Legio IX Hispania (24) (Patreon)

Lyra didn't do well in jail.

It wasn't just that the bugs didn't feed her very well; she had been half-starved in Tirek's lands.

Rather, it was the ones who came in to talk to her.

Stalwart Hope would not really return to her the next day, act like a lovestruck young colt on his first Hearts and Hooves Day, asking obvious personal questions about her.

Lyra had heard the stories—she knew what you were supposed to do. But Lyra was too weak to care. "It won't work," she told the disguised changeling. "Impersonating me won't help get Stalwart's magic. He doesn't love me that way. He was protecting me because..."

Because why? She didn't even feel like explaining herself. If they were going to kill her, they might as well get it over with, and spare her the suffering. Equestria was gone, so many of her friends were gone. Maybe she should be gone too.

The bugs never killed her, though. Sometimes they struck her, sometimes they forgot to bring her food—but never enough that she died. If Lyra could've sensed emotions, she might've thought that they felt sorry for her. Were insects capable of compassion?

Maybe one was.

He arrived the same as all the others—dressed up like Stalwart Hope. Only this one didn't pretend to be checking in on her, promising her swift release in exchange for some basic information to verify her Equestrian citizenship. As though Equestria even existed anymore.

Rather, he locked the door, shouted some loud commands back through the opening, then advanced on her.

"Listen, but don't think about it too much," he whispered, his words tumbling over each other in her ear. "Stalwart and I are breaking you out. Not right now, we need a little more time. But in the next few days. He wants you to be ready to flee with him when he comes."

He didn't even wait for a reply, turning sideways again to start shouting. "I'm so happy to see you!" he began, along with a few more rambling invitations to share with him. But he never waited for any answers from her. He obviously didn't expect them.

The longer his act went on, the more she recognized him. This bug could transform, but she'd seen that nervous twitch before, the way he constantly looked at her to see how she was reacting. She'd seen it from an injured bug that Stalwart saved, there in the mud.

"Thorax?"

He met her eyes then, freezing long enough to nod towards her. "I'm sorry about this. I’ll make this quick, okay?”

He advanced on her again, rehearsing the same act she'd seen before—desperation to figure out the details he would need to impersonate her, questions about where Stalwart had come from and why he was so strange. But Thorax's heart obviously wasn't in it, and he didn't threaten or start hitting her when she didn't answer.

"Then how..." she asked, meeting his eyes again. "How can I know it's really him? Not... not more of this?"

Thorax shrugged, matching her quiet whisper. "They want to eat him so badly. But he isn't like any pony they've ever held captive before. Couldn't you tell when the other fakes visited you?"

She nodded slowly. This time had been easier to tell than the others, but she could tell those times too. Bugs just weren't very good at copying such a weird creature. Bugs could look like him, even copy his slightly awkward way of walking, but none of them could be him. He was just too weird, too out of place.

Then Thorax was gone, returning Lyra to the cold and the silence.

She had no windows in her little cell, no way to judge how much time passed until she saw someone again. Hours, days—it was all the same.

Except this time, some small part of her dared to hope. There was a pony who had already saved her life twice—a pony who fought when he didn't have to. If anypony could get out of this, it was him.

The next visit didn't come quite like any others. Distant hooves echoed through the hall, hurrying down the prison with urgency no bug ever seemed to show.

She opened one eye, peering at the cell door as something slid to a stop there. "Which one?" asked a familiar voice, followed by some jangling keys. 

They echoed loudly in the stone tunnel, before another voice spoke, tiny and quiet. "That one? Has the marks on the side. That's hers."

Lyra stood up, shaking away bits of straw from her coat. One way or another, she was going to be on her hooves when they appeared.

Her legs shook, her body wobbling as she forced herself into motion. She was in even worse shape than the last time she'd been here.

Lyra turned, watching the door, staring as the two ponies came through. Part of her already knew what to expect: of course it would be Stalwart Hope. But she hadn't expected him to be so... thin?

His body was a little less muscular than before, with his coat now revealing the suggestion of bones beneath. If Lyra hadn't been eating well, it seemed that this stallion had barely been eating at all.

What it hadn't done was drain his magic; he carried three changeling spears in the air around him, all three dripping with greenish slime—along with a thick piece of wood. Half a door, covered with dents and scratches.

No wonder they were so eager to learn more about him. They wanted all this magic, and they couldn't have it.

"Time to go, Lyra," he said, gesturing urgently for the doorway behind him. A single figure lingered out there; a bug, wearing the same stolen guard uniforms they all did. Only he wasn't attacking them, he wasn't fighting.

He watched the hall, one hoof tapping nervously as he muttered in his bug voice. "They're coming they're coming they're coming hurry!"

Lyra stumbled towards them, sniffing at the foul stench. Would the bugs be so determined to trick her that they would seriously hurt one of their own to do it?

"Remember what I first told you?" Stalwart asked. He didn't wait for her reply. "I guess you couldn't understand me yet. I knew those minotaurs were mightier than I. But I thought, perhaps—perhaps you might be able to escape, if you ran. We shouldn't both die in this Titan-tormented abyss."

It's him. Lyra half tripped, half walked towards the doorway. "Haven't... not enough room to walk in here. You might have to leave me behind."

Stalwart waited for her by the door. "Not today. Mars rides before us, horse. We will introduce these insects to his sons!"

He gestured, commanding. "Thorax, can you carry her?"

The changeling looked between them. "Not like this!" Green light flashed, and suddenly he was—bigger, yellower. Applejack? He knew what she looked like?

Good choice—the earth pony was among the strongest of her tribe that Lyra had ever known.

Without a word, Thorax shrugged under her, grunting under the weight. "That oughta do, sugarcube. Just hold still while we make our way outta here!"

They started moving together, closer to a trot than a gallop. Despite his apparent talent, Stalwart didn't seem able to concentrate on so many objects and intense physical exertion at the same time.

"You don't have to do that," Lyra muttered, eyeing "Applejack" as best she could. It was a remarkable impression for this random changeling to make, a continent away from Ponyville.

Distant whistles echoed shrill through the night, along with yelling from creatures she couldn't see. The sound seemed to be getting closer, as an alarm echoed through the grim building.

She was still turning those thoughts over in her mind as they emerged from the hall into a set of dense steps. A pair of bugs had fallen near the door, cut down with an efficiency that would've sickened Lyra once.

That age was over now, though. After seeing what the bugs were willing to do to their enemies, she couldn't muster compassion. Maybe she was still capable—but not for those who would do this to innocent ponies.

Then they emerged into a dark alley, stumbling out an old wooden building. The moon shone bright overhead, along with the faint amber of magical streetlights. So that part of the rumors was true too: changelings were better about keeping everything working than Tirek's kin.

A pair of ponies emerged from a nearby doorway, galloping several steps before noticing the two of them there.

"Stalwart, behind!"

He glanced back, looked them both over. The ponies didn't move the way they should. But no pony would bare its teeth like that.

Stalwart seemed to think so too, because two of the spears he carried lurched backward, soaring through the air and piercing both through their heads.

Even after everything, Lyra still scrunched up her face, looking hurriedly away from the sight. She still heard the sickly crunch as their bodies fell. When she opened them again, a pair of dead bugs now lay on the street behind them, still pierced by sharp spears.

They ran past dirty buildings, to a stretch of thick wooden fence covered in spray paint. Various political messages had been scrawled here, including exaggerated images of the "queen," along with many images of Princess Celestia, and other things. Lyra couldn't muster the energy to try and read.

"It's here, Stalwart!" Applejack stopped, rapping one hoof on an apparently ordinary stretch of high fence.

The sound of distant shouts grew louder now. Bright spotlights flashed down the streets, and wooden wheels ground and rumbled as they rolled closer.

"The Night Princess asks, where am I?" whispered a harsh voice through the wall. A voice with a high Canterlot accent, one Lyra had heard before.

"Through the mirror," Thorax hissed. "Break the glass!"

Something groaned, and the wooden fence opened a short distance, just wide enough for a few ponies to pass. Thorax carried them through, and Stalwart followed—seconds before it closed securely again.

They were in a railyard, with heavy gravel surrounding thin iron lines. A cargo train sat nearby, one car open. "Forward, quickly!"

Octavia Melody wore a threadbare cloak over her body, covering all but her face. Her elegant mane had changed since the conquest—now it was swept back and bound. She hopped up the distance, then helped Lyra and Thorax to ascend into the dark boxcar. Stalwart followed, just as a heavy door rattled closed behind them.

Shapes moved in the gloom, securing the door with a heavy padlock. Just in time—more voices shouted from outside, getting closer by the moment.

"Calm..." whispered a voice, somewhere close. Another familiar one, though this was a unicorn. "We feel nothing. We are not here. Calm..."

Those weren't just words, either. Lyra did feel calm, sudden and inexorably. It crushed down over her, as dramatic as the moment her magic had first been stolen.

Her heart stopped racing, her breathing went flat, and even her thoughts stilled. She was sedated, body splayed over a lake of lukewarm water. Not too comfortable, because that was an emotion too. She was... balanced.

Lights came on beside her, a single unicorn lantern hung on a hook.

This train was not for boxes and crates. Instead, high, narrow bunks ran along one wall, with a table tucked away nearby, along with a shelf of canned food. There was a latrine too, surrounded by curtains—and a large chalkboard, covered with dense writing.

Lyra took them all in, along with the ponies standing around her. She knew them well, though the rush of relief and joy at old friends reunited didn't come either. There was only Starlight Glimmer, and a large glass jar swirling with all sorts of unpleasant colors. "We feel nothing," she whispered, horn still glowing brightly. "We are not here. The waves crash and the storm billows, and we are unmoved."

A few minutes passed. Hooves stomped by outside, something heavy smacked against the wood. Then the train started to move, rumbling forward along the tracks.

They left the prison behind.