Nothing like a shared secret brings dragons together. Most of Spike's time was consumed training with Core, who offered only a few days after he had shared his only true secret with him. A note, shrill and high enough to turn the greatest soprano green with envy sliced through the silence.

"The cold will force any air you take in out. Your best bet is to exhale before you enter, then take a breath once you break the surface for the first time. Or you could just harden up." This was the third time Core had repeated himself. Spike's short, ragged breaths were his only answer. The sopping, cold dragon shivered with every passing breeze.

Winter was approaching quickly, only the pines held onto their needles. The rest had shed their garments long ago, revealing their barren bones and bark. "Can we go back to the rune exercises?" Spike pleaded.

"No. I was just testing to see if you had received that knowledge from the Iron Father. You have. You'll know any runes or words you need when you need them. Get back in the water. You're wasting time." Spike hated these exercises. There was no way he could use the mastery, body or mind, to help him. Any thought or attempt to change his consciousness shattered the second the freezing water touched his scales. The cold forced air from him, his wings allowed for easier floating, or they should, mostly they floundered at his sides, the webbing filling with water and dragging him beneath the surface.

Core looked expectant. Spike slid into the pond. An icy wind blew cut the cold into his bones. He shook uncontrollably. "Don't you think about getting out!" Core wasn't normally an impatient dragon, but the test would commence in a few days. Spike slipped back into the chill water, hoping that he could shrink into the background.

"Dive." Any softness in Core's voice was crushed under impatient tones. Spike breathed as deeply as he could before passing below the surface of the water. It was far worse once completely submerged. The water sapped his heat and strength, leaving him a cold, soft mess of a dragon. His tail, catching the water in the paddle of the blade, pushed him onward. It had taken a few hours of practice to master the use of his tail, Core said that his wings would be excellent if he could just learn to control them. No that was not how you beat your wings underwater, no, that's not it either. Spike eventually just folded his wings into his sides and used his claws and tail, like when he was small.

"Again." Was the first thing Spike heard after the sound of his own breathing and beating heart had quietened.

"Why?" It sounded more like whining than a question, even to Spike.

"Because you haven't put your wings into it."

"I mean why am I learning to swim? I'm already decent enough." Core was strangely silent. His stare seemed to push Spike back into the water. Spike's face would've burned in embarrassment, but the cold and wet forced him to settle for becoming slightly less colourless. "I just can't do it!" Spike's anger at his failing had no target, and manifested with a general dislike of small ants, trees, and anything else he happened to lay his eyes on.

"Get back in the water. And do this." Core demonstrated the general movement he expected of Spike. Spike slunk back into the still, near frozen pool. He dove down again. It came easily, so easily Spike was flabbergasted. It was all a matter of treated the water as it were air. It flowed the same way, pushed the same way, but required far more force to move through. His wings were unused and cold, stiff. Spike could almost feel them cracking like an old handkerchief as he levied them through the water.

Spike spotted an odd shadow in the depths. The pool was illuminated by water-filtered light, distorting distance, shadows dancing from ripples and imperfections on the surface. But this shadow was deep and black. Curiosity pulled Spike closer, but it didn't change or move. Disappointed, Spike used his wings to power away from the dark patch and the sense of foreboding that accompanied it.

Spike thought he broke the water in a distinctly more triumphant way this time. He beamed at Core, the spark of enthusiasm quickly smothered by Core's words. "Again."

Spike sullenly dove again, eager to shelter his enthusiasm from the gale of Core's indifference. He sliced through the water, an easy task now his wings contributed. This allowed his claws to dangle limply at his sides, his tails and wings far more efficient users of the energy and breath he sought to conserve. Spike idly snapped at one of the larger fish who spent the entirety of their lives in the small lake. It darted out between his teeth, startling in it's agility and grace. Spike felt like an ugly balloon, flailing about in the water that was this one's home.

The need for air bit at Spike's throat and chest. The small droplets of water caught the light, shining like gems. Fun began to become a part of it. Spike was almost sad when Core told him to pack up. That they should get back before it was dark and the winds picked up. The griffons began squawking for their young, parents and mates to return to the nests. Their roosts were far to the south, but their calls carried to their loved ones, soaring above the hunting grounds that overlapped dangerously with dragon territory. It wasn't that dragons actively hunted griffons, but an average dragon saw a griffon the same way a pony sees a blade of grass. Something that doesn't seem particularly intelligent, lives a very short time and makes a tasty snack, so why not snuff out their lives a few days early?

Spike banished the dark thoughts from his mind. His love of Equestria making the 'average dragon' an abomination. A sharp feeling rose when he considered if Core thought that way. Spike hoped he didn't. It tainted the rest of the day, leaving muddy thought-tracks through his mind. It was difficult to trace the origin of the thoughts, or his awareness of the 'average dragon', considering he had only lived in the dragon kingdom for less than a year. His inquisitiveness faded, the Iron Father soothing his cares. It was trying to prevent him inquiring about what it had done to his mind in the dream. He suddenly pushed against the Iron Father, revolted at it's intrusion, desperately disentangling it's threads from himself.

Spike was deeply shaken, the Iron Father had withdrawn. He felt shelled. It was difficult to separate himself from the soft mush of the Iron Father. It was always there, comforting, helpful. Spike didn't think it meant him any harm, or at least that's what he hoped, but the idea that his mind was something that it could access as it pleased was unsettling.

His flight suddenly faltered. "Watch it!" Core reprimanded him.

"Sorry." Spike's apology was distant, an afterthought.

"Are you ok?" Concern saturated the question.

"Yeah. I'm fine." The lie was hollow, neither believed it.

Core knew better than to approach Spike. Whatever he was experiencing, he need to resolve on his own. Spike seemed to be walking through a haze. Separation had taken its toll. Spike disregarded the diamonds Core gulped wholesale, his appetite spent without eating. He had to review the runes tomorrow, then the test. Surprisingly Spike wasn't nervous, or worried, but perhaps he was just too tired right now. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Waking up was unpleasantly easy. His eyes snapped open. He grasped at what he was and forced what he now knew as the Iron Father away. Keeping himself totally separate was difficult. He teetered on a precipice, unable to step back, overbalancing would lead to drowning in the Iron Father's thoughts. Spike didn't know if he could keep himself intact if he fell. He would lose something, he may wake up and think Tune an enemy, be unable to recall who Core was, lose his time in Ponyville. A shudder ran through him. The price was too high, he could never submerge himself in the Iron Father as he did before. Spike may have lost something already, he doubted he would ever know what it was.

Spike's footsteps were unnaturally heavy and loud, drawing glances and perplexed stares as he made his way to the library. The thousands upon thousands of scrolls, stuffed into their catalogued crevices peered out at him. He walked to some of the more used sections, thankful none of the dragons reading felt the need to look up from their work. Some wrinkled their noses at the sound of his footfalls, but pretended it didn't bother them.

Spike had to push away a larger dragon who thought the scroll he was looking for was too important to trust the librarians to help find. His angry looks washed over Spike's tired face. Spike grabbed one of the scrolls detailing basic runes and magic. Equestrian magic was founded in the will of the practitioner manifesting as a physical effect. It was one of the reasons that, for ponies, unpractised or difficult magic is physically tiring. Dragon magic was ingrained into the old languages of dragons. An old draconic word, written or spoken, gives dominance over what that subject. Subsequent words increase the complexity. For example, the old draconic word for 'self' can be combined with the word for 'protection' in order to give the speaker small general protection from other's magic. But still magic had some basic foundation in will, the strongest magic users generally being the most disciplined dragons.

Spike unfurled the scroll slowly, reading an old word unprepared could have disastrous results. There were some basic protection spells that every dragon knew, some small utility spells, such as a more basic version of the large-scale tunnel shaping spells, and some more advanced protection spells Spike already knew. He disregarded the familiar and advanced unfamiliar spells. Spike wasn't a talented mage, the pursuit of mastery being his chief concern, and reading any spell at any time was a dangerous endeavour. Except the basic protection spells, it was difficult to mess those up.

Spike rolled the scroll back into it's casing, exhausted. He barely made it back to Core's chamber. He let the ground carry his weight as his eyes closed. Sleep did not come easily.

The constant low drone of light that emitted from the ceiling burned into Spike's eyes. His vision blurred as he adjusted. He propped himself up awkwardly, the flower rested in it's usual place. It's potency had increased with age, Spike was able to detect the smell from his place on the ground. He couldn't spare the unusually hardy plant a thought though. His movements were quick and clumsy as he made his way to the entrance.

"Glad you could join us." Ger berated. Spike hoped to shuffle into line quietly. An elbow to his ribs told him they had been waiting longer than he had expected. Officially they were supposed to remove any candidates who arrived late, but few got this far on the warrior path and they were far more accommodating. Spike took his place at one of the edges of the group, unhappily obvious today. The group of less than one hundred followed Captain Ger once more.

The path they followed was familiar, although only to Spike. Stepping shy of a particular knobbly root that made his peers hiss in pain, the forest opened into a clearing. The dread pool, still, freezing water stared at Spike, taunting him. He glared at the inert liquid, fortunately the other potentials were too busy shooting it confused looks to notice.

Jarh surveyed the pool. His chest tightened. Desperate measures had to be taken. He had always distrusted powerful magic, it was something that no one could handle safely. It was generally a good idea to keep massive power separate from those who would be willing to use it for selfish reasons. How could no one see what would happen if the motherless gained the power and status of a warrior? Unfortunately he had been forced into this position, it was the only way he could intervene, and he could never forgive a lost opportunity.

Ger's instructions were simple. They were going, one by one, to pass through the underwater tunnel near the bottom, then they could come out the other side. If they hadn't died or gone back, they would pass. Pain flashed through Spike's back. He whipped around. Nothing. "Is something wrong?" Ger's concern was unspecific and superficial. It was more concern for any trouble he might expect Spike would cause than any fondness he had for Spike.

"Nothing." With the word, both Core and Spike dismissed it.

"Only one try. Once you're down, come back up the other side, or fail." It was the same basic message Spike had received many times before. Spike's stomach grumbled it's emptiness. He hoped none of them could hear it. No one moved. Spike breathed a sigh of relief. His current standing with them wasn't particularly high. He had accused possibly the highest-ranking warrior-potential of attempted murder. He had woken up late, something one of the larger females seemed to greatly frown upon. She had never missed an opportunity to give him foul looks since the morning. He was already considered lazy and seditious, it would be best not to imply he couldn't even take care of himself properly.

"Jarh, you're up." Jarh seemed peeved at the casual nature Ger addressed him. None of it showed on his face, but his walk was unyielding.

It was simple for Jarh. There was no real danger for him. His father had helped ensure that. He hoped they would do as he told them regarding Spike. Jarh rubbed the small rune, etched with a small blade into his scales. He was careful not to rub it off, but was relieved that it would soon no longer be a part of him. His main concern was for their next task. The markings were already in place. Fortunately family friends were more commonplace on the warrior path now. So many fell simply because they weren't lucky enough to be born into a noble family, one able to help those it cares about on the test. It was a harsh truth, a sad truth.

Jarh shook his head slightly. He wished Spike didn't have to be motherless, he most certainly didn't like Spike, but admired his tenacity. It was a pity that very tenacity was what made him so dangerous. He was a splinter, well buried in flesh. Removing him would be difficult, and painful, but everyone would be better off for it. Bloodline pollution must be avoided.

Jarh was swallowed by the water. Spike secretly hoped he would never resurface. No bubbles reached the surface, indicating he had found and entered the tunnel.

More followed, each after a period of time Ger calculated with varying accuracy. Spike was soon the only dragon still waiting. Worry gnawed at him, last was always the worst placement. Others had failed quickly, bobbing to the surface because they simply couldn't hold their breath long enough. He rubbed the once painful, now slightly itchy scales on his back. Spike felt an odd groove. It was faint, so faint it was difficult to determine the shape it made. "Spike!" Ger shouted. There was no more time for thought. Taking a hasty breath, eager to finish the test, Spike dove into the icy water.

The familiar chill seeped into his scales and sucked the warmth from his bones. His muscles already complaining, he pushed himself down, down toward the black patch. From the small blob first encountered it grew into a gaping maw. The darkness inside suffocatingly total. Spike surged into the darkness, the way forward dark, the way back failure.

"Jarh" a breathless dragoness called him. He moved his head in acknowledgement, a practised manoeuvre, designed to inform the speaker that he was listening and subtly remind them of their respective status. "Spike has started the test."

"Good." Jarh paused for a moment. "What are you waiting for?" The dragoness hurried off. No smile came to Jarh's face. In a few moments it would be done.

The tunnel expanded after a few metres. His wings stretched out, easily accommodated. He couldn't use them for swimming, the tunnel may constrict later, and in the darkness Spike wouldn't know until his wings laid broken by his sides, but they were useful for feeling his way around the tunnel. He touched something with his claws, stuck to the roof of the tunnel. It moved easily through the water at his touch, and it was big. It was slightly yielding and Spike had to press a little to move it aside.

Spike pulled his hand away as if it had been burned. He knew what it was. This wasn't the Test of Courage, where the danger was not meant to be real. Spike was about to swim on when he felt a tightness in his chest. Bubbles escaped from his nostrils. He felt around his chest, feeling for anything entangling him. Nothing, only water between his claws. More bubbles issued from his nose and mouth. If nothing physical was causing this, there was only one explanation.

Spike bit deep into his thumb-claw. The water warmed with his blood. His chest the canvas, his blood the paint, he made the sign of protection from magic. The tightening in his chest eased, the bubbles ended. But his lungs were empty, void. They burned for air, an agony that spread throughout Spike's throat and muddied his thoughts with panic.

Spike tried to make progress, but ended up thrashing about in place. Spike felt it, with the tip of his wing, it was less than an inch deep, but it was there. Dryness.

Spire hurried over to the small dry patch. Pressing his lips to the trapped bubble, he devoured the air contained. Spike knew he hadn't made this bubble. He silently thanked the dragon. Spike slipped along the tunnel. The bubble had been large, but it wasn't enough to get him out of the tunnel, and Spike didn't want to take any risks at this point. His progress was painfully slow. He moved like a snail along the ceiling, feeling for any patches of dryness, not matter how small, and draining the air inside.

Spike moved along the dark tunnel, but the blackness was no longer so suffocating. Spike's lungs were burning, there had been no dryness for a long time and his body was beginning to alert him to that fact. He pushed forward, hoping for more ahead. Spike felt the ceiling, he knew there would be no more bubbles of precious air. The cave now slanted slightly upward, any bubbles would roll along and exit the tunnel. Spike knew better than to hope he would find any imperfections in the roof large enough to trap the rolling bubbles.

Spike kicked off from the ceiling. He powered forward, feeling the water seethe around his beating wings. They could crack and break in this dark tunnel for all he cared. Spike would not drown. His tail beat furiously, he had to keep tight control, if he gave in to instinct he would flail about and drown. The tunnel gradually grew brighter and brighter, as the edges of Spike's vision began to blur and fade. A shaft of light filtered into the tunnel. Pain and the craving of air was all Spike could think about. He burst into light, free from the terrible darkness.

Spike saw it, a few metres above him. The surface, with its open skies and cool air. It had been far too long since he had a good breath in him. He flicked his tail, nothing. All his strength had faded, cold and oxygen-starvation had left without the energy to continue. He was smothered by his own impotence as he sank lower into the pond, the cave eager for another life. The Iron Father stretched out toward his mind, he batted the tendril away. He craved the reassurance, but didn't want to give in.

No. It wouldn't end this way. He hadn't defeated an Ursa just to drown at the bottom of a pond. He wouldn't be a corpse for someone to fish out. He wouldn't die. He wouldn't let himself. A strong beat of his wings set the water swirling around him. Every second brought the surface closer.

"He's been down too long." Ger put a check next to Spike's name. The failures of the Test of Endurance.

Jarh sighed in relief. It was dirty business, but it was finally over. He could get back to his life free from worry or, at least, this one.

Spike didn't explode from the surface in a dramatic show. No. He broke the surface, only had time to take a single, beautiful breath, and the weight of his exhaustion dragged him back down. The second attempt he considered far for successful.

He floated lazily on his back, occasionally his tail would twitch, sending him drifting toward the shore. Ger had an interested expression. "Huh." was all Spike heard him say, he set about scribbling. Jarh looked unhappy. It was a good look. Spike would've been angry, if he had the strength for it. Thoughts of food shoved their way in, elbowing their way to the forefront.

"I think we'll be carrying him back." Ger's tone indicated that 'we' did not include himself. Spike was too tired to be anything other than a limp burden to the dragons that grudgingly bore him from the test. Spike knew they were probably friends of Jarh, or at least nobles, they seemed particularly snobbish. If Ger wasn't walking with them they probably would've thrown him to the ground. Spike occasionally coughed violently, just glad to have air a plentiful commodity.

He was placed onto a raised slab, a scholar looked over him, clucking his tongue and occasionally jabbing him painfully in his chest. Spike was too tired to yelp, all that escaped his lips was an embarrassing whimper. "Rest up a bit, see how you feel in the morning. I can't feel anything wrong. Your coughs aren't wet, so that's a good sign. Probably just exhaustion." Spike responded with a grunt, he hoped it sounded thankful.

Lashed to the bed with fatigue, Spike fell into pleasant unconsciousness.