ACT I: https://ponepaste.org/8980

>The air is naught but pure frost, yet your lungs catch fire with every ragged breath. 
>Your legs, alight with agony, extend and retract on pure instinct. 
>An otherworldly force bids you flee with everything you have, and then some. Across the midnight haze, through the frost, sinking almost shin-deep into white death with every step. 
>Your shoulder throbs with every down-beat of your gait, and every swing of your arm wrenches staggering pain from a well of prickling numbness. 
>For a stint, you followed the distant lights of the mecca. Now, in the midst of a furious winter storm, you can only follow your friends, carrying on in the same vague direction.
>How long you’ve been on the run is nebulous - whether it’s been five minutes or five hours, it’s felt like eternity either way. 
>The wind, having picked up tremendously since your hasty departure, whips at your exposed skin like pins and needles. 
>You squint over at Pal, his enchanted bones having a somewhat easier time trudging through the unending dunes of snow. 
>On his back, Hearth still slumbers, oblivious to your dire circumstances. 
>Even now, in the midst of the tundra’s assault on your senses, you worry for her; Virtue’s spell must have been dangerously potent to render her unconscious for so long. 
>You inwardly wonder whether or not it would be better to be awake for the harrowing jaunt into the city.
>Before you can distract yourself with another train of thought, though, your foot gets caught on a particularly solid patch of snow, sending you tumbling forward.
>You catch yourself on both hands, the impact riveting up your arms and through your shoulders, another jolt of suffering radiating from your wound. 
>A hoarse groan escapes your lungs, already thirsting for more frigid air before it even leaves you. Subconscious anger swells in your chest as you ball your fists, lamenting the loss of your feverish pace.
>“Damn!” Pal swears, doubling back to check on you. “Y’alright, big guy?”
>Two skeletal feet appear in the snow in front of you as a bony, four-fingered hand plants itself firmly on your good shoulder.
>You look up into the endless dark of Pal’s eye sockets, beset with green light.
“M’fine.”
>The deep crimson staining of your clothes around your shoulder begs to differ.
>Pal’s pinpoint stare scans you for a few moments as he helps you to your feet. 
>“Ain’t much further now,” he says, pointing toward the city with his free hand. “We gotta get the hell outta this wind, ‘fore it gets even worse. C’mon!” 
>As he sets off once more, so do you, ignoring the worsening torture of cloth on exposed flesh. 
>In just the short amount of time that you had taken to recover, the snowfall further worsened. 
>Your face stings as the frost nips at your skin. Pal leads the way, pushing further into the white noise. 
>The only other thing that starts to jut out from the haze is a vast wall stretching into obscurity, which all three of you close in on after a few more minutes of perseverance. 
>Pal presses against it and looks tentatively in both directions that it continues in, switching Hearth into a front-carry position to better shield her against the elements. 
>“Stick close ta me,” Pal commands. “The storm should cover us from the guards up on the walls. With any luck, they ain’t sealed up the old tunnels.”
>Old, musty passageways with an open wound? Wonderful. 
“Tunnels…?”
>“They’re technically ‘auxiliary exits,’ but we all just call ‘em tunnels. I dunno how close we are ta one, but there were plenty of ‘em, so hopefully we won’t be out here much longer.”
>The sooner, the better; the tips of your fingers are beginning to lose feeling. 
>You file in behind Pal as he shimmies along the wall, his free hand feeling for something along the rough stone.
>Forever and a half passes as all three of your trudge forward.
>Numbness steadily creeps up your digits. You blow hot breath on them to preserve some level of warmth, but it brings back nothing more than static.
>Shivering uncontrollably, you shove your hands under your armpits, desperate to prevent any significant consequences from prolonged exposure. 
>Eventually - mercifully - Pal stops in his tracks, his bony fingers working a divot in the otherwise featureless wall. 
>“C’mon, you sonuva-” 
>Over the roaring wind, stone sliding on stone rings out. 
>Pal’s head rears up at the sound and he fidgets harder, fighting for any grip at all.
>Finally, he finds it, and a small, rectangle-esque section of the wall begins to slide outward.
>It moves an inch every million years, even as strong as Pal appears to be.
>Impatient, you spring forward in assistance and find your own diminished grip, settling for the friction along your fingertips when an edge fails to present itself to you.
>All the same, you pull as hard as you can, the rough stone registering as no more than a hefty force on your weary bones. 
>Spending energy you can’t afford to part with, the hidden door inches along ever so slightly faster, building up snow in the wake of its arc. 
>Your footing falters, almost sending you tumbling over again, but your meager grip on the heavy slab somehow manages to keep you up right.
>The added leverage is enough to wrench it ajar just enough for someone to slip through. 
>You release the door with a slight stumble backwards, ragged breaths producing a worrying ache in your chest.
>“You first,” Pal instructs. “Can’t fit both’a us with Hearth like this.”
>Your body adheres to his request before your brain does. 
>Shimmying into the diminutive opening, you’re met with a strikingly narrow passageway lined with cobwebs and dust.
>The architecture itself is staggeringly simple - the walls, floor, and ceiling are all carved out of the stone wall itself, decidedly utilitarian in finish. 
>Beyond the entrance, it’s strikingly dark. Thanks to the dim light bleeding in from the outside, though, you can just barely make out a room in the distance that connects with other carved-out hallways.
>As you shuffle in, blowing through your mouth at the occasional web caressing your face, the violent cold of the elements is replaced with an infinitely preferable stagnant chill. It must be the same temperature here, but without the howling wind, it’s much more bearable. 
>Your body, however, struggles to tell the difference; you shiver with the exact same ferocity, despite the welcomed change in circumstance. 
>As you tread deeper into the derelict hovel, you hear Pal slip in behind you, grunting as he figures out how to share the minimal space with Hearth’s sleeping form. 
>Before long, the cramped hall opens up into the room you glimpsed at the entrance. You almost fall into it, steadying yourself at the last second as you make room for Pal to crawl through. 
>You swipe at your face, clearing away the cobwebs tickling your taut skin. Once they’re gone, you scan your immediate environment, trust in your isolation a fleeting prospect.
>Amid the oppressive darkness of the room, you can just barely make out some sparse “living” arrangements; a shoddy cot, several unlit lanterns, a hanging wooden table affixed to the wall, and a chest of drawers. 
>Aside from that, the room is littered with crates of glass bottles, some of them still full of some unknown liquid. 
>Dust coats everything, a topping that gives away the room’s age. 
>You make a beeline for the end of the bed, cautiously planting your sore ass onto the rigid mattress. You half-expect a den of spiders to come flooding out. 
>It hardly gives, even under your full weight; whoever bought this thing was definitely scammed. 
>As you lean back into the frigid stone wall, the excruciating throbbing of your shoulder that you had shoved from your mind makes its startling return. Every fervent beat of your heart sends a new wave of stinging pain through the afflicted area.
>You try to steady your breathing, but to no avail - your lungs hunger, and you cannot deny them a meal. 
>Shuffling slightly to rest your back against the wall, Pal finally sidesteps in, no more exhausted than he was at the start of your escape.
>“Sweet, merciful /shit/,” he cries, stumbling over to you, Hearth still cradled in his arms. “It’s gotta be close to midwinter or somethin’.” 
>The gentle glow of his eyes illuminates the space in front of him as he lumbers over to the bed, setting her down on her side next to you. 
>With haste, he turns and makes for the drawers, throwing one open and pulling out a set of thick, woolen blankets. 
>He tosses one at you, and it lands in your lap. 
>“Get that around ya, nice an’ tight,” he says.
>He doesn’t need to tell you twice. 
>As he works the second blanket around Hearth, you unravel yours, desperate for its shelter. 
>You just barely feel its coarseness under your fingertips - a distant, muted sensation, but proof that they still belong to you.
>An unsteady flourish rests the covering around your shoulders. You scoot backwards on the bed and bring your legs up, wrapping the blanket across them to form a pitiful sauna.
>It quakes as your tremors continue, uncaring. 
>“How’s the shoulder?” Pal asks as he finishes cocooning Hearth.
>A particularly agonizing wave of searing torment surges through your wound, and you wince as your tortured voice fills the air. 
>Your voice quivers as you deign to speak. 
“P-pretty fucking s-shit, man.”
>Your breath billows out in fog, lilting away from you. 
>“Lemme get a good look at it,” he says, focusing his attention on you. 
>Slowly, you slide the blanket off of your shoulder, exposing your scalding wound to the open air. What little heat you’ve gathered threatens to leave. 
>Pal eyes it, grimacing as he surveys the damage. 
>“Hell of a flesh wound, but you’ll be fine. Guess the half-pint was tryin’ ta kill ya after all.” 
>He looks around for a moment before returning his gaze to you. 
>“There should be some bandages n’ a medical kit ‘round ‘ere somewhere, lemme see if I can find ‘em. Just stay put and get warm, alright?”  
>He rushes off, ducking into a hallway to your right.
>Apart from Hearth and her slow, steady breathing, you’re alone for the first time since all of this started. 
>You pull the blanket tight against you once more, watching each shaky breath manifest in front of you as they dance in the dismal light from outside.
>…
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=su89UPECl5E
>What the hell are you going to do?
>You fight with all of your might against the oncoming dread, but you’re already awash in its surf. 
>You still have no idea where you are, no idea where you’re going, and no idea how far away Equestria is, or what direction it’s even in. 
>Even in the farthest reaches of your unconscious mind, you fail to liken this place to anywhere that you’ve learned of during your decidedly minimal time in Equestria. It’s like some sort of frozen hell, chosen especially for you. 
>As if that wasn’t bad enough, you’re no doubt going to be hunted soon, too. The way Ambrosia eyed you like a starving animal, it might as well be guaranteed. 
>Will you even be able to survive long enough to be rescued in the first place? 
>Is rescue even /coming/?
>Fear renders you rigid; even minimal movement incites a groaning within your bones that dissipates after a quarter of a second or so. 
>How the hell are you going to get out of this…?
>Before you can spiral further, the return of Pal’s cloven steps ringing from down the hallway to your left brings you out of your stupor. 
>What’s more, a flickering yellow light accompanies it, and as he rounds the corner, you register its dismal source; a weathered lantern, just barely clinging to life.
>“Got one,” Pal greets you cheerily, setting his lantern down on the table. “Found some oil and a lighter, too. Looks like they ain’t cracked down on this particular den just yet.”
>He treads down the hallway again and shuts the door with great effort before returning to you again and kneeling, the medical bag in one of his hands. 
>“Think ya can get your shirt off?”
>You nod, reluctantly dropping your blanket around your sides. 
>It takes some finagling, as well as no shortage of blunt, throbbing pain, but you manage to remove it along with your sweater.
>Pal reaches into his bag and pulls out a nondescript bottle of… /something/.
>“Alright, I gotta pour this stuff over the wound. It’s fixin’ to hurt like hell, buddy, so I’ll count to three, yeah?” 
>You seat a breath deep within your shaky lungs. 
“Do it.”
>He nods, uncorking the bottle and hovering it above your shoulder. 
>“Alright… One.” 
>He tips the bottle, showering your shredded flesh in the frigid liquid. 
>You cry out behind tightly clamped lips as the wound foams over with a strangely sweet-smelling froth, nearly becoming nauseous from the horrible, stinging pain.
>Your lungs work overtime to parse the pain as you shoot him an irritated glare.
>Pal pays no mind, immediately setting upon the area with bandages. 
“What the hell was that…?”
>“Topical healin’ solution,” he explains. “Made right in town. Works pretty good for stuff that ain’t too severe.”
>You lift your arm so he can get a better angle with the wrappings. 
“No complaints, just… actually count down next time, will you?” 
>“Ha! If ya say so, bud.” 
>The next few moments pass in silence as he shrouds your shoulder and surrounding flesh in beige gauze, the beginnings of crimson coloration peeking through as it presses against you.
>He pats your back as he finishes, the wrappings pulling taut over your shoulder as you let your arm fall slack. You pick your shirt back up and slip it on, the crimson-line hole in the shoulder now contrasting against the bandages. 
>“Found some food in there, too, but I dunno if it’s still good or not,” Pal says as he takes a seat against the far wall. “Guess this hole hasn’t been used in a good while.” 
>You bring the blanket back over your shoulders, restoring your cocoon and shivering against the sudden change. 
“W-What is this place, anyway?”
>“It’s an old maintenance tunnel,” he replies. “Engineers come ‘n do work on the innards o’ the wall durin’ the hot season. Mostly abandoned in winter, though, which works well for us. The only people comin’ in and out o’ here right now’re usually smugglers, or the homeless.”
>…Well, that’s great.
“Any chance of law enforcement busting in?”
>“Nah. Tunnel network’s too complex to comb the whole thing over, so ‘less they /really/ want someone, they’ll just let ‘em brave the elements. Comin’ in here without gettin’ properly ready is about the same as headin’ outside the wall, honestly.”
>…
“…You know the way out, right?” 
>He laughs, filling the stale air. 
>“Sure do, big guy.”
>You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 
“Did you work here before, or something?”
>His skull morphs into a disappointed frown as he leans his own head (or is it his horns?) back against the wall.
>“What, ya didn’t pay attention back in the prison? That’s pretty rude o’ ya, Anon.” 
“Forgive me, but today’s been pretty fucking stressful, man. Half the shit that happened back there feels like a dream at this point.”
>He rolls his… eyes? Magic? Peepers? He rolls his magic eye-things at you; you’ll decide on a technical name for them later.
>“Fine, fine. I guess I’ll let ya slide fer now.” 
>He leans forward again, hanging his elbows off of his knees as his arms dangle in front of him. 
>“I own a lil’ restaurant in the industrial ring with my wife n’ kids. Used ta be a pub, back ‘fore they outlawed nectar of any kind.” 
“Nectar…?” 
>A bony indentation forms and elevates above his eye socket - a skeletal imitation of a raised eyebrow. It holds for a moment before he shakes his head. 
>“Sorry, forgot ya ain’t from here. Used to be a delicacy ‘round these parts, ‘specially in the inner rings. You drink it and ya just…”
>He throws his arms outward to encompass the entirety of your mutual surroundings.
>“Feel more connected with everything around you, ya know what I mean?”
>So… alcohol. 
“I think so. Go on, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 
>He nods before continuing on.
>“Anyway, I didn’t take too kindly to those cult freaks cuttin’ my business clean in two. Mix that with the tight curfew they started enforcin’, and we were ‘bout to go clean under! We ended up just changin’ over to a no-nonsense restaurant, which kept us afloat for a bit.”
>Reminiscence flashes, both literally and metaphorically, through the green glow of his sight. 
>“We didn’t take it lyin’ down, though… turns out nectar’s worth a lot more when it’s illegal.”
>A smirk crawls onto your lips as you connect the dots; no wonder he knows how to navigate here.
“You smuggled it in.” 
>“In, out, every which way you could think of ta anyone who had the coin t’ buy it. Had to sneak outside the walls ta harvest the raw stuff ourselves, which was tough as all get out, but it was way more than worth it. For a while there, we never had to worry about nothin’.”
“Something happened, though?” 
>He nods, his ocular glow dimming considerably. 
>“Little rats caught me n’ one o’ my sons comin’ back from a trip outside one day. They were gonna take us both to the prison, but I told ‘em where we were storin’ the nectar in exchange for his freedom. The rest is right in front o’ ya.”
>He gestures to his skeletal self, diminished against the dusty sandstone. 
>You frown, dismayed.
“They did that to you…?”
>“They brought me in for ‘punishment’ on a day where I was bein’ particularly rowdy with ‘em. Kept the blindfold on while they strapped me in, though, and then… I woke up in my cell, an’ I couldn’t feel anything. Touch, taste, smell… nothin’. Just a vague sense that there’s somethin’ there, just outta reach.”
>You shudder as you fail to imagine what unholy process they could have made him undergo. Your eyes flitter across the glowing scrawlings on his ribs, unsure of what to say.
“Shit, Pal… I’m sorry.” 
>“It’s alright,” he replies, appearing to level out. “I’m alive, n’ that’s all I really care about, far as I’m concerned.” 
>You frown at yourself, disappointed. 
“I can’t believe I forgot all of that between the prison and here.”
>To your surprise, he chuckles, and his regular glow returns to his sockets. 
>“Well, I didn’t really go into that much detail back then. Can’t remember somethin’ ya never heard before.” 
>“Come ta think of it,” he continues, “you didn’t either, big guy. Ya told us ‘bout the mystery girl, and that ya worked in an ‘office’ - whatever that is - but apart from that, I don’t really know much about ya.” 
>You hold the blanket around you ever tighter, having finally worked up a decent amount of body heat.
“I mean, what’s there to tell?” 
>“Well, for starters, I ain’t ever seen anything like you in my life, and that’s sayin’ somethin’, considerin’ where I live. What’s up with that?”
>Huh… been a long while since you’ve been through one of these talks. 
>Thoughts of Twilight’s thorough questionnaire bring a genuine smile to your face as you go to answer his question.
“Well, when you said I wasn't from here, you were right in more than one way. I’m not from /here/, yeah, but I’m not from /anywhere/, either.”
>You pause, eager to let him mull over your confusing choice of words.
>“Meaning…?” he replies after a few moments, a skeletal eyebrow raised in what looks like disbelief. 
“I’m not native to this planet. Or this universe, for that matter.” 
>The other ‘eyebrow’ shoots up as Pal eyes you from head to toe.
>“Didn’t take ya for a fibber, Anon. Where’re ya from, /really/? That Equestria place you talked about?” 
>Before you can continue your coy antics, the reality of where you are hits you like a truck. How could you mill about at a time like this?
“Shouldn’t we get somewhere safer before we get into telling our life stories? I’m worried about Hearth, she’s been asleep ever since she got hit.”
>Your eyes pore over her sleeping form again. She almost looks peaceful, tucked away in her blanket like that.
>“She’ll be fine, Anon,” Pal tries to reassure you. “I’ve been on the receiving end of that spell before, this is par for th’ course.”
“What if he supercharged it, like the one he hit my shoulder with?” 
>Pal’s expression becomes contemplative for a moment as he weighs the decision in his mind.
>“They got night patrols that roll through the industrial sector lookin’ for people violatin’ curfew. They catch us, we’re goin’ straight back into cells.”
“How many are there, usually?” 
>“Last I remember, they usually send out nineteen or twenty teams o’ four to walk the whole ring. I remember usin’ this exit in particular a few times, so we’re probably on the eastern part o’ the wall, not far from where my restaurant is.” 
“Do they patrol around there often?” 
>“Not when I was around, but they coulda tightened up since then. Anon, you gotta slow down, bud. Rushin’ into this is gonna get us caught. You and Hearth’ve never been here, and it’s been a while since I set foot in town.” 
>He’s got a point. You don’t like sitting here while she’s like this, but what else can you do?
“What should we do, then?” 
>“We probably got a few hours ‘till day breaks,” he proposes, shifting to sit up more. “There’s a big rush o’ people that go ta work around then, so it’ll be easy to blend in with the crowd.”
>Normally, that would be a solid plan, but…
“Pal?”
>“Yeah?”
“You’re a skeleton.”
>He deadpans, staring you straight in the eyes.
>“…That cuts deep, Anon.”
>A sigh comes from his intangible lungs… wait, how does that even work?
>“I’ll find somethin’ to wear that covers me. You carry Hearth, just pull the blanket over her head so people think you’re toting a sack o’ food or somethin’.”
>The solidity of your plan decreases a little with that method of disguising her, but it should still hold up in theory if you can avoid close scrutiny. 
“And nobody’ll take an interest in us? Even looking like we do?” 
>“Trust me,” he reassures as he goes to stand, fetching his lantern from the table. “We’ll be fine. People in this sector pretty much keep to themselves in public after the takeover.” 
>He strolls over to the outside door again and, grunting, nudges it open.
>The same amount of light from before floods in, coating the hall in a dim, blue light.
>The wind threatens to blow Pal’s lantern out, but remarkably, the flame fights it with everything it has. 
>He readjusts the door just enough to leave naught more than a crack leading to the outside before returning to the mouth of the hallway and sitting down facing the opposite wall. 
>“I’ll watch the light so we don’t miss our chance,” he says as he turns to face you again. “Get some rest if ya need to, it might be a while.”
>In the depths of your worry, you find time to fling a friendly jab his way.
“What, you don’t want my company?”
>“Ha! What happened ta gettin’ somewhere safer first, eh?”
“It got put on the backburner, that’s what.”
>He chuckles before replying.
>“Even still, I need ya alert. It’s safer durin’ the day, but that don’t mean there aren’t gonna be any o’ Her Cronies around. How long’s it been since ya got any sleep?”
>…Oh, shit, how long /has/ it been? 
>Since you passed out in the wreckage of the train, maybe?
>“I’ll take your silence as an answer. Get some winks, alien boy.” 
>With that, he returns his attention to the door, his silent vigil having begun. 
>Well, you aren’t going to argue with that.
>The pain in your shoulder has subsided quite a bit - whatever was in that liquid, you’re downright ecstatic that it’s working as well as it is.
>You shuffle backwards onto the strikingly solid mattress, pressing your back against the cold wall as you let your head fall against it once more. 
>Sleep won’t come easily, but you’re more than willing to try. 

…

>A gray infinity stretches out into entropy. 
>Flashes of dark, amorphous movements flitter about, black patches against the dull canvas.
>You look down; your lack of a body somehow doesn’t frighten you.
>Hushed murmurs come from somewhere out in the expanse, unintelligible even when you focus. The attempt to do so hastens the little voids’ movements, obscuring the endless space further. 
>Against the droning indifference of nothing, the whispers break out into a single, coherent word. 
>“…obscured…”
>You try to formulate thoughts about it, but it’s all just extra noise, akin to static in an echo chamber.
>Ages pass, and a force from behind begins to tug at your lack of form. 
>A vague sensation of speed registers just barely as you glide against nothing, frictionless into terminus, until-

>You wake violently, neck tensing uncontrollably as your head shoots up from the dusty sheets.
>At some point, you must’ve dropped onto your right side, pointing away from Hearth. Mercifully, gravity had chosen the shoulder that /wasn’t/ wounded to have you fall onto.
>The world spins as you come to, reaching out and gripping the bed for support as you blink away the remnants of dreamless sleep. 
>Just before conking out, you’d held out hope that Luna would reach out, but it seems you’ll have to wait for proper rest for that to happen. 
>It takes an embarrassing length of time to take stock of the pressure wrapped firmly around your other forearm; one groggy gaze downward reveals Pal’s familiar, bony appendages gently shaking you awake.
>“Come on, big guy,” he calls out to you. “Sun’s gonna come out, we need to get goin’.”
>You lock eyes with him, everything still hazy. From beyond the blur, his ethereal pupils are unnaturally clear to you. 
“How long was I out?” 
>You shimmy yourself into an upright position, and your body decries your actions with a wave of soreness. 
>“An hour or two, tops,” he replies, retreating from you. “You were twitchin’ a bunch. Felt so bad, I almost didn’t wanna wake ya.”
>You can only grunt in response as you rub the sleep from your tired eyes. 
>Your left shoulder aches like hell with every micromovement of your arm, but you’re so tired that it doesn’t properly register.
“Thanks, man.” 
>“Don’t mention it, bud. By the way, ya ever worn a disguise before?”
“Can’t say I have.” 
>An infectious smile graces his ivory features. Before you can ask why, he backpedals over to the wall-mounted table, smoothing his bony hand over a mound of what looks like fabric.
>“Well, you’re about to,” he says, almost enthusiastic about it. “Did a bit of scroungin’ around the place and found a maintenance worker’s uniform relatively in your size. Went a bit oversized for my disguise so I can carry Hearth underneath it. when we get out into the streets.”
>Your eyes flicker over to her still-slumbering form. The gentle rise and fall of the blanket covering her is the only way you’re able to confidently tell that she’s still breathing. 
>You’ve been on the other side of sleep-inducing spells before during bouts of insomnia, but even the most potent ones seem to pale in comparison to whatever she was hit with. 
>The spell’s exact nature aside, you just hope it isn’t permanent. 
>You refocus back on Pal, who’s having trouble slipping… /something/ over his head. 
>Honestly, with it caught on his horns like that, it looks like a giant burlap sack.
>Your grogginess slowly begins to fade as you sit up fully, a yawn escaping from somewhere deep in your lungs. 
“You, uh… you need some help?” 
>He grunts as he finagles the baggy fabric around his horns, finally allowing him to slip his skull all the way through.
>“I’m good,” he replies. “Go ahead n’ put yours on, we don’t got much time.”
“Got anything to carry the clothes I’m already wearing?”
>“Huh? Oh, nah, just slip the uniform on over all that. You’ll probably enjoy the extra warmth, anyway.” 
>Good enough, you suppose. The warmer the better, after that hellish blizzard you ran a marathon through. 
>Letting your blanket fall to the cot, you rise unsteadily to your feet, thighs aching as they struggle desperately to function. 
>Although you’re still quite cold, the rest you got underneath that shaggy mat certainly did some good in terms of conserving your body heat.
>Hurrying as much as your body will allow, you meander over to the table and grab the outfit Pal laid out for you, turning it over in your hands until you can see it in its entirety.
>All in all, it’s relatively ordinary apart from how dusty the thing is. From head to toe, it’s a simple slate gray, no markings or logos that pop out at you.
>In fact, the only thing that really catches your eye is the fairly lush black fur collar. 
>That and the insulation, which is thick enough to feel through the outer fabric. 
>Holding it by its shoulders, it looks like it’ll be a bit baggy on you, but comfort is the farthest thing from your mind at the moment as you kick your shoes off.
>You work your left foot into the uniform, then your right foot, holding the coveralls by their hips and letting the upper half fall slack. 
>It takes some effort, and you almost stumble over, but before long, you’re halfway in.
>Your right arm slides in flawlessly, but as your left seeks to mirror the action, your shoulder cries out in renewed agony once more. 
>Alright, you /really/ need to get this wound checked out. The medicine Pal found is helping, sure, but it can’t replace a medical professional giving you a once-over. 
>You push away thoughts of your festering wound as you zip the coveralls up, adjusting the collar as well for good measure.
>Though your body has yet to adjust, you can feel the chill of your dingy hovel stagnate within the confines of the uniform; within minutes, you’ll be isolated from the inner wall’s biting cold.
>As much as you appreciate it, though, you /do/ find an issue with it. 
“Find anything to cover our faces? I mean, I don’t think there are gonna be wanted posters of us this soon, but you can never be too careful.”
>Pal chuckles from behind you, and when you turn to face him, you understand why. 
>Standing ominously across the room is Pal, covered head to toe in a hooded black cloak that completely obscures his skeletal form.
>You use “ominously” very loosely, of course - Pal’s goofy grin actively works against his imposing stature.
>“Fancy one o’ these?” he asks, clearly having a bit too much fun considering the circumstances.
>You chuff in disbelief, a grin supplanting your serious disposition.
“Is it normal here to go around looking like the grim reaper?” 
>“In the winter, yeah,” he replies, ignorant of (or unengaged with?) your sarcasm. 
>“Folks’ll all have somethin’ like this on while they’re headin’ to work. One I’m wearin’ just happens to be a bit on the older side, is all. Go ahead n’ throw yours on.” 
>A quick glance at the table reveals that you had glossed over your own cloak. You oblige Pal, and in no time, you look like some hapless fantasy cosplayer.
>No accounting for taste out here in… well, wherever the Mecca is.
>“Alright,” Pal says, adjusting his robe before heading over to you with the lantern from earlier, already lit. “This is gonna be real simple.”
>“We gotta get through the tunnels first. Should be easy, just stick close n’ stay quiet. I don’t think there’re any City Watch shitheads up in here, but you can never be too careful. You carry Hearth for now, and I’ll light the way.”
>“Once we get to the inner exit, keep that head down n’ follow my lead. No sightseein’, alright? Act like ya belong here, and we’ll make it to the pub just fine.” 
>You nod, and Pal smiles. 
>“Good, let’s get goin’.”
>With considerably more effort than you’d anticipated, you manage to hoist Hearth into your arms in a baby-style carry, her head and slumped over your shoulder. 
>What is she, two hundred pounds of pure muscle or something?
>He starts heading down one of the dingy halls leading further into the wall, but stops abruptly and turns to you.
>“Oh, I almost forgot. ‘Fore we get carried away with all o’ this…”
>He extends a hand toward you, replete with an award-winning toothy grin.
>You quirk an eyebrow at the gesture, but find yourself meeting him halfway with your own free hand, the flesh of your digits wrapped tightly within his bony grip.
>“Welcome to Khodasa, Anon. Remind me to take ya over to the entertainment district sometime, if this stuff with Her Children ever blows over.” 
>You frown.
“I thought this place was called the Mecca.”
>“It is /now/,” he explains, a bit dejected as you follow him into the derelict halls. “No accountin’ for taste with these nutjobs, though.”
>A chuckle escapes your throat as the three of you tread deeper into the wall’s inner maze.
>You continue in silence, which Pal doesn’t seem to mind. He’s more than likely keeping an ear out for any unwelcome guests, so the more space you give him to work, the better.
>The farther you delve, the more labyrinthine the structure becomes; hallways branch off into seemingly illogical paths, and none of them bear any sort of distinction barring esoteric markings that only frequent flyers would understand. 
>Eventually, the paths become far more illicit, devolving into carved-out hovels that twist and wind every which way you can fathom. Occasionally, you’ll even dip downward, or have to crawl on your knees to slip through a passage.
>Through it all, Pal is undeterred, taking only a few moments at a time here and there to gather his bearings before plugging onward.
>The farther in you travel, the more built-up the structure becomes; desolate stone hallways become carved out with flooring and tile, and signs of life, such as recent calendars and a relative absence of dust.
>An inordinate amount of time flies by in this manner, the flow of movement steady and unending.
>Suddenly, though, Pal’s expression brightens as you round what must be the seven thousandth corner you’ve passed.
>“Just a couple more turns and we’ll be at the exit,” he exhales, despite having no need to. “Not gettin’ cold feet on me, are ya?”
“You want a straight answer, or a light joke?”
>“Straight answer for now.”
>You heave an unsteady breath as you adjust Hearth closer to your center, making her a bit easier to carry.
“Being completely transparent right now, I’m freaking out a bit. But, uh…”
>He looks back at you, and you meet his contemplative gaze with your best attempt at confidence.
“But I trust you, so… yeah.”
>Despite having only known him for what feels like a day, you still firmly believe that he’s looking out for you.
>His facial bones morph into a level-headed smile as he turns slightly farther to better face you.
>“Glad to hear it, bud,” he replies. “That goes both ways, ya know.”
>Your left eyebrow instinctively hikes upward. 
“Really?”
>He scoffs lightheartedly as you both continue down the path.
>“‘Course! Anybody who’s willin’ to lay the smackdown on those weirdo cultists is alright by me.”
>…Oh, yeah.
>You /did/ do that, didn’t you?
>The struggle seems distant now, a speckled smudge against the convoluted mess of the past twenty four hours.
>The shock of the fight, especially after having lived in cushy Canterlot for so long, gave you pause. 
>Not out of guilt for Virtue, but out of guilt for engaging in violence at all. 
>This was different though, right? 
>It’s not like you were seeking it out, no - you were just defending yourself.
>“‘Alright, this is it.”
>…A moral dilemma for another time, then.
>You’re ripped from your inadvertent self-critique as you both round the final turn.
>Despite the feverish pace that you both kept, you don’t feel remotely overheated, even in the insulation of the jumpsuit.
>Pal’s lantern chases the blackness away from the unremarkably rectangular exit door, marked as such by the sign at its crown.
>You can hear the faintest of murmurs coming from the other side, and all at once, your heart sails into your throat.
>Before you can choke it down, Pal sets his lantern on the floor and turns to you, both arms reaching out as he crouches down.
>“Hand ‘er over,” he says, far less levity in his voice now.
>With as much care as you can muster, you hoist her off of your shoulder and place her in his arms. 
>As he cradles her gently, he shifts a tad, allowing his robe to fall over her and conceal her completely.
>“We’re gonna take this nice n’ slow,” he explains as he stands upright again. “Remember - we belong out there, in that crowd. Got it?”
>Ignoring the clamminess building up in your hands, you nod fervently.
>“Good. Stick close n’ stay quiet, an’ we’ll get through this just fine.”
“What if we get separated?”
>“We shouldn’t,” he reassures you. “But if we do, just look for a cafe called ‘The Bellowing Bull’ in the inner portion o’ the district. Big sign, good food - ya can’t miss it. Once you’re in, sit down at the bar and order an Incaru topped off with a thin layer of Strider honey. The wife’ll know what to do.”
>You wrack your brain committing the bizarre order to memory, the rhythm eventually sticking after a few seconds.
“Is that a dish you used to like, or something?”
>“Very, /very/ much,” he reminisces, a spectral teardrop falling from his eye socket. “But we can chat about all that later. You ready?” 
>The tumult of your ordeal manifests itself as an uneven exhale, wrought with worry.
>To be frank, you aren’t ready, not in the slightest.
>Waiting here isn’t an option, though, so you’d prefer to rip the bandaid off sooner rather than later.
>Your troubled gaze falls upon the exit door once more, idly roaming over its patterns and divots.
“…Yeah. Yeah, let’s get this over with.”
>Pal, freeing up one of his hands momentarily, throws his hood up, obscuring his face and cementing his deathly visage. 
>You have no idea how he’s gonna go unnoticed like that, but if he’s confident, then you have no real objections. 
>“‘Atta boy,” he says. “Mind gettin’ the door?”
>With another deep breath, you slide past him into the narrow corridor, tentatively reaching for the door handle as he falls in behind you.
>When your fingers come into contact with the frigid metal, the chill worms its way up your arm, the cold battling against the inner heat of anxiety for dominance over your body.
>Your skin crawls from the sensation, and you shiver against your will in the face of the task ahead. 
>All at once, though, you will your body into action, throwing the handle downward and yanking the door open.
>The difference in light blinds you for a moment, and you shield your eyes with your free hand in response. 
>Frigid air rushes in, knocking your hood down and threatening to push you backward.
>Snow follows into the vacuum you created, a few errant flakes needling your face and hands.
>The difference in light is all but blinding, and you turn away as your sight struggles to compensate.
>Once you’ve adjusted, though, you prop the door open with your foot and let Pal leave first.
>Your eyes follow him as he steps through the threshold, and despite his no-sightseeing mandate, you can’t help but ogle your surroundings as you follow suit. 
>You exit into an alleyway, beset on both sides by towering buildings made from what looks like cobblestone; it’s as if you’ve stepped straight into late nineteenth century England.
>Snowfall, though undoubtedly calmer than it was during your trek here, still peppers the world. The sky is completely overcast by rolling clouds, coating everything in dull gray light.
>A fair distance ahead, you can see that the alley breaks out into what looks like a road, tread upon by a veritable sea of warmly dressed strangers.
>Pal wasn’t lying, either; even from this distance, you spot far more than a few cloaked individuals in the narrow window in which you can see.
>Your nerves kick up a gear as you pray that none of them notice you during your approach.
>“We’re up,” Pal whispers out to you over the distant murmur of the crowd.
>As if you needed to be reminded.
>You fall in line behind him as you both approach, passing trash cans and backdoors aplenty. 
>Thankfully, the alley you’re in seems to be completely abandoned for now, which will make blending in a far more seamless experience.
>Hopefully.
>As the two of you draw near, you remember to throw your hood back up over your head. 
>Your hearing becomes a tad muffled as your admittedly heavy breaths are caged by the cloth swathing your head.
>A deep breath or two doesn’t help much, but the sting of the cold air through your nostrils does help keep you rooted in the moment. 
>Only a few meters away, and then you’ll be joining the masses. 
>The alley’s entrance is widened by your closer point of view, and with a quick flick of your eyes, you realize that “sea” might not have been an adequate enough descriptor for the sheer tide of people heading in every manner of direction.
>Every single species you can name and then some, countless of each, all hushedly hurrying along to what you assume to be their jobs. The murmur of the endless crowd is a dull roar from up close; Pal says something, but it’s drowned out by the cacophony.
>You’re about to try calling out to him yourself, but you’re surprised when his bony hand shoots out from within his cloak and takes hold of yours, turning you to the left.
>He brings you almost right up against him, and without any fanfare, the both of you are subsumed into the flow of people. 
>You do as you’re told and keep your head down while he guides the three of you deeper into the fray. You steal glances at your surroundings whenever you think you can afford it.
>Industrial buildings jut high into the snowy haze on your left, the sound of steelwork and other laborial practices ringing out just above the voices of the crowd around you.
>Thinly interspersed down the deceptively wide street are small lookout towers in front of the factories, each manned by uniformed individuals, either biped or quadruped, who look like they’re scanning the crowd for any oddities. 
>You grip Pal’s hand tighter and cast your gaze to the floor, eager to be as diminutive as possible.
>Your eyes trace the rocks as you use your free hand to pull your hood down tighter. Instead of skyward, you turn your attention to the undulating mass of people around you.
>It’s like the universe took a heaping handful of species from around the world and just… dumped them all in the middle of nowhere. 
>Everything you considered ‘exotic’ back in Equestria is more or less commonplace here. Hell, half of the races you see, you don’t even /recognize/. Most of them are dressed for what look like factory jobs, too, so none of them really stand out.
>It takes all of your willpower not to gawk, but you just barely manage it.
>Pal, not privy to your inner turmoil, guides you further into the flow, butting up against passers by in the process. 
>You mutter apologies to them, but you don’t get many in return. Some won’t even acknowledge your presence.
>Eventually, Pal stops leading you to the right and simply matches the pace of the crowd once more.
>You inwardly wonder whether you can sneak a quick glance at your surroundings, and perhaps get your bearings so that you have an idea of what to expect from Pal’s movements.
>The way those towers were spread out, you might be able to-
>“Hey!”
>Your veins run ice cold. 
>A voice in the crowd, but who? Civilian, or guard?
>Pal’s grip on your hand tightens, but you can barely feel it.
>“You!” the raspy voice shouts, rife with irritation as it inches closer. “Yeah, you! You think you can just… get away without any consequences, huh?”
>This is the end, then.
>Pal grips your hand even tighter, and your thoughts fly into a frenzy. 
>Flashes of the past few days play out in excruciating detail as you come to terms with your impending doom.
>…You hope Twilight and Spike are-
>“Is there something I can do for you?”
>Another gruff voice, cool-headed as can be, cuts through your inner monologue. It sounds as if it’s right behind you. 
>The grip on your hand loosens, as does the phantom pressure around your heart.
>Your legs, however, remain primed to run. 
>“Yeah, as a matter of fact, there is,” the first voice replies. “Give it back.”
>Now that he’s closer, you can almost hear the intoxication dripping off of his tongue with every slurred word.
>“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the second voice replies, more confused than anything.
>“You’re about to,” the first voice threatens, his voice shooting up about eight thousand decibels. “Gimme back my stash, or I’m gonna make you wish you never got out of bed this morning!”
>“No one’s taken your contemptible drugs,” the second one replies, suddenly going sour. “Fly from me, /junkie/.”
>A moment of silence passes before sounds of a struggle ring out behind you, air from the brawl pressing your cloak further into your back.
>You feel the people behind you peel apart to make room for their skirmish, some even slowing down - to watch the skirmish, no doubt. 
>Pal, in response, picks up the pace as a whistle from one of the towers rings out. You dutifully follow suit, eager to get away from… well, whatever the fuck that was.
>You’re on edge now, though; in fact, you suddenly become very aware of just how much air you’re heaving in and out of your lungs. 
>The two of you continue on for some time, Pal occasionally course-correcting as you stare at the countless rounded rocks of the cobble path.
>Suddenly, he slows; if you weren’t so alert, you might’ve accidentally ran into him.
>He tugs your arm to the right, and you follow, slithering slightly against the flow of the crowd.
>The volume gets thinner and thinner, sets of legs disappearing slowly until it’s finally just you and Pal.
>“We’re here,” he calls out to you, voice still low.
>Timidly, you raise your head, pulling your hood back a bit so you can see better. 
>The starkly white watering hole in front of you looks, much like the rest of what you’ve seen so far, as if it’s been ripped out of old England. 
>Its dark, wooden shingles and fixtures make it stand out among neighboring establishments’ drab stonework. It all looks a bit dusty and aged, but it works in the place’s favor. 
>The front doors are shaded by a thick awning, at the forefront of which is the golden ornamented sign Pal had pointed out to you prior; /The Bellowing Bull/.
>“There she is, in all ‘er glory,” Pal says, sighing deeply as he steps back to survey the entirety of the establishment.
>While he drinks it in, you look around to see if you’ve been followed. Apart from the odd passerby, though, the street you’re on is relatively empty.
>“With everyone headin’ to work, should be easy for Kalliope to close the place for a bit.”
“Do you think anyone noticed us?”
>Pal looks sideways at you, a skeletal eyebrow raised.
>“I don’t think you got anything to be worried about, ‘Non. It’s like you said - it ain’t even been a full day yet.”
>Your gaze continues sweeping the area, almost as if you /want/ to find something out of place.
>His reassurance doesn’t quite satisfy your need for security, but that’s just something you’ll have to swallow for the time being.
“…Yeah. Yeah, alright.”
>You release your held breath, fog billowing out in front of you as you turn back to Pal.
“Alright, so what now? Do we just walk in, or…?”
>He looks at his restaurant, glaring pensively at the front door. 
>A few moments pass, tender and bruised as his expression slowly falls.
>“Uh… Yeah, yeah. I just…”
>The sleepy, barely noticeable lump under his cloak bobs up and down twice as he adjusts his stance.
>“I gotta find a place to put Hearth down first. Kalliope always kept a spare key to the back door in her garden out back, so I’ll set her down in one o’ the spare rooms. Keep my wife company until I’m done, will ya?”
>You frown incredulously.
“Wouldn’t it be better to just put everything on the table at once, man?”
>He shakes his head.
>“She don’t do well with a lotta change. All o’ this after months o’ silence…”
>He “blinks” a couple of times, staring at the ground for a second before meeting you with uncertain eyes.
>“Better to take it slow here. Trust me, Anon.” 
>You scan him, put off by his sudden hesitancy, but decide that now wouldn’t exactly be the best time to revoke your trust.
>The trust he’s /earned/, no less. You’d do well to discard that nasty habit of flip-flopping sooner rather than later.
“Just hurry, alright?”
>“‘Course. You remember my order?”
“Incaru with strider jelly, I got it.”
>“A /thin layer/ o’ strider jelly,” he emphasizes. “Gotta be specific or she won’t pick up on it.”
“I’ll remember, Pal.”
>“Just makin’ sure,” he says, a disarming smile beaming at you from under the shade of his hood. “See ya in a bit, Anon.”
>The sound of his tarsals tapping against the concrete rings out gently as he heads around back; for a creature of his size and strength, he’s remarkably quiet.
>As he disappears from view, though, you lock eyes with the homely set of front doors. 
>Deep breaths, Anon. 
>Inhale.
>The frost in the air sets your lungs ablaze.
>Hold.
>The battleground in your chest rages.
>Exhale. 
>The remains of your uncertainty are scattered to the whipping wind, leaving only action in its wake.
>Your legs carry you over to the entrance, and gingerly, you throw wide the left door. A resounding bell announces your arrival. 
>Immediately, you’re hit with the wonderfully succulent smell of fresh pancakes, a strong odor of syrup accompanying.
>And if you’re not mistaken, hiding rather brazenly among the aromatic pallet is…
>Umami.
>Specifically, bacon. /Bacon/, which you haven’t had since before Equestria.
>Your salivary glands begin to work overtime before you’ve even fully stepped through the door. How long has it been since you’ve eaten…?
>You shake your head, desperate to snap yourself out of it - that’s not why you’re here.
>Once you’re fully inside, you hold the door as it closes, more out of politeness than any desire to stay meek and hidden.
>As the door reforms its seal against the elements, the much warmer climate of the restaurant offers a luxury you haven’t had since this whole ordeal began - comfort.
>Looking around, most of the interior seating is made of wood similar to the fixtures outside, whether booth or table-and-chair.
>Funnily enough, most of the interior is scaled up to the size of most minotaurs; for once, you feel below average. It’s easy to forget that you’re not the only tall biped out there when you live in Equestria.
>Dotted around the place are potted plants of various colorations and structures, most of which you’ve never seen before.
>On the walls, various paintings hang, most of them depicting scenes from the Minosian mythos. 
>“Be right with you!”
>You throw back your hood - it wouldn’t do to be conspicuous here.
>A woman’s voice, deep and velvety, reaches your ears from behind the counter of the bar, which you’re surprised you didn’t notice until now. Too taken by the charming decor, you surmise. 
>Behind the counter, a mountain of a minotaur, easily rivaling Pal’s imposing height, stands tall.
>Her gray, grooved horns spiral around and point forward, cresting just beneath the curve of her jaw.
>Emerald eyes peer over at you, looking you over with passing interest as she finishes cleaning a glass mug.
>Wavy brown hair spills forth from her head, culminating in a single braid reaching down to her shoulder blades. 
>Her lean, yet bulging musculature is poorly hidden underneath a slick coating of winter fur, remarkably blonde in coloration. A rarity in most minotaurs, if you remember Twilight’s lectures correctly.
>Her chest is covered modestly by a large embroidered white sash, red stitching patterns making up the intricate designs in the middle of it.
>A matching set of bottoms, down to her middle thighs, completes her ensemble - traditional minotaur dress, if you aren’t mistaken. Not huge in the fashion department, you reckon.
>She hangs the mug up on an overhead rack, wipes her hands with a cloth, and comes out from behind the counter to make her way over to you.
>It doesn’t take long; much like Pal, she’s easily a foot taller than you, maybe more. 
>It’s honestly a little intimidating.
>She looks down at you, a warm smile accompanying direct eye contact.
>“Dining in?” 
“Yes ma’am.”
>“Follow me, if you wouldn’t mind.”
>She grabs a menu from a nearby counter and sets off. As you follow her further in, you take a moment to survey the place for any other patrons.
>Thankfully, it’s completely deserted apart from you; you really did luck out, after all.
>She stops just shy of a table and allows you room to sit, which you do.
>“Haven’t seen anyone like you around before,” she asks as she passes you the menu. “You from one of the other districts?”
>Her accent is much softer than Pal’s, but it’s still just barely there.
“I’m from out of town, actually.”
>Her eyebrows shoot skyward as she rests her hands on her hips.
>“Shoulda figured, but it’s still hard to believe all the same. In any case, welcome to the Cradle, mister…?”
“Anon.”
>“Kalliope,” she exchanges. “Now, what can I get ya?”
>A welling anxiety constricts your heart as you remember the order perfectly.
>…Well, shit, why not get some actual food, too?
>A brief look over the menu is all you need, really.
“Two pancakes, a side of bacon, and…”
>She takes out a notepad, penning down your order as you go.
>Alright, Anon.
>Time to get down to business.
“An Incaru with a thin layer of strider jelly.”
>Her fervent writing ceases immediately, her face contorting into dubiety.
>After a moment of silent consideration, her dreadfully neutral eyes lock with yours.
>“Haven’t served that one in a while,” she deadpans. “Ain’t it a bit early to be drinking, mister?”
>She got it!
>Though, judging by her expression, you’re not sure whether that’s a good thing.
“I normally wouldn’t, but, uh… a friend of mine wanted me to try it as soon as I could. Is that alright…?”
>A frown forms on her face, almost imperceptible.
>“Far from me to tell a stranger how to take their breakfast. Just a moment, please.”
>She retreats from the table slowly, tossing the notepad onto a nearby table.
>Rather than head for the kitchen, she makes for the front doors.
>She reaches up, and with a flick of her wrist, the “open” sign you hadn’t taken stock of earlier flips to “closed.”
>A flourish with her opposite hand, and the click of a lock bounds throughout the dining area.
>You let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, letting your head fall nearly to the table in the process.
“Oh, thank god.”
>You rub your face with a free hand, your other placed precariously on the table.
>Fuck’s sake, why were you so nervous? Pal /said/ she would get it.
“I guess I should probably start with expl-”
>You pick your head up, only registering her rapid hooffalls as her massive hand bunches up the collar of your jumpsuit and lifts you clean out of your seat.
>Your chair clatters to the ground, the unpleasantly loud noise startling you just as much as her sudden aggression.
>Your legs hang uselessly, though they try to regain some sense of footing to no avail.
>Both of your hands grip her forearm as she hold you well above even the highest table in the restaurant.
>It’s all you can do to not shit yourself in terror.
>“You’ll never leave us alone, will you?” she yells, louder than you imagined she could.
“Woah, woah, w-”
>“We’ve done /nothing/ but comply all this time, and you people still keep showing up on our doorstep, trying the same shit over and over again. It never works, and it never will, no matter how much information Atlas feeds you.”
>You people?
>Atlas…?
“I’m n-”
>“But this… parroting his favorite things at me, sneaking under my snout like a snake, trying to get under my skin like an unrestrained /cancer/. You’ve all gone too far this time.”
>She brings you uncomfortably close, her enraged breath washing over you.
>“You want something to convict me for? Fine!”
>Her other hand coils itself all the way around your neck and squeezes hard, cutting off your airflow without any effort.
>You try beating on her wrist to get her to let go, but your blows don’t register at all in her rageful state.
>As the edges of your vision blur, you try desperately to squeak out some kind of explanation, but it’s no use.
>Her grip tightens ever more, and you fear for your life, until-
>“Kalliope!”
>A voice that could’ve been sent by Heaven itself yells out, and Kalliope’s expression does a complete one-eighty into utter shock.
>She lets go of you, and you fall to the ground, crumpling over in a pathetic heap as you inhale as deeply as you can.
>You look up and see Pal at the back door, his hood down and his skeletal arms raised, palms toward your would-be murderer.
>“Kal, I… I know what this looks like, baby, but-”
>She yells in terror, backpedaling behind you and holding her ground.
>“Y-You… Ya just can’t stop desecrating him, can you?” she cries, a pained glare cast right at you
>“No! No, Kal, it’s /me/. Palatìn!”
>Her voice wavers, the horror in her eyes boundless.
>“Ya can’t even leave him his /voice/!?”
>You finally get enough air to speak, but it comes out strained and weak.
“It’s really him!”
>Your pitiful explanation does nothing; tears flow freely from her eyes.
>“We ain’t lyin’ to ya, babe,” he pleads, slowly inching forward. The devastation on his skull is plain for all to see.
>“Me n’ Anon, we helped each other get outta that prison. They… they did all this to me, but I’m still /me/, hon. They could never take that away.”
>She holds her ground, still on guard, but her features begin to soften the longer he talks.
>“Baby, I swear” he says, lowering his arms a bit. “Whatever ya need me to do to prove it, just say the word. C’mon, ask me somethin’ only I’d know.”
>He stops inching forward, supposedly intent on giving her the space she needs. 
>You, on the other hand, are crawling over to him as fast as your body can muster.
>She doesn’t give chase; she simply stares headlong at Pal.
>You can see the memory of her physical body fighting with her sense of reason to figure out how to process the situation. All the while, her cheeks are wet with grief.
>A tender silence later, she deigns to speak, frog entrenched in her throat.
>“When… When we first made love together, you did something in the middle of it, and we laughed all night about it. What’d you do?”
>“My voice cracked when I told ya I was about t’ blow,” Pal replies, laughing at the memory. “Took forever to wrap it all up afterward.”
>Her eyes widen and her stance loosens, but she remains resolute.
>“What was in the envelope you gave Athan when he was born?”
>“A letter I wanted ‘em to open when he became an adult. Took so many tries to get it perfect, but I did, eventually. The night before he was born.”
>Her guard lowers further, and she chokes up.
>“W-What did…”
>She swallows hard, mouth contorting uncontrollably.
>“What did you whisper to me before they took you away?”
>Pal’s own voice quivers, but he finds his footing.
>“I made ya promise to wait for me… told ya I’d be back, no matter what that meant.”
>He chuckles to himself as he looks down at his skeletal form.
>“Guess I was right, huh, babe?”
>His final answer is the straw that breaks the camel’s back; she breaks down and runs to him, almost tripping over you in the process.
>She crashes into his arms, bawling openly. her agonizing cries coloring the world a few shades bluer.
>You catch your breath as the two continue their tender reunion, unwilling to separate them for anything.
>Shitty death… she must’ve been a few pounds per square inch away from breaking your neck.
>“I… I thought you were gone,” she chokes out.
>“Not gone, just delayed,” Pal answers, a bony appendage rubbing her back. “I’m just glad we didn’t lose too much time together.”
>Her head rises from its perch on his shoulder, locking eyes with him in disbelief.
>“Too much time?” she croaks, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, and then on Pal’s cloak. “Pal…”
>He searches her features for the source of her dismay, trademark goofy grin doing its best to light up the room.
>“Well, yeah! I mean, it’s only been a few months, Kal. We got all the time in the world.”
>She falls onto her haunches, and you can feel the impact travel through the groaning floorboards.
>The broken disbelief on her face sends a shiver down your aching spine.
>“What…?” Pal asks unsteadily.
>Her reply comes strained, struggling to make it past the waterfall waiting in her tear ducts.
>“Pal, you’ve been gone for twelve years.” 

...

>“And… /there/.”
>The unicorn from the rune recovery team finishes her airborne sigil at last, her taupe aura flickering out in a rather spectacular show of exhaustion.
>Her colleagues are fanned out behind her, ready to assist if something goes awry, but she holds steady on all four hooves.
>The intricately constructed pattern slowly dissolves into a raw, powdery aura, which she funnels directly onto the papyrus waiting on the folding table below. 
>As the last of the mana fades into it, a glossy sheen forms over the paper, protecting it from the elements as the spell does its work.
>“Another one, please,” she requests. An aide floats one over to her, which she holds midair for a moment as she scans the now complete runic sequence below.
>“Oh, thank goodness,” she sighs. “We can finally move on to the next string. Thank you for the help, Miss Sparkle.”
>A smile graces your lips as you nod your head toward her.
“Of course! I’ll be back tomorrow to help more.”
>You fetch your bags from the foot of the table and settle them over your withers once more.
>Before you trot off, you scan the snowy field, kissed by a late evening’s sun, to get a better view of the other investigation teams huddled under their tarps.
>The last few that needed help, you were able to sniff out from a distance, so it wouldn’t hurt to take a similar approach here in the interest of saving time.
>You’ve largely gathered yourself since your sleepover with the girls and Spike, all of whom decided to stay back at the castle in order to be as safe as possible.
>They can’t be blamed, not even in the slightest. Tartarus, even some of the investigation team’s members were a bit jittery, yourself included. 
>Something changed within you, though, after that sleepover. You feel…
>Bolstered. 
>In fact, no, scratch that - a simple descriptor like that doesn’t do the feeling justice.
>The sheer conviction you now feel has overtaken your creeping fears, the latter of which has become little more than background noise at this point. 
>You still worry for the safety of everypony involved, of course, but you can’t help them if you’re held in place by doubts or worries. 
>It feels as if you’re /living/ Princess Celestia’s advice now, rather than simply following it.
>You’re not sure if the catalyst for the change was the full night’s rest you’d finally had, the presence of your closest friends, or something else unaccounted for, but you’re grateful for it all the same.
>Halting your introspection, your gaze sweeps across each of the tents that’ve been pitched near the crash site.
>Nearest the train tracks, the forensics tent seems to be forging along swimmingly; even from here, you can make out the rhythm that all of its members seem to be keen to follow.
>You’re grateful that their progress is unabated for now; while you’d be more than happy to lend a helping hoof to them, that particular area of magic isn’t something you’ve had the opportunity to brush up on recently.
>The crime scene recreation team, too, looks like it’s moving at a steady pace. From a distance, you can make out several of their members playing out different iterations of the attack, all playing out on a table using magical projection.
>The tent you just left, however, is a different story.
>The team that had been hand-picked to discern the teleportation circle’s full runic equation, filled to the brim with the Arcana Communitas’s brightest minds, was still moving at a snail’s pace despite your best efforts to assist them.
>It wasn’t anypony’s fault, either - the sheer complexity of the equation, coupled with the myriad of missing links they had to attempt to recreate, made the task downright nightmarish, if not abstract altogether.
>Their progress had picked up pace, but only just so, thanks to some streamlining efforts that made the tedious work of speculative runecrafting easier to swallow.
>You suppose that’s where the majority of your efforts will be focused in the coming weeks. With everypony working their hardest, you’re certain that you’ll all crack the code eventually.
>There, however, lies the problem. 
>/Eventually/.
>Time is a luxury that you can scarcely afford, given the circumstances. Every second that ticks by is another chasm of uncertainty regarding the fate of all those aboard.
>Still, though, you remain resolute. Like Princess Luna said - Anon’s a stubborn stallion, that’s for sure.
>With a hefty, good-natured sigh, you make for your mentor’s personal tent, which she had set up a decent distance from the crash site in order to be more readily available should the need arise.
>As you make your way over, the nearly howling wind kicks up snow around you, and you wince as stray flakes sting your face.
>The weather teams have been working overtime, you suppose. Although it isn’t nearly as cold as the day of the festival, you’d be lying if you said the creeping chill didn’t send a shiver up your spine.
>The few ponies roaming between tents pay you no mind as you trot along, and you have to remember that this is a professional setting; if they don’t wave, it’s not because they’ve got something against you.
>…Even if it seems that way. For a few of them, at least.
>The rank-and-file members of the Communitas were largely aloof, and some of them in the rune tent were actually getting along quite well with you after today.
>The senior members, though, gave you the cold withers at nearly every single opportunity, as if their egos were wounded at the very notion of Princess Celestia depending on anypony aside from them.
>You inwardly wonder if this is anything like what Anon had to put up with at his old job.
>Before you can ponder any further, however, you find yourself coming up on the Princess’s spacious tent.
>The front flaps hang shut, but you can just barely hear the gentle swish of her magic over the restless wind.
>With a moderate force rising from your chest, your throat clears.
“May I come in, Princess?”
>The gentle thrum of her magic never stops as her golden glow envelops both flaps and brushes them aside.
>From behind mountains of paperwork stacked high on her temporary desk, she beams at you.
>“My door is always open to you, Twilight,” she says. “Even if there’s technically no door to speak of.”
>You both share a chuckle as you file in. Her magic finally disengages, and the entrance to the tent falls closed behind you.
>While admittedly far less cozy than her actual office, this temporary dwelling she’s set up, even without all of her decorations and keepsakes, has a rugged charm all its own.
>“How are things going for the investigation, my dear pupil? Any developments of note?”
>You siphon a quick breath, crunching down the day’s experiences into a digestible package before relaying your findings.
“As an overall unit, we’ve been making steady progress since the beginning of the day. The forensics team is on track to have analyzed all organic evidence sometime in the next day or so, at which point they’ll wrap up their findings and deliver a presentation based on what they’re able to conclude.”
>She nods attentively, and you continue.
“The crime scene recreation team is persistent in their efforts to accurately summarize how the attack was carried out. From what I was able to glean while assisting them, it sounds like they’re still a fair ways away from reaching a consensus, but they’ve narrowed the amount of variations down to eleven. Without all of the pieces, though, they can only be so accurate, which brings me to the rune recovery team.”
>A wayward sigh escapes your nostrils.
“There’s been little progress made, even with the newly streamlined process in place. I spent most of my day in their tent, and even with all hooves on deck, we barely made any kind of meaningful dent in the overall circle. It’s just… well, it’s /gigantic/, and so many components are missing.”
>Celestia hums her acknowledgement, expression neutral as she leans forward against the desk.
>“An unfortunate setback, but given the challenges that our assailants have left in their wake, it’s to be expected. You say you streamlined the deduction process?”
>A smile returns to you.
“Not just me! I started the conversation, sure, but a lot of ponies pitched in with really good ideas. It didn’t amount to much, admittedly, but everypony seems like they’re feeling a bit better about the whole thing.”
>Her eyebrows lift ever so slightly, and a warm countenance graces her features once more.
>“I often find that one of the most important components of a cohesive unit is its overall morale. Perhaps now, with renewed vigor in their hearts, we might spot patterns or clues that we were unaware of before.”
“I sure hope so. I still can’t help but be a little impatient.” 
>“It’s only natural,” she reassures you. “Even with all of my experience, in times of duress, I find it difficult to be anything but restless.”
“What do you do to dampen the feeling?”
>“Usually, some quiet time with a fresh cup of tea and close friends.”
>You expected nothing less from your mentor. In all honesty, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea for later. Maybe the girls would be up for another sleepover?
>“Although, if the going is /particularly/ rough,” she muses, “I find that substituting tea for a stiff drink works wonders.”
>…
>Wait… really?
“You drink alcohol?”
>She chuckles, a hoof daintily raised to her lips.
>“I haven’t in a very long while, admittedly, but yes. Is it really so surprising?”
>You blink a few times, breaking you out of your stupor.
>Come to think of it, she raises a good point with her question. Aside from a saintly public image, which was largely at the mercy of stark idealists, when did she ever indicate that she /didn’t/ imbibe every now and then?
>Air leaves your nose as you ponder the absurdity of your supposition.
“…I guess not. I think I’m just surprised that I’m still learning new things about you, even after all these years.”
>“I could say the same of you, Twilight,” she says warmly. “I knew you were a natural leader, but to instigate change in possibly one of the most stubborn organizations under my purview on your second day alongside them? That’s no small achievement, my dear student.”
>The gentle blush on your cheeks lilts into a rosy red, an uncontrollable grin tugging at the corners of your lips.
“T-Thank you, Princess. Anything to bring them home.” 
>She moves to speak again, but she cuts herself short as her ears flick in the direction of the tent’s entrance.
>The faint noise of hooves against packed snow barely juts out from the howl of the wind, and before you know it, a hoof parts the entry curtain.
>A castle mailpony stands at attention, out of breath and shivering down to her very bones.
>“F-Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness,” the pegasus apologizes. “Urgent m-mail for you.”
>With one deft, almost graceful flex of her right wing, she unhooks her mailbag from her withers. It falls into her waiting hoof, and in what must be a long-practiced flourish, she procures a scroll from it in that same wing, extending it outward.
>Almost immediately, it’s enveloped in your mentor’s aura and pulled across the space, coming to rest on her desk.
>“Thank you, High Flyer. Stay warm today, alright?”
>The underdressed pegasus salutes, and then leaves just as quick as she came.
>Celestia unfurls it and reads it over curiously, an apprehensive frown dragging her brow ever so slightly downward.
“What’s it say?”
>She sets the letter down on her desk before turning her attention to you again.
>“It seems the young Griffonian princess’s excursion to Equestria wasn’t planned. The royal family were able to figure out where she had gone, but it appears they’re unaware of everything that’s happened since her departure; my letter didn't reach them in time.”
>She leans back on her cushion and sighs, exasperation staining her breath.
>“The king and queen are on their way here to receive her by private transport as we speak… I suppose they’ll have to be informed when they arrive.”
>You can’t help but consider the implications of their early arrival.
>On one hoof, this will more than likely be a good thing; Griffonia probably has their own investigation teams that can help the process along even further. Griffons may not be a race that can directly utilize magic, but their scholars on the matter are as studied as anypony.
>On the other hoof, though, you’re not really sure that’s how everything will play out.
>Equestria’s relationship with Griffonia is one of peace, but from what you know of the Griffonian political machine - that is to say, everything you’ve studied about it - pride is something they’re in no shortage of.
>What if they see the capture of their heiress on Equestrian lands a slight against their nation?
>To add to that, considering the timing of the letters, what if they see it is a sign of incompetence?
>And that isn’t even factoring in the heightened emotions that will no doubt come out in full force upon delivery of the unfortunate news.
>Oh, Tartarus, this is about to become /incredibly/ complicated in a way that you’re severely unequipped to deal with.
>Magic is tangible to you; you can mold it with your hooves, see its origin, its terminus, and redirect its current as you see fit.
>Politics? You’re hopelessly lost. 
>Maybe you’re just-
>“Let /me/ be the one worrying about this, Twilight. You have more than enough on your plate.”
>Princess Celestia’s gentle voice carries you out of your stupor.
“S-Sorry, Princess.”
>“It’s quite alright. I know that things may seem-”
>Without warning, the space to your left warps and distorts, a deep blue hue pouring out from a singular point and dominating the area.
>The noise of a teleportation rift opening right next to you is nearly deafening; your hooves shoot up to cover your ears, and your eyes inadvertently slam shut like a scared little filly. 
>Ethereal wind peppers your side, and you twist away from its cold ministrations on your fur.
>Just as quickly as it began, though, it ends. 
>From where the cacophony originated comes a familiar outcry.
>“Sister!”
>The urgency in Luna’s exclamation catches your attention, and as you turn to look at her, you’re taken aback by just how exhausted she appears to be. Her dark circles from before pale in comparison to the ones adorning her eyes now.
>And yet, juxtaposing her less-than-stellar state is quite possibly the widest grin you’ve seen her wear throughout this whole ordeal.
>“Don’t scare me like that, Luna,” Celestia chides, straightening herself out in her seat. “Would it behoove you to make your teleportations just a /tad/ less violent?” 
>“Another time,” Luna explains, locking eyes with both of you intermittently. “I need both of you to come with me.”
...
>The sun, nestled against the mountains in the distance, finally dips below the horizon, shrouding the land in the shadows of late evening. 
>Breaths, as ragged as they are, are hard to come by; even with the Princesses’ help, the jaunt up the mountain is a considerable distance to clear in one teleportation.
>Rogue discharges of spent mana crackle off of you, arcing to the ground and fading as they travel away from your hunched-over form.
>Head hung in exhaustion, you maintain eye contact with the patterned tile underhoof as metal hoofsteps approach you from behind.
“My apologies, Twilight Sparkle,” Luna says as she offers a hoof for support. “It’s easy to forget that you aren’t an alicorn. Are you alright?”
>Hooking your hoof around hers, you straighten yourself out one deep breath at a time. Your gaze remains locked to the floor, lest your dinner reappears in a far more digested state.
“I-I’m okay. Dizzy, but okay. Also, t-thank you; just ‘Twilight’ is fine.”
>With a pleased hum, Luna’s helping hoof slips from your grasp, and when your stomach finally settles a few moments later, you return your own to the ground and pick your head up once more.
>The winds atop the balcony of Luna’s spire are particularly unforgiving, and you draw further into yourself as you follow the two sisters up the winding outer staircase that leads to the very apex of the tower.
>“What have you found, sister?” Princess Celestia asks earnestly.
>Luna’s grin from earlier returns, although far more subdued.
>“A hoofhold,” she says, enthusiasm barely hidden by her otherwise neutral expression. “One that may improve the pace of our investigation drastically.
>“Ever since the victims’ dreamscape manifestations disappeared in front of me, I’ve been scouring the dream realm for any sign of them. My initial search bore no fruit, and for a time, I feared the worst.”
>The staircase terminates into another, smaller balcony. Embedded into the wall of the ivory spire is an imposing black marble door, laden with constellations from various regions of the night sky.
>Butterflies take root in your stomach - this is one of the few areas in the castle that you’ve never seen.
>“For the sake of time and decency, I won’t keep you in suspense,” Luna concedes as the three of you approach the door. “After toiling away for the past twenty-four hours or so, I was able to locate their avatars, hidden away within the dream realm.”
>“Have your findings given you any clue as to where they might have been taken in the physical world?” Celestia asks.
>“As of yet, no,” Luna replies. “But that may not be the case forever.”
>As the three of you finally reach the door, you and Celestia remain a few steps behind as Luna saunters right up to it.
>She gracefully leans in, tilting her head forward so that the tip of her horn is mere centimeters away from its center.
>As her horn sets alight, so too does every single one of the numerous stars featured within the door’s artwork. 
>They coalesce near the center, reforming into a replica of Luna’s cutie mark around her horn and glowing brightly.
>The click of a hefty lock rings out, and the door splits into two halves that swing inward with another flourish of her magic.
>Even with the winds as brisk as they are, the air from within the chamber rushes out to meet you, smelling of incense and rosemary.
>Luna wastes no time entering, and both you and Princess Celestia fall in behind her.
>As you cross the threshold, the doors slam behind you without the aid of magic - your hooves propel you into the air on their own volition in response.
>You very nearly yell out in surprise, voice reverberating off of the distant walls, but manage to contain it to a barely audible grunt stuck in your throat.
>Thankfully, it seems like neither of the Princesses noticed. The last thing you want to do is look silly in front of them, especially at a time like this. 
>Your reservations are cut off, however, when your gaze sweeps across the structure you find yourself in. 
>The dome is dimly lit by the cyan glow of mana-fed candles, their light seemingly bouncing right off of the dark, tiled floor, giving off the illusion that you’re walking on a tangible void.
>In fact, the only reason you know the ground is still /there/ is the thin layer of rolling fog, courtesy of the numerous hanging incense burners.
>Lining the room is a curved table, nestled against every inch of the inner walls save for the entrance. All along its cluttered surface lies an impressive amount of propped-open books on the arcane, numerous journals laden with writings, and a variety of specialized magic tools.
>In the very heart of the esoteric study is a mildly raised platform made of…
>Wait, is that /pure orichalcum/?
>Sweet Celestia, you’ve never seen that much of it at once!
>What could she need that much of it for? Even amateur practitioners of magic only need a gem or two to enhance whatever spell they’re-
>“My apologies for the inadequate lighting,” Luna chimes in, interrupting your thoughts. “I’m afraid it’s necessary for the purpose of our visit.” 
>“Did you have the viewing glass removed…?” Celestia asks, confused as she looks upward. 
>Luna shakes her head, a small grin on her lips as she turns to address her sister.
>“It’s simply obscured for the time being. The darkness helps me concentrate. I’ll have the room restored to its proper function as soon as this predicament is dealt with; I know how much you enjoy our evenings here.”
>“Truthfully, our surroundings matter little to me, as long as I get to spend time with you,” Celestia replies with a warm smile. “But I /am/ a bit preferential.”
>You’d chuckle alongside them, but you’re still fixated on that egregiously massive aggregate of orichalcum.
“What /is/ this place?”
>The princesses turn their attention to you, Luna continuing to make her way around the focal dais. 
>“I suppose one may call this my office,” Luna says, smirking at the simplification. “The roof panels are made of one-way glass, through which I may view the heavens to better perform my nightly duties.”
>The twinkle in your eye is nearly audible.
>As far as you’re aware, /nopony/ outside of your mentor and a scant few of Luna’s trusted advisors have ever actually seen her office.
>It’ll be another day of firsts for you, you assume.
>You feel a bit of heat on your cheeks as you realize you didn’t wipe your hooves off when you walked in. 
>“This is where I’ve been spending the majority of my time since the start of the investigation,” she continues. “While the Arcana Communitas have busied themselves investigating for evidence around the crash site, my methods took on a more extraphysical approach, and I required adequate space for such an endeavor - hence why I haven’t been on-site as much as you two.”
>Without waiting for a reply, Luna turns to her sister.
>“I trust that it’s been some time since you’ve had dinner?” she asks as she skips up onto the dais.
>Celestia nods her head, and Luna refocuses on you, waiting for your answer as well.
“It’s been a couple of hours, but… why, Princess?”
>The two sisters share a knowing glance before Luna acknowledges your question.
>“The transition can be quite disorienting if you have a full stomach,” she explains with a mischievous grin.
“Wh-”
>Not a moment later, Luna rears her head, horn pointed skyward as it becomes enwreathed in her brilliant turquoise aura.
>The mere casting of the spell itself draws sparks from her horn that burn out as they pirouette in the air like tiny dancers, disappearing before they ever reach the ground.
>A rush of phantom air emanates from where she stands, blowing out all of the candles in the sanctum; the only light source remaining is the mana conjuring around her horn.
>She shuts her eyes as she lifts one of her forelegs, and the mana drain becomes so monstrous that you can /feel/ her exerting her will.
>You glance over at Celestia to see if she’s reacting at all, but the creeping darkness seeping out from the wall behind her steals your attention.
>Darker than the blackest night you’ve seen, and then some. Just…
>Consuming /everything/.
>You back away, turning to get as much distance as possible, only to find that it’s encroaching from behind you as well.
>Suddenly, it violently accelerates - you don’t even have time to yell before it reaches you and…
>…Passes right under you?
>Your eyes follow the onslaught of vantablack as it culminates directly underneath Luna.
>For a few moments, the only things that seem to exist are the three of you, all still lit by some unknown light source.
>The stillness is staggering; you can, for what must be the first time in your life, hear the blood passing through your veins. 
>A white dot manifests on the impossible horizon, followed quickly by other glowing specks of multitudinous colors flashing into existence across the endless black.
>Swathes of cool-hued nebulae are painted right before your eyes.
>Glittering whalesong, lilting high, fills the soundspace, replacing the ringing in your ears.
>This is…
>“You might want to steady yourself.”
>You spin around, your no doubt befuddled eyes locking with Luna’s smiling countenance.
>No sooner does your head begin to swim, nausea compelling you onto your haunches, resting on nothing.
>Your eyes slam shut as you struggle to dispel the false sense of motion.
>“Oh, dear,” Celestia cuts in. “That may have been a bit too sudden, sister.”
>Her voice draws nearer with no hoofsteps to indicate her movement.
>“The situation demands expedience,” Luna explains plainly.
>She giggles innocently after a few moments.
>“Though, I would be lying if I said I didn’t find your similarities between your first experiences amusing. My apologies, Twilight.”
>A wing, smelling faintly of ozone, slips itself over your withers as the unpleasant sensation begins to dissipate.
>Your eyes creep open once more as you blink away the discomfort, Celestia looking you over like a doting parent.
“I-I’m okay… and very, /very/ glad I had an early dinner today.”
>“Let us know if you need to return to the material world at any point,” Celestia says. “The dream realm has a tendency to be a bit… /disorienting/ to new guests.”
>You breathe in deeply, willing yourself to rise to your hooves once more. The parallaxing cosmos threaten to nauseate you further, but focusing on your mentor keeps it at bay.
“I’ll be alright, Princess.”
>You turn to Luna as Celestia retracts her wing.
“Are they nearby?”
>She nods, her horn alight once more.
>The cosmos around you begin shifting upwards, stars spreading from each other as you converse.
>“They are, albeit hidden away.”
“Is that why you needed that orichalcum platform? To find them?”
>She nods.
>“Partially. It was installed some time ago, long before my absence. Its intended purpose is to expand the range of my dream walking capabilities so that I may safeguard not only Equestria’s citizens, but anypony in regions beyond should the need arise.”
>You struggle to wrap your head around that. 
>With that many ponies’ dreams going on, is it even /possible/ to divide time up to help everypony in need?
>Does time in the dream realm work differently from time in the real world?
>Exactly how far does her spell reach when she’s on the platform? What about when she’s removed from it?
>How do other cultures react to Luna appearing in their dreams?
>Agh! Your lack of knowledge about how Luna’s magic works irks you.
>Burning questions for later, you suppose. 
>“Earlier, though, I made an important discovery,” Luna continues.
>The stars around you continue to separate, growing further by the second.
>“When I first witnessed the victims’ dream bubbles disappearing before me, they simply faded from existence. No fanfare, no instability - they simply ceased to be. Since then, I’ve been searching unendingly for any sign of them. Even when casting my dream walking spell at maximum output, I have had no luck. For a time, I feared that they had departed from this world.
>“Not too long ago, however, I glimpsed one of them in the furthest reaches of the dream realm; Blazing Hearth, according to the files our intelligence teams managed to compile. This time, though, it wasn’t a dream bubble - it was /her/. Or, rather, an ethereal avatar of her lying on its side.”
>Celestia’s face steels in confusion.
>“Did she appear to be alright?” she asks evenly.
>Luna shakes her head as the stars grow sparse.
>“I couldn’t tell,” she replies. “She was covered in a black, viscous substance that obscured most of her features. I only recognized her due to her cutie mark just barely being visible. When I went to investigate further, however, her avatar sank beneath me. I attempted to follow, and eventually, it…”
>She loses focus for a moment before locking eyes with Celestia.
>“It passed out of the dream realm entirely. I watched her as she descended, but eventually, even the light of the ethereal stars couldn’t reach her.”
>Your skin crawls trying to comprehend something so unnatural.
“How is that possible…?” 
>A mixture of deep concern and total confusion crowd Celestia's expression. 
>Now, even the nebulae are getting thinner and thinner - there isn’t much around the three of you at all.
>“Dreams take shape when an individual’s subconscious and soul directly interact with this very realm,” Luna continues. “At inception, though, dreams are nearly formless, save for the ethereal avatar of the host. The rest of the dream constructs itself accordingly around these vessels whenever they appear here.”
“They don’t start out here?”
>“No.”
>Suddenly, the motion in the space around you stops. 
>The nebulae are gone, and the stars around you have dwindled to almost nothing. Above you rests a veritable galaxy.
>Underhoof is…
>Nothing. 
>Not like before, either, with Luna’s dream walking spell.
>An immeasurable unease tightens its grip on your stomach.
>“They come from below, where the barrier of the dream realm is thin. That is where we’ll find the survivors' vessels.”
>You readily refocus your fearful gaze back on her, only to find her looking right back at you.
>Despite the maw of the world below, she still beams at the both of you.
>“That is where we’ll find Anon.”

...

>An aged spruce ceiling holds your exhausted eyes.
>The tinge of an aching burn nibbles at their edges. You rub away at them with your good arm, but the ache deepens, tormenting you almost as much as the throbbing in your other shoulder.
>You haphazardly exhale through your nostrils, and the absence of air in your lungs alone is almost enough to knock you out cold again.
>With whatever strength you have left, though, you fight to stay awake - you’ve already slept most of the day away, and it won’t do to be so vulnerable.
>Even though Kalliope swore up and down that you were safe in the annex above the restaurant, you can’t help but feel otherwise.
>You’ve long since shucked your old worker’s uniform, too, which got rid of that strangely dank smell. Realizing that your bandages have become more crimson than white doesn’t help much with the anxiety, but it’s something. 
>Owing to that creeping fear of being found out, you’re huddled away on the floor in the corner of a spare bedroom, as far as you can possibly extricate yourself from an oddly placed skylight. The crepuscular rays of the evening sun being cast onto the wooden floorboards glint off of lilting dust, a veritable shower of sparks playing around in the stale glow.
>Beside you, Hearth still slumbers, blissfully unaware of the current predicament that befalls the two of you.
>Her chest rises and falls at a rate that you’re not altogether comfortable with; every couple minutes or so, you can’t help but press two fingers against her jugular to check for a pulse.
>It’s always there, but the uneasiness never leaves.
>You turn to look at her, beholding every bruise, mark, and laceration her body bears.
>Red and purple cruelty leap out at you, even from under her thick winter coat. Almost every inch of her that you can see is covered in torturous welts and gashes. 
>Perhaps the most disheartening part of her that your eyes meander over, though, is her face. 
>She’s got one hell of a black eye, and while the bruising isn’t quite enough to hinder her sight, it still looks swollen to high hell.
>Her bottom lip is busted in two places, and there’s some additional, lighter bruising on her  right cheek as well. Couple that with the black eye, and you’ve got clear-cut evidence that they were beating her, most likely repeatedly.
>So hard, apparently, that it had left lacerations in her skin. Dried blood matts her fur here and there, mostly near the areas where she had been struck.
>Her breathing hitches for a moment, and her forehooves twitch this way and that.
>For a second, you think she’s about to wake up, and your own breath gets caught in your throat.
>After a few tense moments, though, she returns to stillness, her breathing settled.
>Your back hits the wall with a thud as you sigh in defeat.
>How potent was that fucking spell…?
>“Won’t do ya any good to keep checkin’ ‘er over like that,” Pal says softly, bedbound on the opposite end of the room.
“I can’t help it. She’s been out for like, what, twenty hours or something now?”
>He shrugs his shoulders as he casts his gaze to the skylight.
>“I’m probably not the best person t’ ask,” he says flatly. “But yeah, somethin’ like that.”
>Oh, shit… right.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh…”
>“Nah, it’s fine. Was just tryin’ t’ joke around, is all.”
>His fallen expression betrays how he really feels. You opt not to press it any further; the last thing you’d wanna do is upset him.
“Your wife said she might have something that could help, didn’t she?”
>The mention of Kalliope seems to bring him out of his stupor for the time being. While he still isn’t quite as chipper as he was before he had the news dropped on him, it’s a marked improvement.
>“Mhm. She was the one who used t’ patch us all up whenever we got into trouble.”
>His spectral eyes comb over Hearth’s sleeping form for a moment before he continues.
>“She’ll be able t’ take care o’ Hearth’s regular injuries, but I dunno if we got anything geared toward that sleep stuff she’s got goin’ on.”
“What do we do if she doesn’t?”
>“Well,” Pal sighs. “We got two options in that case - wait it out, or get some outside help. I might know a guy, but a lot can change over eight years.”
>The room falls silent for a time, the muted goings-on of the restaurant below filling the air with some merciful form of noise.
>Kalliope said she’d be closing early today, but you aren’t sure just when that’ll be. There’s a shelf nearby with some books atop it that might help you kill some time, but you wouldn’t dare partake without asking her permission first. Guest’s manners, and all that.
>Instead, you broach whatever you can grasp for discussion.
“You excited to be with your family again?”
>He lights up like a christmas tree, the spectral pinpricks in his eye sockets brightening rapidly.
>“Oh, more than ever,” he muses, sitting upright as he turns to face you. “Kal ain’t aged a day, you know that? Eight years, and she still belongs in royal paintings.”
>He gestures to himself, chortling.
>“Guess I hit the wall, though, huh?”
>You can’t help but chuckle, even if it’s a bit forced. How the hell can he improve his mood so fast…?
“Seems like you’re taking it pretty well.”
>“I’m tryin’,” he sighs again. “I just have to keep my head up. It’ll pass eventually.”
>He shrugs as he rises from the bed, making his way over to your corner.
>“I mean, I’m /here/ now, ain’t I?”
>You nod, pausing a moment to consider your next words.
>Really, though, can you even say anything of significance? His situation is so alien to anything you’ve been through - without experience to back your words, they’ll certainly fall flat.
“Yeah, you are.”
>Filler it is, then.
>As he takes his seat on the other side of Hearth, he nods, an air of appreciation about his skeletal features.
>“Yeah… Not gonna waste that.”
>His musings over, he holds your gaze.
>“How ‘bout you, ‘non? You holdin’ up okay?”
>You search his features, eager to pick up on any sort of sarcasm.
>There isn’t any.
“I mean… not really.”
>He gestures to the well-kept room around you with wide arms, letting them slap the top of his knees as they come back down.
>“Better than yesterday, though, isn’t it?” he asks, nodding along as if to influence your answer.
“We’re being /hunted/, man,” you almost spit. “We went from being chest-deep in shit, to being waist deep. Push comes to shove, /it’s still shit/.”
>“Sure, sure,” he placates, hands up in mock surrender. “Won’t argue with ya there, but you’re thinkin’ about it all wrong.”
“How?” you ask incredulously.
>He deadpans as he leans in toward you.
>“Weren’t you gonna be that lil’ witch’s sex slave?”
“Yeah?”
>“I haven’t known ya long, but I’m willin’ to bet you wouldn’t have taken well to that gig. No freedom, no autonomy, all that.”
>You let the back of your head gently hit the wall.
“…Yeah.”
>“Well, there ya go,” he says. “Would I rather not be bathin’ in shit? ‘Course. But if I gotta, then I’d much rather be up to my waist than my chest. Little stuff, Anon.” 
---update in progress---