance around. A few other mares in the saloon are giving me side glances too, whispering and eyeing me from a distance. The stallions, few that they are, are going about their business—some gambling, some chatting—but the mares look… intrigued.

I shift uncomfortably on my stool. "I thought I looked more… villainous."

Meadow Lily's grin widens. "Villainous? Oh, sugar, you look like trouble, sure enough. But y'know what they say about trouble."

I tilt my head. "No. What do they say?"

Her eyes spark with mischief. "That the right mare just loves to chase it."

I stare, trying to piece together this sudden wave of attention.

Meadow Lily notices my confusion and raises an eyebrow. "Somethin' the matter, sugarcube?"

I quickly school my features into something neutral. "Uh, no. Just… not used to this."

She chuckles, taking a swig of her own drink. "Well, get used to it.'"

I open my mouth, then close it, faintly aware that my ears are burning. "Right," I manage, knocking back another gulp of mead. "So… you come here often?"

She cackles, slapping the bar. "Oh, that's rich. Don't you worry, sugar, I'll do the smooth talkin'. You just sip that mead an' look pretty."

I sputter. "I—"

Meadow Lily just pats my shoulder, winking. "You'll figure out how it works soon enough, pretty colt."

A small, stunned laugh escapes me. "Can't say I've ever been in this situation."

She smirks. "Don't look so spooked, now." Her gaze flicks to Rachel, then back to me. "Your friend here doesn't mind, does she?"

Rachel remains unmoving, carved irises unblinking as she surveys the room. "She's not really the jealous type," I say, voice a bit dry.

Meadow Lily lifts her glass in a mock toast. "Well then, here's to us, handsome." She downs the rest of her drink in one go.

And I slowly sip mine, still grappling with the realization that I'm probably the one who should be careful about having too many drinks in this situation.

---

I groan.

Everything hurts.

My head is pounding, my mouth is dry, and my body feels like I got hit by a train. A very soft, warm, suspiciously comfortable train.

I crack an eye open.

Sunlight filters through wooden slats, casting golden beams across the room. The sheets are… softer than I remember. And the air smells faintly of sweat, whiskey, and something very distinctly not mine.

My stomach sinks.

I turn my head.

Meadow Lily is already up, standing near a wooden dresser, fastening a leather strap around her. Her wild auburn mane is slightly tamed, tucked behind her ears as she adjusts her work vest. A well-worn hat rests nearby, within easy reach.

She notices me stirring and smirks at me in the mirror.

"Mornin', sugar."

My brain grinds to a slow, agonizing halt.

I stare at her.

She smirks wider.

I glance down.

The sheets are barely covering me.

I glance at her again.

She finishes fastening her vest and turns fully, stretching lazily. The movement makes her muscles shift.

I want to die.

I definitely want to die.

Something in my expression must be entertaining, because she chuckles. "Feelin' alright there, darlin'?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember how exactly this happened.

Flashes come back in patches.

The saloon. Drinks. Too many drinks. Her laughing, leaning against me, that damn smirk. More drinks. Her teasing. My face burning. More drinks.

Then—

Then I remember hooves.

A lot of hooves.

Her pulling me up the stairs.

My brain aborts that train of thought immediately.

I groan, dragging a pillow over my face.

"Ohhh, fuck."

Meadow Lily laughs again, and it's too pleased.

She steps closer, tilting her head down to my level. "Don't tell me y'aint used to wakin' up next to a mare, sugar."

I groan louder.

She hums. "Mighty shy for a stallion who was all over me last night."

I die.

Buried under blankets, I try to process the existential horror of the situation.

I feel used.

I peek out from under the pillow, my voice hoarse. "…We definitely—"

"Oh, yeah," she confirms, adjusting her hat. "A few times, actually."

She leans down, close enough that I can smell whiskey on her breath. "And sugar, you enjoyed yourself."

I whimper.

She laughs, clapping my shoulder like this is the funniest thing she's ever seen.

I sit up violently, gripping my head as my skull punishes me for it. "Ow."

"Yeahhh," Meadow Lily drawls, trotting toward the door. "You had yourself a mighty fine evenin'—'til the Aqua Vitae caught up with ya." She pauses at the doorway, turning back. "Ain't often I meet a stallion that can keep up with me."

I rub my face, still piecing myself together. "I—I don't normally—"

"Uh-huh." She smirks. "That's what they all say."

I groan, dragging a hoof down my face. "Please stop."

She chuckles but doesn't press it further. Instead, she adjusts her hat, grabs a work satchel, and makes for the door.

"Got work to get to," she says. "You take your time gettin' yourself together, handsome."

I blink at her. "Wait, so you're just—leaving?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Well, yeah. Ain't like I expect ya to cook breakfast or somethin'."

I stare.

She tips her hat with a lazy grin. "If y'ever come back through Dodge, sugar, you look me up."

Then, just like that, she's gone.

I am alone.

Hungover.

And absolutely, completely re-evaluating my life choices.

I flop back onto the bed.

Rachel is never going to let me live this down.

I sit up too fast again, groaning as my head reminds me that I am, in fact, still hungover.

Then another realization hits me like a brick.

"…Where the fuck is Rachel?"

Panic sets in immediately.

I shove myself off the bed, nearly tripping over my own legs as I scramble toward the door. My magic fumbles with the handle, still sluggish from the aftereffects of last night, but I get it open—

And there she is.

Standing.

Waiting.

Right outside the door.

Rachel.

My ever-present, ever-watchful, silent-as-the-grave golem daughter? Bodyguard? Question mark?

I freeze.

She tilts her head.

Slowly.

Like she's assessing me.

Like she knows.

My stomach drops.

I stare at her.

She stares at me.

For a long, long moment, we just stand there.

Then, finally, I break.

I drag a hoof down my face, exhaling sharply. "If I'm supposed to be some kind of parent here… I'm definitely the worst."

Rachel doesn't respond.

Because she doesn't have to.

The weight of her judgment is palpable.

I groan, rubbing my temple. "Don't look at me like that."

She tilts her head slightly in the other direction.

Like she's evaluating that statement.

I sigh and step past her, moving stiffly, my muscles still deeply unhappy with me.

Rachel follows.

Silent.

Unyielding.

Unforgiving.

I resist the urge to die inside.

At least until I get some food.

I step out of Meadow's house, the morning sun doing absolutely nothing to help the lingering fog in my head. The town is already alive—ponies moving through the streets, carts rolling past, the distant hum of conversations filling the air.

Rachel follows.

Still silent.

Still hovering at my side like a stone specter.

I ignore her.

What I don't ignore is the unmistakable scent of food drifting through the air—something warm, buttery, pancakes.

I turn instinctively, scanning the street until my eyes land on a small diner tucked between two larger buildings. Dodge Eats.

Food.

I'm getting food.

The bell jingles as I step inside, the air immediately welcoming with the scent of syrup and coffee. The place isn't too crowded—mostly locals, chatting over their breakfasts.

Rachel follows me in.

A few ponies glance up at her. One stallion does a double take.

I ignore them and make my way to a booth, sliding into the seat. Rachel sits next to me, the weight of her presence immediately noticeable as the bench creaks slightly under her mass.

A waitress—a pale blue earth pony with her mane in a tight bun—wanders over with a practiced smile. "Mornin', sugar. What'll it be?"

I don't even look at the menu. "Pancakes. Big stack."

She nods. "You want syrup with that?"

I blink. "Who orders pancakes without syrup?"

She chuckles. "You'd be surprised."

I shake my head. "Yeah, uh—syrup. And coffee."

"Comin' right up." She turns away, disappearing behind the counter.

Rachel, who had been still up until now, reaches out and starts playing with my mane.

I freeze.

She doesn't braid it or anything. Just touches it, running her stone fingers through the strands like she's idly inspecting them.

I sigh. "Rachel. Stop."

She doesn't.

I let my head drop onto the table.

"…Fine. Whatever."

I feel like somepony's doll.

A few minutes pass before the waitress returns, setting down my food and coffee. As I dig in—because I need this—Rachel continues her mane fixation, completely ignoring personal space.

After a few bites, I glance at the waitress. "Where do ponies find jobs around here?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Depends on what you're lookin' for. We got a job board right outside, usually got somethin' pinned up."

I nod. "Classic."

She smirks. "Ain't broke, don't fix it."

I finish my pancakes, leaving a few bits on the table before stepping back outside. Rachel, of course, follows.

Just beside the saloon, I spot the job board—a big wooden structure covered in pinned flyers. I scan over them, eyes flicking across various listings.

Most are simple, local work.

Unicorn Wanted: Help Lifting Equipment (5 bits per hour)

Click to shrink...

Ice Delivery Needed (10 bits a block)

Click to shrink...

Fence Repair—Will Pay in Meals

Click to shrink...

Assistant Needed for Storefront Displays

Click to shrink...

Nothing too complicated.

I tilt my head, considering.

I could make some quick cash while I'm here.

I don't need to leave just yet.

The idea of not rushing off immediately, of just being somewhere for a while, is surprisingly… appealing.

I glance up at the skyline, the desert warmth settling around me.

Maybe I'll stay.

At least for a bit.

I take down the Ice job and head to the address, which leads me to an old earth pony stallion named Cold Stone. He's sweating bullets in the morning sun, standing outside his shop.

"You're here about the ice?" he asks, looking me up and down.

"Yeah. Still need it?"

"Absolutely. You can actually make ice?" There's skepticism in his tone, but he wouldn't have posted the job if he had a better option. He explains ice is hard to get in the savanna region. No unicorns specialized in cold magic, no natural frozen lakes, and no storage that keeps it from melting before delivery.

"Don't worry, I can make ice," I say confidently. "Give me a few minutes."

I take to the sky, flying towards the large reservoir on the outskirts of town—the town's main water supply. It's a still, reflective pool, well-maintained and clean enough that even I wouldn't be afraid to drink from it.

Hovering just above the surface, I channel my telekinesis into the molecules, slowing their movement, sapping their energy. The temperature plummets as I push it into a lattice, and within seconds, sheets of ice form. I keep going, compressing and sculpting, until I have ten solid blocks, each about the size of a hay bale.

With a flick of telekinesis, I lift them onto my cart, arranging them so they won't shift mid-flight. Each block glistens under the sun, already beginning to sweat, but they'll last long enough.

By the time I get back to Cold Stone's shop, he's gaping. "Well, I'll be… You actually did it."

I unload the blocks onto his waiting platform, letting them thud into place. "That's the job, right?"

He grins. "That's the job. Here." He tosses me a pouch of 100 bits, a decent payout for maybe fifteen minutes of work.

"Pleasure doing business," I say, pocketing the bits.

"You're something else, Mage." Cold Stone shakes his head, still in disbelief. "Might have more work for you soon."

I smirk. "Just put it on the board."

With that, I take off, heading back into town. Easy money.

Now, what's next?

With my pockets heavier, I make my way toward the Dodge City Post Office. It's a dusty, sun-bleached building with a faded sign and a bored-looking pegasus stallion behind the counter.

Walking in, I remind myself that almost nopony here knows who I am. I'm not the famous "Archmage Flux" out here. Just another unicorn passing through, which is an incredible change of pace. Except for Meadow Lily, who I'm pretending doesn't exist. That suits me just fine.

I step up to the counter. "I need some scrolls, ink, and tags."

The pegasus raises a brow but nods, rummaging under the counter before dropping a small bundle onto the wooden surface. "That'll be five bits."

I slide him the coins and take my supplies to one of the public writing desks. With a deep breath, I unroll the first scroll, dip my quill in ink, and carefully write:

I lived, bitch.
– Kinetic Fuckyou Flux

Click to shrink...

Simple. Direct. Beautiful.

I repeat this three more times, writing the same thing on each scroll. No context. No further elaboration.

Then, I take the small name tags and attach them to each scroll:

Twilight Sparkle
Princess Cadence
Princess Celestia
Princess Luna

I stare at the scrolls, a satisfied smirk creeping onto my face. Some ponies would write heartfelt letters. Some would explain what happened, clear up misunderstandings, maybe even apologize.

I am not some ponies.

Cadence, in particular, can go straight to Tartarus. She probably feels bad about what happened, but she should. Betraying me, launching me into the Badlands, and leaving me to die? Yeah, no amount of "oops" makes up for that. Twilight and Celestia might have just assumed I was dead, but they never checked. Luna? No clue if she even knew, but she's getting one anyway.

Satisfied, I roll each scroll up, seal them, and take them back to the counter. The pegasus stallion eyes the tags before shrugging. "You wanna pay for express or standard delivery?"

"Express." I slap down the extra bits. I want those scrolls in their hooves as soon as possible.

He stamps them and tosses them in a bin. "Should be in Canterlot by tomorrow, Ponyville by the evening."

Perfect.

Now, for the only letter that actually matters.

I unroll a fresh scroll and dip my quill again, carefully writing a much more detailed message:

Sweetie Belle,
Hey kid, still alive. I'm in Dodge City right now. I got very betrayed, fell into Tartarus, crawled out, and now I'm here. I'm taking a break before heading back to Ponyville. I'll tell you more later.

In the meantime, you have one task: Cause Problems On Purpose.

Be creative, but don't get caught. You're a genius. I expect results.

See you soon,
Kinetic Flux

P.S. You'd be proud of me. I annoyed at least one princess today.

Click to shrink...

I roll up the scroll, attach the tag with Sweetie Belle's name, and drop it in the bin.

That's enough productivity for one morning.

I step out of the post office, stretching under the midday sun. My work here is done. Ice delivered, messages sent, and, most importantly, I have successfully irritated at least one princess today.

Now, I just need to not do anything for a while.

Dodge City isn't a big place, but it's got a handful of inns. I pick the one that looks the least likely to have bed bugs—The Rusty Horseshoe. The wooden sign creaks in the breeze as I push open the door.

Inside, it's quiet. A couple of ponies sit at tables, sipping drinks and chatting. The innkeeper, an older earth pony mare with a faded red coat and graying mane, looks up from the counter.

"Looking for a room?" she asks.

I nod. "Yeah, just for the night."

"Ten bits."

I pass her the coins, and she hands me a key. "Upstairs, second door on the right. Breakfast in the morning if you're up for it."

"Got it."

I make my way upstairs, unlock the door, and step inside. It's simple—a bed, a small desk, a window with the shutters slightly ajar. I drop my saddlebags, flop onto the mattress, and sigh.

This? This is luxury.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm not surviving in a hellscape, not fighting for my life, and not being forced into some bullshit that isn't my problem,.

I roll onto my side, staring at the ceiling.

I should probably plan my next move. Figure out what to do from here. Maybe find more work?

…Yeah. Later.

Right now, I'm just going to close my eyes and—

Out.

---

I don't do much the next couple of days. It's a nice change of pace.

Dodge City is the kind of place where nothing happens unless you go looking for it, which suits me fine. I sleep in, eat decent food, and mostly just exist without worrying about survival.

But the highlight? Teaching Rachel.

She's always been… present. Ever since I brought her to life, she's been at my side. Quiet, watchful, efficient. But there's a difference between a tool and a person, and I'm trying to push her into the latter. She's learning. Slowly.

I set up a quiet place outside of town, an empty stretch of desert where we won't be bothered. Rachel kneels beside me, waiting. Her blank stone lips don't move, but her eyes watch me, unblinking.

I've made modifications before, but this is different. This isn't just another combat function.

This is language.

I sit in front of her and tap my own throat. "Alright. Let's start simple."

I make a sound. "Ahhh."

She stares.

I try again. "Ahhh."

Rachel copies me.

It's rough. The rune produces the sound, but there's a delay, and it warbles strangely, like an old phonograph playing at the wrong speed. I nod encouragingly. "Good. Again."

"Ahhh," she repeats, still distorted.

We work through the vowels. "Ee," "Oh," "Uh." She struggles, but I can see her learning. She's adjusting herself, refining.

Then, after what feels like hours, she stops.

She just stares at me, the rune flickering wildly. I wait.

And then—

"Kin... et... ic."

I freeze.

She said my name.

It's clunky, the tone is uneven, and it comes out as a statement rather than just a sound. But it's my name.

Rachel stares at me like she's waiting for something. I realize I'm just gaping at her.

I exhale, nodding. "Yeah. That's me."

She nods back.

I reach up, placing my hoof against the cool stone of her cheek. "Good job."

She shivers.

---

We move on to more words. Basic ones.

I hold up a rock. "Rock."

Rachel stares. "Rock."

I nod. "Yes."

I tap my chest. "Kinetic."

She mimics the motion, tapping her own chest. "Rachel."

I grin. "Yeah, that's you."

She learns "sky." "Sand." "Cold." She starts understanding what they mean, not just repeating sounds. She looks at the sky when I say "sky." She touches the sand when I say "sand."

And then she discovers negotiation.

Halfway through the lesson, she stops responding. She knows the answers, but she just sits there, motionless. Her rune flickers, almost expectant.

I raise a brow. "Rachel?"

Nothing.

I sigh and, trying to motivate, coo at her. "Come on, Rachel, you're doing so good."

The rune pulses, and she immediately says, "Rock."

I blink.

I hold up another object. "Sand."

Silence.

I narrow my eyes. "Rachel."

She stares, waiting.

I groan, rubbing my face. "You're really gonna make me do this?"

Her rune pulses again.

I exhale. "Rachel, you're such a smart girl."

"Sand," she immediately replies.

Oh. Oh, no.

She's figured out that I'll coo at her to motivate her to get the answer right. And she's withholding answers until she gets praised.

I have created a monster.

A very cute monster, but a monster nonetheless.

I know I should break the habit now, but damn it, it's adorable.

Rachel may not have a real expression, but I can feel the smugness radiating off her.

She's learning.

And honestly?

I'm proud of her.

---

I've been taking it easy for a few days, but I know it won't last.

They're going to come for me.

Twilight, Celestia, Cadence, Luna—at least one of them is going to track me down the second they get my letter. I don't know how long it'll take, but I'd rather not be here when they show up.

I need to move.

Back to Ponyville.

It's not my first choice, but it's where I built my reputation. It's where Sweetie Belle is. It's where I was the town mage before everything went to hell. I can slip back into my role, keep things normal. Besides, Ponyville is a buffer—if the princesses want to confront me, they'll have to come there.

My flying slab—my ride through Tartarus, my lifeline—has been too useful to just abandon. But I can't take it whole. It's too big. So, I cut it up.

Using my magic, I slice it into several smaller pieces, each compact enough to fit into a wooden crate. The stone still hums with runic energy, but broken up like this, it won't look like anything important. Just rocks.

I check it as baggage at the train station, slapping down the necessary bits to have it sent ahead to Ponyville. The station worker barely glances at the crate before shrugging. Dodge City isn't exactly a place where ponies ask questions.

That just leaves one more thing.

I find a quiet spot near the train station, far enough from prying eyes. My runed prosthetic has been useful, but it's also a liability. If the princesses think I'm still combat-capable, they'll try to throw me at another problem.

If I look crippled, they'll leave me alone.

So, I do what I have to do.

I brace myself, focus my magic on the connection point, and sever the prosthetic. The stone cap remains in place, sealing the old wound. I hiss through my teeth at the phantom pain, my body remembering what it felt like to lose that limb the first time.

I give the detached prosthetic one last look before stuffing it into my bag. If I ever need it again, I'll reattach it. But for now?

I'm just another crippled unicorn.

I grab my ticket, haul myself onto the train, and take a seat near the back. Rachel sits beside me, silent as ever.

As the train rumbles to life and pulls away from Dodge City, I lean back, closing my eyes.

I don't know what's waiting for me in Ponyville.

But I do know this:

They won't expect me to fight if I can't stand.

 

[Riddlest]

I stare out the window, watching the savanna roll by. My ears twitch at the steady clack-clack of the train against the tracks, but my mind is elsewhere.

They're going to freak.

It's not my fault. I didn't choose to get launched into the Badlands, didn't choose to crawl through Tartarus, didn't choose to almost die repeatedly just to make it back here. But none of that is going to matter.

The second I step off this train, I'm going to have to deal with them.

And by them, I mean Twilight.

She's always been obvious about her feelings, but I've been pretending not to notice. She's a good pony. I'm a liar, a charlatan, and, if I'm being honest, a coward.

I don't do relationships. I don't even do friendships all that well.

But Twilight?

She's always been pursuing me. Inviting me places. Asking questions she thinks are subtle. Even went on that date with her without realizing it was a date.

And now?

She thought I was dead.

Until she got my letter.

And Twilight… Twilight does not handle stress well. She gets panicky. She spirals. I've seen her get overwhelmed just because she didn't get a friendship lesson done on time.

What's she going to do when she sees me alive after months of thinking I was dead?

I drum my hoof against the armrest, heart thudding. I can picture it too clearly—Twilight seeing me, the way her face will twist between shock and fury, the way she'll start hyperventilating, the way she'll yell.

She'll be mad. She'll be relieved. Then she'll panic because that's just what she does. And I'll be stuck in the middle of it, trying to explain what happened without actually explaining anything.

I rub my temples, trying to push the thought away, but it just keeps spinning.

She's going to grab me. Shake me. Probably cry. I don't know how to deal with crying. I never know what to say when ponies cry.

Rachel, silent as ever, reaches out and pets me.

Her stone fingers slide gently over my mane, slow and rhythmic. My first instinct is to pull away—then I realize I'm shaking.

Damn it.

I close my eyes, exhaling through my nose as I let her continue. She must have picked up on my stress. I should be annoyed that she's treating me like a distressed animal, but… it's helping.

I lean into it, just for a moment.

When I finally open my eyes, I notice some ponies on the train are staring. Whispering. Their eyes flick between me and Rachel, murmuring just low enough that I can't make out the words.

I shrug it off. It's probably my appearance again. A unicorn with three legs, one capped with stone? Yeah, that's going to turn heads.

I've gotten used to it.

The train slows, the wheels screeching against the tracks as it pulls into Ponyville Station. I don't move at first, just watching as the town comes into view. The same buildings. The same streets. Like I never left.

The doors slide open with a heavy clank.

I stand up, sling my bag over my shoulder, and step off the train.

And everything stops.

Ponies on the platform freeze. Their eyes lock onto me.

Some of them take a step back. Some gasp. A few drop whatever they were holding.

Like they've seen a ghost.

I furrow my brows, glancing at Rachel. She tilts her head slightly, waiting for my move.

Okay. Okay.

I should have expected this. They thought I was dead. But I didn't expect the whole damn station to react like this.

I take another step forward. More murmuring. More wide eyes. Somepony drops an apple.

I let out a slow breath.

Alright. Let's get this over with.

I keep my head down and start walking, slipping past the murmuring ponies. My first instinct is to bolt, but that would just make things worse. No sudden movements. No eye contact. Just… get home.

I avoid the main street. If I take the side paths, maybe—maybe—I can make it to my house without getting tackled, screamed at, or otherwise emotionally obliterated.

One block.
Two blocks.

I can feel ponies watching me. I keep moving. Rachel follows, silent and unbothered. If she notices my nerves, she doesn't say anything.

Almost there. Just a few more turns, and—

Something pink enters my vision.

Oh no.

Flat mane. Puffy eyes. Bawling.

Oh no.

I barely get out a, "Pi—" before she lunges.

Pinkie slams into me like a freight train, her sobs loud enough to echo through the street. Her front hooves wrap around my neck, and my brain barely registers what's happening before I topple.

Right.
Three legs.

I hit the ground hard, barely managing to not smash my head into the dirt. Pinkie clings to me like I'll disappear if she lets go, her entire body shaking.

"You were gone—hic—you were gone!" she sobs, burying her face in my chest. "And—and I—" Another hiccup. "I thought—I thought I'd never get to throw you another party ever again—!"

I groan, shifting under her weight. "Pinkie—"

She tightens her grip.

"Pinkie, I can't breathe."

"Don't care!"

Rachel tilts her head, watching the scene unfold like an uninterested observer.

I sigh, letting my head rest against the ground. Pinkie isn't moving. She's still clamped around me like a koala made of cotton candy and grief, sobbing into my chest like I just returned from the afterlife.

I make a few weak attempts to push her off, but my one remaining front leg is not enough to budge her. She's deceptively strong for a baker.

"Pinkie," I try again, softer this time. "I get it. I really do. But I really can't breathe."

She hiccups. Sniffles. Then loosens her grip just a fraction—but only enough to let me suck in air.

"When I got my twitch that you were back—I ran right over!" she cries. "I didn't even wait—I knew it was you! I KNEW IT! My Pinkie Sense never lies! My whole body was like, 'Kinetic's back! Kinetic's back!' And I thought, 'That's impossible, he's dead!' But my Pinkie Sense was NEVER wrong before, so I dropped everything and—hic—I sprinted all the way here!"

I stare at her. "That's… horrifyingly specific."

"I KNOW!" she wails, clutching me again. "And I was like, 'NO WAY,' but it was right! You're here! You're real!"

I rub my face. "I am real, Pinkie. I promise."

That only makes her sob harder.

Ponies are staring. The murmurs from before have turned into outright whispers.

I need to get out of here.

I look at Rachel, who has not moved.

"Rachel," I mutter, "help."

She does not.

She just sits there, watching like this is the most unimportant event in existence.

I groan. "Pinkie, listen—"

"No!" She sniffs hard. "You—you don't understand! I—I thought you were gone forever! I—I couldn't even throw a memorial party! Twilight was—was—hic—losing her mind! And—and—everypony was so sad!"

Twilight.

My stomach twists.

Oh.

Oh no.

If Pinkie is this bad…

Twilight is going to be worse.

I try again. "Pinkie. I promise, I'll let you hold onto me later. But I really, really need to get up."

She shakes her head.

"Nope! Nope! No!" Pinkie tightens her grip again, squeezing me like I'm some kind of trauma plushie.

I let out the longest, most exhausted sigh of my life. "Pinkie."

"Nope!"

I stare up at the sky, contemplating my life choices. I could pry her off, but with one front leg, that's not happening. I could beg Rachel to help, but she's just watching this unfold like she's studying bug behavior.

Which means I have to use the one thing I have left.

My brain.

"Pinkie," I say slowly, voice full of calculated concern. "If you're stuck to me like this…" I pause for effect. "Then how are you going to throw my Welcome Back From The Dead Party?"

Her whole body stiffens.

I keep going, pressing the attack. "I mean, you can't bake. You can't set up decorations. You can't invite everypony." I let out a fake sigh. "Guess I'll just have to walk home alone and—"

She gasps.

Her grip loosens instantly.

"OH SWEET FROSTED CUPCAKES, YOU'RE RIGHT!" She leaps off me so fast I barely process the movement. One moment I'm pinned, the next I'm free, gasping for air.

"I—I—I have to hurry!" she babbles, her hooves tapping against the ground like she's about to explode. "I need streamers—no, balloons first! And cupcakes! And confetti! OHHH, what kind of cake do you want?! Chocolate?! No, wait, vanilla! NO, CHOCOLATE VANILLA SWIRL—OH, WAIT, DO YOU EVEN WANT CAKE?! WAIT, DON'T ANSWER, OF COURSE YOU DO, EVERYONE WANTS CAKE—"

"Pinkie." I sit up, dusting myself off. "You have so much to do."

Her eyes widen.

"You're right!" She salutes me. "Okay! I'm gonna go get everything ready! But don't go anywhere!" She suddenly gasps again. "OH WAIT, I NEED TO TELL EVERYPONY—"

She sprints off at a speed that should not be possible.

I watch her disappear in a cloud of pink dust.

Rachel finally moves. She reaches out and pats me twice on the head.

"Don't," I mutter, brushing off my coat.

She pats me again.

I push myself upright, ignoring Rachel, and take a moment to steady myself on three legs. Pinkie's gone—thank Celestia for that small mercy—and I can still hear her distant shrieking about balloons and banners. Any second now, the rest of Ponyville's likely to descend on me, too.

"Let's go," I mutter, adjusting my saddlebags. Without waiting for a response, I hobble off in the direction of my H.A.R.D.I.S.

Thankfully, it's only a few streets away. I keep to side paths, ducking behind crates and tool sheds whenever I spot a pony that might recognize me. A few times, I catch myself glancing over my shoulder, expecting Twilight to come barreling around the corner. But no one does.

By the time I reach my property, my heart's thudding from more than just the walk. There's my H.A.R.D.I.S., the run-down shed. The angles are wrong, the roof sags, and it almost feels like it's pouting at me. I can't say I blame it; it's been sitting here, half-abandoned, while everypony thought I was six feet under.

"Hey there," I mumble, feeling just a bit silly talking to a building. "I'm home."

It looks… droopy. Sad. The paint's peeled more since I left, and one hinge on the door is rusted. It's like the place got word from the others that I was dead. I fish out the key from the bottom of my saddlebags and insert it into the lock. It clicks with an almost relieved sound, like the mechanism itself is exhaling.

The door swings inward, revealing the main room. The air that greets me is a wall of stale, rancid funk.

I grimace and press a hoof over my nose. "Ugh. Forgot I left the pantry stocked."

Rachel steps in behind me, calm as ever, and just stands there while I cough. The small orbs of light float with a listless wobble, illuminating the interior of my impossibly large home. They're usually brighter, more lively—like they're reacting to my presence. Now, they're dim and flickery, as if they're reflecting the H.A.R.D.I.S.'s overall mood.

I gulp a breath of (mostly) fresh air from outside and then trudge deeper in. The smell is awful.

"Rachel," I murmur, "close the door, would you?"

She silently pushes it shut. The latch clicks, and we're enclosed in the familiar hush of the H.A.R.D.I.S. For all its infinite corridors and weird anomalies, it's still home—just mustier and sadder than I remember.

I linger in the entryway, letting the tension seep out of me. Outside, Pinkie's probably gathering half the town for a "welcome back from the dead" party. Which means I only have a short window to collect myself before the inevitable onslaught.

Right now, though? The stink, the gloom, the not-quite-right vibe of this place—none of it can kill the relief I feel to be alone again.

"I missed you, you weird old house," I say under my breath. Then, louder, "Come on, Rachel. Let's see how bad the pantry is."

Without another word, I start forward. One crisis at a time.

I hobble toward the pantry door, trying not to breathe too deeply. The stench could knock a manticore out cold. Just as I'm bracing myself to open it, a thunderous knock reverberates through the walls.

THUD

I freeze. Another knock—heavy, like somepony's trying to punch right through the wood. My heart jumps into my throat.

That's… not good.

"...Helloooo," a voice calls from outside. "Kine~tic…"

It's Twilight. But her tone—it's low, lilting, something akin to a dangerous purr. I've heard her excited, angry, even meltdown-level anxious… but never like this. My pulse speeds up, and my three legs feel like jelly. Rachel cocks her head, observing me in silence.

I swallow.

The next knock is more like a pounding. "Kinetic! Open the door!" She laughs, a sharp, humorless sound. "Oh, you're so silly, making me chase you around town—after all we've been through!"

My ears pin back. "We… haven't really been through that much…" I mutter under my breath, grateful she can't hear me. This is definitely not normal.

"You've been gone for two months! Gone! Do you have any idea how long that is? How much time we lost? Our compatibility index is suffering from all this separation, and based on my calculations, we have to make up for it now if we want to ensure optimal conditions for our relationship!"

I start inching back toward the front entrance—mostly because I can't risk letting her destroy my entire home in some magical rampage. The door is already shuddering ominously. She might not be able to tear the H.A.R.D.I.S. apart—apparently the door is insanely robust—but if she keeps this up, I'm going to have a unicorn–shaped dent in my front door.

"Come on, Kinetic." Her voice lilts again, like she's trying to coax a small animal out of hiding. "We have so much to talk about. So much to plan! I've already started calculating our romantic compatibility—did you know we're a 97.43% match for one another?" A bizarre giggle. "I checked the formula myself. sixteen times."

I stop near the door, pressing an ear to it.

"I even triple-checked the math on each one!" She sounds thrilled, like she's discovered a new element or solved an ancient puzzle. "And I thought, 'Well, that's basically 100%, right? Just a teensy margin for error!'"

There's a scraping noise against the door. A corona of purple light seeps through the frame, it's like she's trying to rip it off the hinges. The H.A.R.D.I.S. holds firm, but the whole entrance groans in protest.

"Let me in, Kinetic. We have so much of our future to discuss." Her tone dips again, lower, more manic. "Like the wedding, the honeymoon, the twelve foals we're going to have—maybe more if you're feeling adventurous!"

I feel my stomach twist. "Twelve?" I whisper.

Rachel regards me with a blank stare, as if waiting to see how I'll handle this. I press my forehead against the door, trying to think of something—anything—that'll calm Twilight down.

She rattles the handle again. "Come on… Let me in. I can sense you, you know. You're my special somepony, I know you're in there. Don't make me do something… drastic."

I brace myself, one hoof on the door, heart hammering in my chest. The scraping sound outside intensifies, along with the hum of powerful telekinesis

But then it all halts with a shaky gasp.

"Drastic…" Twilight's voice quivers, and there's a long pause like she's trying to swallow a sob. "I–I don't want to hurt you or anything, I swear. I just… I thought—" Her tone cracks. "I thought you were dead, Kinetic. Do you know what that's like? To be told—shown—that somepony you care about is just… gone?"

The doorknob rattles once more, but weaker this time, as if her magic's faltering. I press closer, mind racing.

"It was so quiet without you," she continues, so softly I almost can't hear her. "I'd read all day and night, but nothing helped. I'd see a book to reccomend you and think, 'Hey, I can talk to him about…' and then I'd remember…" A ragged breath. "That I couldn't talk to you. That you were gone."

My gut clenches. Twilight's voice is raw now, no longer tinted with that deranged edge. It hits me in a way I wasn't prepared for, prying at something I've worked hard to bury.

She sniffles, and the next words come out in a trembling whisper: "I—I tried to move on. Really, I did. Everypony kept saying, 'Time heals all wounds,' but it just… it just made me realize how alone I was. And then—then Pinkie came rushing in, screaming that you're back, and I… I didn't know how to handle it. I don't know how to handle it."

There's a heavy thump, like she's resting her head against the other side of the door. I swallow, my throat painfully tight.

Twilight's voice hitches. "The library… it was the only place that felt safe anymore. I tried to keep it neat, to keep some sense of control. You remember how you used to mess with me by putting books back in strange places, right? And… that day, I— I found the last one you placed there, hidden on the shelf. I—I saw it was upside down. And I just… I couldn't fix it. I couldn't even touch it, because if I did… it felt like erasing the last thing I had left of you."

I press myself against the door, barely breathing as Twilight's sniffles grow softer. Each shaky exhale digs into my chest like a knife, twisting the guilt I've been trying to ignore.

She speaks again, voice trembling, "Every day, I'd go over my notes—magic theory, runic analysis, anything that reminded me of you. And even then, I couldn't make sense of it all. Because how do I… how do I study losing somepony I—" Her words hitch, and I know she's crying again.

My stomach churns. I'm not ready for this. I never wanted to be her everything. But she's here, pouring out her grief against a locked door, and I'm the reason she's in so much pain.

"Twilight…" I whisper, heart pounding.

She takes a shaky breath. "But you're not dead. You're right here, and I—I just want to see you. I don't… I don't care about anything else." Another sob. "I'd give up the books—the reading, the library—for you to just be okay. To know you're safe."

I don't know how much more of this I can take. The raw ache in Twilight's voice, the guilt lodging itself like a thorn in my heart… It burns.

I rest my forehead against the door, letting her words wash over me. She's sobbing softly now, her quiet weeping nearly lost under the thud of my own pulse. Every second that passes feels like a century.

Eventually, I can't stand it anymore. Without a word, I turn the lock and ease the door open.

Twilight is right there, tears in her eyes. Her breath catches the instant she sees me. At first, her gaze locks on my face, searching, frantic. But then she glances downward.

She sees it: my missing leg, cut off at mid-foreleg, ending in a roughly compressed stone cap.

For a moment, I think she might scream. Her lips part, her expression crumpling in on itself. She stumbles forward, eyes flicking between my stump and my face, tears still tracking down her cheeks.

"No…" Her voice wavers, sounding broken in a way I've never heard before. "Kinetic… oh Celestia, your—your leg—"

I can't find any words. I want to explain it away, to make it less horrible than it is, but there's nothing I can say. It's just gone, and there's no hiding it anymore.

Twilight's lower lip trembles. Her gaze lingers on the stone cap, then snaps back up to my eyes, pleading. She makes a small, choked sound—somewhere between a gasp and a sob—and then she lunges forward, wrapping her forelegs around my neck.

I stagger, struggling to keep my balance on three legs, but she keeps me upright, her hug surprisingly gentle despite the desperation in it. She presses her face into my mane and just cries, muffling her sobs against me. I stand there, stiff with shock, until I finally force my one remaining front hoof to move, returning her embrace.

My eyes sting. I try to blink away the threatening tears, but it's impossible not to feel her grief radiating through me. We stay like that—locked together in the doorway of my battered H.A.R.D.I.S., surrounded by the rancid smell of my rotting pantry and the echoes of everything that went wrong.

Twilight's voice wobbles, barely above a whisper. "It's going to be okay," she mumbles over and over. "It's going to be okay. We'll— we'll figure this out. I promise."

I draw in a shaky breath. Her mane smells like ink and parchment, a familiar comfort that makes my chest tighten. She shouldn't have to be here, comforting me like this. I'm the fraud, the coward, the one who mouthed off and got myself thrown halfway to Tartarus.

Yet she clings to me as if letting go would break her all over again.

I close my eyes, fighting back every instinct to pull away and hide. Instead, I lean into her mane, feeling the dampness where her tears have soaked my coat.

"I'm sorry," I manage, the words barely audible.

She just squeezes me tighter, tears coursing down her cheeks. "You're alive," she whispers fiercely, like she's reminding herself. "I don't care about anything else right now."

We stand there for what feels like forever, wrapped in the kind of silence that hurts. Twilight's hooves are still locked around me, holding tight, like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.

I take a shuddering breath in Twilight's embrace as I try to steady my trembling heart. She pulls back just a fraction, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and asks in a soft voice, "Kinetic… where have you been? What happened to you?"

I exhale slowly, breaking the silence first. "I… don't really want to talk about it."

Twilight stiffens slightly, and when she pulls back, her face is raw. She looks at me like I just kicked a puppy. "But… I need to know, Kinetic. Please."

I sigh, rubbing my good hoof over my face. "It's annoying to repeat the whole thing again."

She flinches. It's a tiny thing, just the slightest dip of her ears and a crack in her already broken expression, but I feel it like a gut punch.

I rub my temples and mutter, "Fine."

Twilight's ears perk up slightly, but she stays silent, waiting.

I don't want to say it. I don't want to think about it. But the way she's looking at me, like she's been waiting so long just to understand—I can't just walk away from that.

So I start talking.

"Cadence's blast sent me to the Badlands." I force the words out, trying to sound casual about it. "I hit the ground hard. Broke all four of my legs."

Twilight gasps so sharply it's like I physically hit her. Her hooves fly to her mouth, and she looks absolutely horrified. "A-All four?" she whispers, eyes brimming with fresh tears. "Oh, Kinetic…"

I grit my teeth and keep going. "Yeah. Couldn't move. Not right away. But, uh, where I landed? It wasn't stable." I swallow hard. "It was a sinkhole."

She freezes.

I nod grimly. "I fell into Tartarus."

Twilight stumbles back, shaking her head like she misheard me. "No. No, no, no. That's—" She shakes a little. "You—you fell into Tartarus?! That's impossible!"

"Tell that to the hole," I mutter bitterly.

She grabs me again, her hooves shaking. "Kinetic, oh Celestia, that's—" She cuts herself off, her breathing picking up. Her eyes are too wide, too full of emotions she's barely holding back. She swallows hard. "I… I screamed at Cadence for hours," she admits, voice breaking. "When she told me she blasted you, I—I lost it. But we thought—" She bites down on her trembling lip. "We thought you were just gone. We never imagined you—" She shudders. "We never thought to check Tartarus."

I shift uncomfortably, trying to avoid her eyes. "Yeah, well. Neither would I."

She sniffles, but I press forward before I lose my nerve.

"I couldn't walk. So I had to, uh… improvise." I motion vaguely with my hoof. "Used a floating slab of rock to get around. Kept my legs off the ground. Tried to… survive."

Twilight's jaw tightens. "You had to fight. Didn't you?"

I nod. "A lot." I remember the creatures, the constant struggle, the pain, the exhaustion—the heat. My body slowly deteriorating with every passing day.

Twilight shudders, rubbing her foreleg. "How long were you down there?"

I blink, thinking back. "Around a month, hard to say."

Her breath catches. "A month." She whispers it like the word hurts. "All alone."

"Not alone," I correct, glancing at Rachel. "She found me."

Twilight's gaze flicks to Rachel for the first time, and something shifts in her expression—gratitude, relief, maybe even reverence. "You… you saved him?" she asks, voice thick.

Rachel says nothing, but I know the answer. She did. I would've died if she hadn't found me.

"She must've fallen through the same hole," I continue. "Don't know how long she was wandering before she found me, but by then, I was…" I pause, choosing my words carefully. "Not doing great."

Twilight nods slightly, but her eyes keep flicking to my missing leg. She knows what I haven't said yet.

I don't want to tell her.

But she's waiting.

I swallow, throat dry. "The three legs healed. But my right foreleg didn't."

Twilight holds completely still. Her breathing slows, like she's bracing herself.

I press forward before I can hesitate. "It got infected. I couldn't move. I was burning up with fever. If I didn't—" My mouth feels like sandpaper. "If I didn't do something, I was gonna die."

Twilight barely whispers, "What… what did you do?"

I exhale, sharp and shaky. "I cut it off."

Silence.

Absolute, crushing silence.

Twilight's pupils shrink. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. A choked noise, maybe a strangled sob, catches in her throat. Her body locks up, trembling so hard I think she might collapse.

I look away. "Rachel fought monsters while I healed. Kept me alive." I stare at the ground. "After a while, I found a way out."

Twilight suddenly lets out a small, broken sound. She looks so shaken, so utterly destroyed by what she's just heard, that I don't know what to do.

Her hooves press against her chest, her breath coming fast and shallow. "You… you—" She sobs, stepping forward like she wants to touch me but doesn't know how. "I—I wasn't there," she whispers, horrified. "I—we all thought you were gone. We searched, Kinetic, we searched for weeks. We flew so far looking for you, but—" She hiccups. "We didn't even think you could've gone that far. We found dead changelings, but they were closer." Her voice wavers. "You must've been blasted farther than any of us thought."

I let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah. Lucky me."

Twilight lets out a quiet, pained whimper. She reaches forward, hesitates—then throws her forelegs around me again, clutching me tightly. I can feel her shaking. Her entire body is wracked with grief.

"I'm sorry," she whispers over and over. "I'm so, so sorry."

I close my eyes, exhaling. "Not your fault."

She hugs me tighter. "We should have found you."

I don't respond. Because I don't know what to say.

We stand there, the weight of everything pressing down on us both. Twilight doesn't let go.

Twilight doesn't let go. She holds onto me like I'm something fragile—like I might slip through her hooves again if she so much as loosens her grip. I don't know how long we stand there, but I can feel her heartbeat against my chest, uneven and erratic.

Finally, she sniffles, rubbing her muzzle against my shoulder before whispering, "Princess Celestia… she mobilized everything to find you."

I blink. "…What?"

Twilight pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. Hers are puffy, red-rimmed, but there's still this intensity burning behind them. "The entire Royal Guard was sent out to look for you. Not just Canterlot's forces—Celestia called on every guard division across Equestria. Pegasi squads searched the mountains, unicorns traced residual magic signatures, and earth ponies combed every inch of ground between Canterlot and the Badlands." She swallows. "And we… we didn't find a single trace."

I stare at her, dumbfounded. Celestia sent everypony after me? That's… more effort than I ever expected. More than I deserved.

Twilight isn't finished. "And it wasn't just them." She sniffles, dragging a hoof across her face. "Celestia herself spent days trying to track you down. She personally scanned every major leyline for magical disturbances, trying to pinpoint where you might've landed. Luna even searched the dreamscape, looking for any sign of your consciousness."

A sick feeling creeps into my stomach. "And they still didn't find anything."

She shakes her head, looking miserable. "Nothing. Not even the faintest magical imprint." She lets out a shaky breath. "We had no idea you flew that far. No way of knowing you even survived. We only found dead changelings. That was it. Just… bodies."

I rub the back of my neck.

Twilight bites her lip. "And then…" She hesitates, her gaze flicking to Rachel. "Celestia told me that she—" She gestures to Rachel. "—jumped after you."

I frown. "Wait. What?"

Twilight nods, expression darkening. "After you were hit, Rachel went straight out the window after you. She just jumped. No hesitation. No delay. Right off the mountain." Twilight's voice cracks. "She followed you."

My chest tightens, and I slowly turn to Rachel. She stares back at me, unblinking.

I don't know why this surprises me. Of course she followed. I carved that command in myself.

Back then, she was just a construct. A machine running on simple directives.

I swallow. "She really just—jumped off the ledge?"

Twilight nods again, more forcefully this time. "Celestia and Cadence saw her go. But by the time anypony realized what she was doing, she was already gone."

I exhale, pressing a hoof to my forehead. "No wonder you lost track of me."

Twilight clenches her jaw. "Not following Rachel was a huge part of what I yelled at them for."

I blink. "Wait. You yelled at Celestia?"

Twilight lets out a wet, humorless laugh. "Oh, Kinetic. You have no idea."

The look in her eyes is exhausted.

I just stare at her. "You yelled at Celestia?"

She nods sharply. "Yes."

Twilight Sparkle—the most devoted student in Equestria, the Twilight Sparkle, who practically worships the ground Celestia walks on—yelled at her.

I have to sit down.

Twilight keeps talking, voice thick with emotion. "I yelled at her. I yelled at Cadence. I yelled at everypony. I told them they were idiots for not chasing Rachel. I told Cadence she was reckless for blasting you away like that and that she should have thought for half a second before treating you like an enemy." She wipes furiously at her eyes. "I—I told them that if they really cared, they would have done more.

Twilight's voice shakes as she continues. "Celestia just—just listened to me. She let me yell at her for hours. And I wanted her to yell back. To get angry. To tell me I was being irrational, but she didn't. She just stood there and took it."

Her breath shudders, and she closes her eyes. "I kept expecting her to tell me to calm down, to scold me for screaming at a princess. But she didn't. She just looked… tired. Tired and sad. And that—" Her voice cracks. "That was worse."

I don't say anything. I can't. My stomach twists. I was dead to them. And Celestia, the most powerful being in Equestria, couldn't do a thing about it. So she just stood there and let Twilight break herself over it.

Twilight wipes her eyes roughly and sniffles. "Cadence… she thought you were evil."

I flinch.

"I knew it was a mistake," she mutters quickly, looking up at me. "I knew. But at the time, I didn't care. I just wanted to blame somepony." She grits her teeth. "And I did. I blamed them all."

I let out a slow breath. More conformation that cadence thinks I'm a monster. I try not to let the bitterness seep into my expression, but Twilight must see it anyway because she winces.

"I… I know she regrets it," she says quietly. "I know she feels awful."

I look away. I don't want to talk about Cadence.

Twilight must sense that, because she doesn't push it. Instead, she sniffles, wiping her face with the back of her hoof. "I just… I need you to know, Kinetic. We never stopped looking. We never wanted to stop. If we'd known—if we had even guessed—you were in Tartarus, we would have gone."

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. I believe her. But it doesn't make those weeks alone in the dark any less real.

She exhales sharply, trying to steady herself. "But it's over now. You're here."

Her voice wavers on the last word. She leans into me again, hooves clutching me tightly, and I realize she's still not letting go.

She's not going to.

Not for a while.

I shift my weight, and Twilight moves with me, not loosening her grip even as I hobble further into the H.A.R.D.I.S. It's a slow process—I'm already exhausted, and maneuvering with one front leg while carrying Twilight Sparkle like an emotional barnacle is not helping.

Rachel follows behind in silence, watching.

The stale funk of my rotting pantry hits my nose again, and I grimace.

Twilight doesn't even react to the smell. She just buries her face against my shoulder, hooves gripping the fabric of my saddle bag like she's afraid I'll vanish if she loosens up.

I sigh, stepping fully inside and nudging the door closed behind me. "You're not going to let go anytime soon, huh?"

Twilight shakes her head.

I groan, but there's no real heat behind it. "Fine. Just… don't suffocate me."

She sniffles but doesn't respond.

I sigh, rubbing at my face with my good hoof. "Alright, Twilight. If you're gonna be glued to me, at least move with me. I need to fix the pantry."

Twilight snorts softly, like she doesn't believe I'm serious, then finally pulls back just enough to let me shift. But before I can move toward the pantry, she lights up her horn and casually opens every cabinet at once.

A second later, with a single pulse of magic, the stench disappears.

I blink. "...What?"

She wipes at her eyes again, then sniffs. "I just incinerated everything rotten. You're welcome."

I stare at the now-clean cabinets, blinking in disbelief. That would have taken me forever to clean.

"You—" I blink. "You just—"

She sniffs again and clings tighter. "Shut up and let me take care of you."

I open my mouth to argue, but before I can, there's a knock at the door.

Twilight tenses against me, and I sigh. "Great. That's probably..."

I turn, and walk over, twilight following closely.
I crack the door open.

And there they are.

Applejack. Rarity. Rainbow Dash. Fluttershy.

For a second, I think they're about to say something. Maybe yell, maybe cry—maybe just be normal for five seconds.

But they don't.

They stare.

I don't understand at first. I don't know why they're frozen. Then I follow their eyes.

Oh.

Right.

I forgot.

They're looking at my right foreleg—at the stump where it used to be. At the smooth, compressed stone cap, a crude, ugly thing sealing what's left of me.

They just stare.

And then—

Fluttershy makes a soft, strangled sound and starts crying immediately.

Rarity's hoof flies to her mouth, her pupils shrinking in horror.

Applejack tips her hat down to hide her eyes.

And Rainbow—Rainbow's whole body is shaking.

I feel heavy all of a sudden. The weight of their stares, the emotions rolling off them in waves, all of it pressing down on me like a stone slab crushing my chest.

I've had it like this for so long—missing, gone, amputated—that I don't even think about it anymore. I don't wake up expecting it to be there. I don't try to move it. It's just gone.

But for them—this is the first time they've seen me like this.

I try to speak. To say anything. But before I can, they all start talking at once.

Crying. Apologizing. Shouting over each other in this messy, horrible tangle of voices and emotions.

"Oh, Kinetic—your leg—"

"Darling, how could—"

"We should've been there! We should have—"

"Why didn't we—"

"This ain't right! It ain't—"

I can barely keep up. The words crash into me, jumbled, desperate, tripping over each other in a frantic storm of regret and grief. It's all blending together, all of them trying to say too much at once—

But Rainbow's voice cuts through.

"I left you."

The others freeze mid-sentence.

I blink at Rainbow, my heart lurching at the look on her face.

Her wings are trembling. Her eyes locked on my missing leg. Her whole body shaking, like she's barely keeping herself together.

"I left you with Chrysalis," she chokes out. Her pupils are tiny, and her breath comes in sharp bursts. "We—we ran to get the Elements. We—we thought we could fix it, but—" Her face contorts, a mix of anger and self-loathing. "I left you."

I blink, trying to follow what she's saying. "Rainbow, I—"

"I should have stayed," she snarls. "I should have fought with you. I should have—I should have done something."

She hiccups sharply, sucking in a breath. " I thought we'd be fast enough. That we'd come back in time. That you'd be okay."

Her face crumples, her ears flat against her skull. "But we weren't. And you weren't."

I open my mouth, but she keeps going.

"This—" She gestures wildly at my missing leg, voice breaking. "This all happened because we weren't fast enough! Because I wasn't fast enough!" Her breath is coming in short, panicked bursts now.

"You did what you had to," I say, voice even despite the lump in my throat. "You went for the Elements. It was the right call."

Rainbow flinches like I struck her.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "No, it wasn't. Because if it was, then why—" She gestures wildly at my missing leg, eyes glistening. "Why did this happen to you?!"

I take a breath, forcing myself to stand firm despite the crushing weight of their emotions.

"It is possible to do everything right and still lose," I say, voice steady but quiet. "That's not a failure. That's just life."

It was supposed to be encouraging, but something in my answer seems to have had the opposite effect.

Rainbow shakes her head violently. Applejack's jaw tightens. Rarity shivers like I just said something awful. Fluttershy makes a tiny, hurt noise and looks away.

None of them are comforted by my words. They just wilt.

So I do what I always do.

I force a half-smirk, shrugging with my one good foreleg. "Hey, at least I get horseshoes 25% off right?"

Nothing.

Not even a ghost of a smile.

They just look at me.

Like I've just kicked them while they were already down.

Like I've made it worse.

Applejack steps forward, her movements slow and deliberate. "Y' always do that, don'tcha?" Her voice is low, quiet. Not angry. Worse than angry.

I blink. "Do what?"

Applejack's staring right into me. "Hide behind yer jokes."

My breath catches in my throat.

Applejack doesn't stop.

"Ya talk like it don't matter. Like it ain't a big deal." She gestures to my leg, eyes dark. "But it is. You lost a part of yourself, Kinetic. And you ain't even allowin' yerself to be sad about it."

I flinch.

Her voice softens, but the words hit harder.

"Y' ever think maybe yer jokes ain't fixin' anything?" she murmurs.

I try to laugh. I try to shake it off, but it doesn't come.

Applejack steps closer. Too close. I can't look away.

"Tell me somethin' honest, Kinetic." She tilts her head, eyes burning into mine. "Are ya even okay?"

I open my mouth. I don't know what I was about to say—some lie, some brush-off, some joke about how of course I'm okay, how I'm alive, aren't I?

But then—

"Because it don't seem like ya are."

I force out a weak chuckle, shaking my head. "Come on, it's just a joke, Applejack. Lighten up."

She doesn't smile. She doesn't move.

I try again, gesturing vaguely with my good hoof. "Seriously, I—I'm fine. It's just… what else am I supposed to do? Cry about it? That's not gonna grow my leg back."

She doesn't let up.

Her gaze stays locked onto mine, and I feel my stomach tighten.

I hate this.

I hate how they're all staring at me. I hate how they're acting like they understand. Like they have any idea what I went through.

Applejack's voice is quiet, firm. "Ain't 'bout cryin'. It's about tellin' the truth."

My ears flick back. Fucking pony lie detector.

She leans in slightly. "So tell the truth, Kinetic. Just this once."

I try again, "Look, if I didn't joke—if I didn't laugh—"

My voice falters for just a second, and I let it slip.

"I'd be furious."

My voice is quiet at first. But then it grows.

"I'd be furious at Cadence for treating me like I was some villain. For blasting me away like I was nothing." My breath hitches. "I'd be furious that no one found me, that I had to drag myself through Tartarus, that I had to watch my body fail me!"

The words come faster now, tumbling out in a rush I can't control.

"I'd be furious that I don't have some magic destiny protecting me like you do! I don't just get to walk away from adventures with a few scratches and a moral lesson! I'm not like you!"

I take another breath, but it's shaky, wild. My chest heaves.

I shake my head, feeling the burn behind my eyes. "You all—you all get to walk away. You get your victories. Your happy endings. You go on these adventures, and no matter how bad things get, you always make it through. You always come back. You always win."

They all go still.

My breath is ragged, my chest tight.

"And where was my big hero moment, huh?!" I shout, voice cracking. "Where was my miracle save? My perfect timing? Oh, that's right—I didn't get one."

My heart hammers.

"The only reason I survived is because of a golem I built myself. Because I never had anything but myself!"

Twilight flinches against me.

I let out a harsh breath, my whole body trembling.

No one speaks.

No one moves.

I expect them to argue, to tell me I'm wrong, to say I'm being ridiculous.

But as I scowl, angry at the world, Applejack smiles.

Soft. Knowing.

Like I didn't just throw a fit.

Like she was waiting for this.

I stare at her, my pulse still hammering in my ears. "What are you so fuckin' happy for?!" I demand, voice hoarse.

Applejack exhales, shaking her head, that small smile still lingering. "Because, sugarcube…" She steps closer, her voice warm, but sure.

"That's the first honest thing ya've said all night."

I stagger, staring at her like she just slapped me.

"The first honest thing—" I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "You think just because I admit it, that suddenly everything's fine?!"

Applejack doesn't move. She just watches me, steady and calm, like she's not standing in the middle of my breakdown. Like she's just waiting for me to keep going.

And I do.

"Like that's it? That's the grand solution?" I throw my hoof up, voice rising. "Oh wow, good job, everypony! I finally snapped, so now we can all pack up and go home!"

Rarity winces, ears flattening. Twilight's grip on me tightens, but I don't stop.

"You think this—this is some kind of win?! That just because I'm finally screaming about it, that it somehow makes it better?!"

They start murmuring, their voices soft, trying to calm me.

I don't want to be calm.

"No! You don't get to just act all smug about this!" My voice breaks, raw and furious. "You don't get to just stand there all self-satisfied because you finally dragged this out of me!"

I shake my head, my whole body tense. "I didn't even want to be there! You all keep dragging me into your bullshit! And then you—" I gesture wildly at them, my one hoof shaking. "You all just get to act like this is some—some tragedy that happened to you?!"

They flinch.

I press forward. "Like I'm just another lesson for you to learn from?! Like my leg—" My voice breaks, and I force it back under control. "Like my leg is some plot twist in your story?!"

Rainbow recoils like I struck her. Rarity's breath catches in her throat. Fluttershy looks like she might just collapse.

I scoff, shaking my head, feeling the burn in my chest, the ache in my throat.

"Well, sorry if my pain makes for a great character arc," I snap. "But guess what? I'm not your lesson to learn. I'm not some tragedy to add to your list of friendship problems."

I take a step back, breathing ragged, the room spinning around me.

"This is my life. And I have to live with it. Not you. Me."

I glare at Applejack.

"So stop trying to tell me how to cope."

The room goes silent.

Not a single word.

I can feel Twilight trembling against me, her breath coming in uneven hiccups. Applejack's face is unreadable. Rarity's hoof is still pressed to her mouth. Rainbow's wings twitch, like she wants to do something but doesn't know what.

I stand there, heaving, my breath coming sharp and uneven. My ears ring in the silence I just tore through the room.

I know what I just did.

I said all of that to drive them away. To make them hurt, to make them uncomfortable, to make them leave.

But they don't.

No one turns away. No one walks out.

I can feel my heart pounding, like a caged thing trying to escape. My whole body is tense, like I'm waiting for a fight. But they don't fight me. They just… stand there.

Waiting.

Rainbow, the first to move, finally sucks in a deep breath. "You're right."

That throws me off.

I blink at her. "What?"

"You're right," she repeats, her voice tight. "We're not the ones who have to live with this. You are." Her wings twitch again, but she doesn't step back. If anything, she moves closer.

I scowl. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because, Kinetic." Applejack finally speaks, voice low, firm. "We care about you."

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. "That's not what I—"

Fluttershy, of all ponies, cuts me off.

"You're angry," she says. Her voice is soft, but not weak. "And you should be."

She stares into my eyes and I freeze.

She continues, stepping forward just slightly. "You should be angry. You should feel everything you feel. No one's saying you shouldn't." Her blue eyes shimmer with something deep, steady. "But that doesn't mean we're going to stop caring."

Rarity inhales deeply, regaining her composure just enough to speak. Her voice is softer, but no less firm.

"Darling, of course this isn't about us." She sniffs, pressing a hoof to her chest. "But don't you dare act like you're the only one who's allowed to be upset."

I flinch.

She steps forward, her violet eyes glistening. "We care about you, Kinetic. That's not something you can just… turn off." Her breath wavers. "I don't care how angry you are—I don't care if you hate me right now—but I will not stand here and pretend like you don't matter."

She wipes at her eyes, taking a shaky breath.

"And frankly, darling, neither should you."

Before I can form a retort, Rainbow speaks up, her wings still trembling at her sides. "You think we're treating this like a lesson?" Her voice is hoarse, rough around the edges. "Like you're some kinda tragic backstory to make us better ponies?"

Her face twists into something almost hurt, and she shakes her head. "That's not—that's not what this is."

I let out a short, bitter scoff, but she doesn't stop.

"I'm not standing here wishing I could learn something from this." Her voice is raw. "I just wish you didn't have to go through it at all."

I run my tongue over my teeth, my breath still uneven. My heart still pounds.

I don't know what I expected from them. I wanted them gone. I wanted them to look at me, to see the anger, the ugliness, and just leave me alone.

But they won't.

Even though they should.

Even though I just screamed in their faces.

Even though they have every reason to walk away.

Twilight shifts against me, still clutching my side like a lifeline. Her voice is barely above a whisper.

"We thought you were gone."

I stiffen.

She shudders, her grip tightening. "We thought you were gone forever. And now you're here, and you—you're still here, Kinetic, and you're angry and hurt and—"

Her breath shakes.

"And we can't fix it."

The words hit like a gut punch.

"We can't fix it," she repeats, swallowing hard. "But we can be here."

I close my eyes.

Damn them.

Damn them for being so persistent.

Damn them for being kind.

Damn them for refusing to leave.

I let out a long, slow breath, dragging a hoof down my face.

Nothing is fixed.

Nothing is resolved.

And I don't think it will be for a while.

 

[MinmaxedMr.Hyde]

Tftc

Honestly really realistic if one of my friends showed up out of nowhere with a missing leg i'd freak the fuck out too especially if I thought they were dead.

 

[Yuki no Yue]

This was... incredibly painful to read. From an emotional standpoint, which I'm guessing it's what the chapters were about.

But also... He can finally start getting better. It's going to take a lot. But he took the first step. That's important.

Let's just hope that he will continue that road. He deserves to be happy.

 

[Rook of Black]

I really wish Cadence would face some sort of serious punishment for what she inflincted on poor Kinetic.
I get that banishing him was justifiable from her point of view, but damn tossing an innocent into tartarus for a month and causing him to lose a limb isn't something to brush off.

 

[TheFabulousCustodes]

I really wish Cadence would face some sort of serious punishment for what she inflincted on poor Kinetic.
I get that banishing him was justifiable from her point of view, but damn tossing an innocent into tartarus for a month and causing him to lose a limb isn't something to brush off.

Click to shrink...

Luna would probably be happy to do it, considering how she dotes on Kinetic. She has to be steamed at Cadence.

Thanks for the additional new chapters!

 

[Calamity]

Nah, Cadence was understandably emotionally compromised, lacked information (and was, in fact, fed misinformation by her victim himself. She can't read minds, nor did she know Kinetic, so her not seeing through his villain act is excusable) and there was actual danger (invasion duh).

Does she deserve to be punished? Meh, not really. The guilt is probably punishment enough.
Doesn't mean that she isn't morally obligated to take responsibility for the damage she caused.