Legio Ix Hispania (14) (Patreon)

Lyra and Stalwart Hope traveled together across the wilderness.

Before the world ended, Lyra wasn't a pony who enjoyed venturing too far from civilization. City walls around her were the warm embrace of a friend, keeping her safe against the elements and monsters and other things she never even considered.

Hunger wasn't a monster she imagined would threaten her very often. Then Equestria fell, and a nation built on the magic of friendship couldn't feed itself.

Stalwart Hope was nearly the opposite. When wolves howled in the night, she curled up tight, and he took up a sword. He might be a stranger to the land, yet he knew how to survive on what it provided. Wherever they walked he knew what herbs were safe to eat, or how to find the cleanest water to drink. When they stopped by a river, he could fashion a snare within the hour, and have fish cooking on a roaring fire in another.

There was only one way to pass the time of such a long journey—they could talk. So, they talked, exchanging stories of the lands of their birth and the lives they once lived. Stalwart Hope did not believe everything she said—in fact, he often objected to her descriptions of magic. Even simple things like weather teams or the Winter Wrap-Up provoked indignance from him.

"Tell me more about your home," she always said, whenever he got particularly frustrating. "If you don't like mine."

Sometimes he obliged her. "I grew up in Italia. My family's lands are a few days ride north of Rome. Father served in the Parthian campaign, and I was the eldest, so everyone knew I would serve."

"Was Rome like Equestria?"

He laughed in reply. "Not very. None of our rulers were immortal, or... had magic powers like yours. From the sound of it, I think we had a larger army. Certainly, a better-prepared one. We would never permit ourselves to fall to barbarians. This Tirek and his kind seem worse than Carthage."

He often said things like this—meaningless comparisons that sounded profound to his own ears. Even so, there were plenty of little pieces she could learn and remember. If Equestria depended on the furless creatures with metal armor to fight for it... that might be okay.

So long as she wasn't inviting a tyrant more horrible than the ones who had already taken over.

"Everypony says they were the worst," she said. "But I've been here since the war, so I don't know. Only hear from the ones that get sent from the other regions. We hoped it would get better after a while, or... somepony would find a way to kick Tirek out. Nopony ever did."

Much of what Stalwart said about his home served very little practical use, but still helped Lyra in other ways. After so many years living in a conquered Equestria, she barely even remembered her own passions.

In another life, the pony named Lyra Heartstrings had been a historian, archeologist, even a musician on the side. Talking with Stalwart revived old passions, each one like a little ember stoked to burn in her chest.

She even found herself taking mental notes in a detached, academic tone, considering the warrior as she might consider any historical text from Equestria's ancient past. He spoke of temples and offerings, of mathematics and logic and drama.

But when asked about engines or electricity, he was utterly bewildered. He knew his own history intimately, yet not a single detail corresponded to anything she had ever studied.

Not knowing about various empires and kingdoms wasn't impossible to explain—if he'd come from the distant past or a far region, maybe news of them hadn't reached Equestrian scholars. But one single fact was so utterly perplexing that even Lyra's academic mind could conceive only of supernatural answers.

"You sure they don't talk?" she asked, near evening after a long day of travel. The heat of the desert had finally broken, giving way to sparse forests and a cool breeze from the south. Easier going meant for livelier conversation.

"Positive," he said. "The broad-striped tribune came from the Equitae—he was quite fond of his horse and spoke often of their riding and care. To us, the word 'pony' means only the age of the beast. A foal becomes a pony, and eventually a proper horse. With... many other words in-between that Marcus could explain."

"Maybe you... couldn't understand them?" Lyra pressed, growing more energetic by the second. Despite the failing light and setting sun, these conversations always invigorated her. "We have creatures like these—breezies, whose tongue is very difficult to translate. They're so small that even hearing their words can be difficult."

Stalwart Hope shook his head sharply. "Forgive me, Lyra. There is... truth, plain to the discerning mind. I have walked in the presence of horses many times. They are clever, loyal beasts. But they are not... as you. Even before you spoke to me, I knew you were different. Rome has nothing like you—horn or no horn, wings or no wings. If it ever did, it was nowhere in the histories I studied."

She turned that over in her head in the next few minutes, searching for a solution. She knew nothing of Rome, and apparently Rome knew nothing of Equestria. Its sun and moon obeyed the wills of gods Stalwart insisted no living soul had ever met.

They have to be from another world. Otherwise, Tirek or another tyrant would've found them by now. Another world, where magic was almost unknown.

Stalwart interrupted her thoughts with a sharp shove from one foreleg, pushing her off the path. She squealed in surprise, then her hooves slipped out from under her, and she rolled a few steps into a ravine.

Stalwart joined her a second later, with far greater coordination. Instead of stumbling, he jumped into the ditch, crouching low. "Wait here. They are following us."

He made to leave, but Lyra caught his leg with hers, tugging him sharply back.

Lyra didn't stand a chance of overpowering this muscular stallion. Not before the end of the world, and not now that she'd been half-starved for years. "You can't go alone," she whispered back. "It could be hunters."

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder at her. When he spoke, it was in her same frantic whisper. "What kind?"

"Near the border... Minotaurs who look for escaped ponies to bring back and sell."

He nodded once. "If they find you, don't resist. I'll be there."

"Wait, let me—" He was too fast. The stallion vanished up the slope, gone from sight.

He's abandoning me, isn't he? She curled up into a ball, cowering at the bottom of the ravine. She felt something small scamper over her coat, emerging from its hidden den amidst the leaves.

She didn't even cry out. She had obviously annoyed Stalwart. He was right to be angry at her for transforming him! Maybe her capture would give him a chance to escape and find his way back to the Legion.

Seconds turned into minutes before she heard anything more. Several sudden shouts broke the growing darkness, followed by a strangled gasp. Metal cut through something she was grimly confident was flesh.

Then silence returned. She whimpered, covering her head in her hooves. If Stalwart fought them, they would surely kill him. Maybe the hunters would be satisfied to eat just one of them.

The leaves shifted nearby, crunching loudly. Then a face appeared over the edge. Stalwart, his coat smeared with dirt in patches. He carried a sharp metallic stink down with him, and she knew instantly what that must mean.

"It's safe to come out. No one else is following us." He held one hoof down towards her.

She stood weakly, shaking off the dirt and fallen leaves. She took the offered hoof, struggling out of the ravine. "How'd you do that?"

Then she saw it and had the answer to her question before he could speak. His sword floated beside him, held aloft in his magical grip. The blade had been recently cleaned, though still smelled faintly bloody. "You're doing it!" she exclaimed, releasing his leg. "Magic!"

Even saying that caused the sword to respond, drooping in the air. Stalwart nodded once, then slid it back into its scabbard. "I expected that to be more difficult. But when I thought about it..." He stared down at the sword, wrapping a short length of cloth around the hilt. "It moved. I could still feel my hands, almost."

If only Lyra had a notebook, she could be recording all of this. "You have the magic of a grown stallion, not a colt! I wonder if you can use any other spells. We should try!"

He glanced down the trail the way they'd come. If she squinted into the dark, Lyra could almost make out a pair of misshapen lumps on the roadside, much bigger than a pony. Neither moved.

"Better not. Their like usually have a camp of brigands they belong to. Their absence will be noticed in time. We must go."

They went, hurrying down the trail in the direction they'd already been traveling. They walked together for a few short minutes, Lyra still in shock from their near-capture.

Her companion had felt them coming, caught, and dispatched the hunters without any sign of injury—or hesitation. She would shed no tears for them, not after watching what Equestria had suffered at their hooves for so many years. How many like her had been captured and sent back?

"You keep saving my life," she said. "Even after changing you."

Stalwart shrugged. "I believe what you have said. You only wanted to save me, and you did." He urged her off the trail, where the forest turned rocky. Uncomfortable walking, but they would leave no hoof prints. Better not to be followed after killing two hunters.

"I see rocky hillside ahead. If we're lucky, we can find a cave. But we can't sleep long—we should be moving again by sunrise. Is there anything to mark the border between this land and the other?"

She tried to light her horn for them to see, mostly by reflex. As usual, the only response was a faint soreness from her horn, and a tug of what could've been magic.

It doesn't just come back. I didn't keep it long enough.

"I don't know. Only what I've overheard from the ponies who escape, or the ones Queen Chrysalis trades with Tirek."

The moon lit their way well enough to avoid tripping over herself—barely. But if more hunters were watching from the trees, she stood no chance of noticing them in time.

"What have you overheard?"

She didn't answer for a few more minutes. Stalwart didn't seem to mind—they had been traveling together for long enough to know when it was just better to give the other more time.

"Changelings feed on love," she answered. "They didn't want to change very much about how ponies live. Queen Chrysalis lets ponies stay in their homes, work the same jobs, and live with their families. Except..." She trailed off, expression twisting into disgust.

"Except?"

"You don't know what they are—" She didn't bother waiting for confirmation. Of course, Stalwart didn't know what changelings were like, just like he didn't know about the pony tribes, or any other creature they hadn't fought along the way.

"They can look like anypony—even other creatures. Their powers are strong enough to trick almost anypony. In her lands... that's what they do. They grab ponies all the time, lock them away, and take their place. After feeding for a while, they send them back. You have to pretend you don't notice, keep treating them like they're the ones they took. Otherwise, you never see them again."

Stalwart stopped in his tracks, catching her with a foreleg. "What do you mean they feed on... love? How would that even work?"

"Any kind of love," she supplied. "For a child, a parent, a friend, or a lover. They take everything they can and drain ponies until they have nothing left. And everypony just has to... keep pretending life is normal, or they'll go away and never come back."

"Horrific," he said. "And to capture them, even worse." He nodded to the side. "I see a cave. Not a large one—but I'll take what shelter we can get."