CHAPTER 3: The first New Friendship in a Thousand Years.
Danny Hebert slumped into the tired embrace of his old living room chair, the fabric worn from years of similar moments of exhaustion, though none quite as harrowing as this. Taylor had been missing for days, vanishing into thin air after what had transpired at school on the 3rd of January—a cruel prank that went beyond childish malice. His daughter had briefly mentioned bullying before, but Danny had no idea of the severity until the authorities showed him the state of her locker, filled with vile and unspeakable filth. The image haunted him, each moment without Taylor twisting the knife of guilt deeper into his gut. The PRT had an agent come by, and their questions were pointed and unsettlingly opaque, leaving him with more dread than answers. Why were they involved in a missing teen's case to this extent? Had a cape done something and absconded with his daughter? They left without enlightening him about the reason for their involvement, adding another layer of frustration and helplessness to his growing despair.
The local police were no more helpful than they were the day his daughter had disappeared. They expressed their routine assurances that they didn't have any new avenues to look for her with a detached professionalism that did nothing to ease Danny's mind. "No leads," they'd said, a phrase that echoed endlessly in his mind, mocking him with its finality. Every hour without news seemed to drag into eternity, each tick of the clock a stark reminder of Taylor's absence. He'd made to call her friends, only to realize that he never got her a cellphone and he didn't know any numbers or names for them. He scoured places she might have gone to find solace, but every venture turned up empty, every stone unturned led only to dead ends.
The Barnes household had been a bust; a tearful Emma informed him that she and Taylor had had a falling out at the start of the previous school year, and she had no idea where Taylor could have gone. The bearded PRT agent arriving at the Barnes house as he was leaving had been odd, but the simple statement that he was covering for the lack of manpower in the BPPD while not assigned to a PRT case had finally explained why the PRT was even involved. Returning home, feeling a mix of desperation and defeat, Danny walked over to the fridge. His hand trembled as he reached for what he had promised himself he wouldn't need again outside of simple pleasure—the cold solace of a beer. The click of the tab breaking the seal echoed oddly in the quiet kitchen, sounding too loud, too final. He stared at the can, his mind a whirlwind of fear and sorrow, the cold metal a small, insufficient comfort against the uncertainty of his daughter's fate. He took a sip, and the bitter taste rolled over his tongue.
Director Rennick sat heavily behind his desk, his office feeling more like a bunker as he faced the unfolding crisis that had dominated his week so far. Taylor Hebert's disappearance had escalated from a standard missing persons case to a potential scandal that threatened to rock the very foundations of the PRT's Ward program. The latest blow had come from an unexpected angle: a routine check of Sophia Hess's phone records, triggered by her name surfacing during the BPPD's investigation. Her handler had been out sick that day and her stand in had been the one to carryout the check of the mobile devices remote backup. The contents were more than incriminating; they hinted at a level of misconduct that went beyond simple bullying, her probation wasn't just broken it was violated in ways that could scarce be believed. The text messages painted a picture of harassment and orchestrated attacks against several targets, implicating Sophia in ways that would not only derail her career as a Ward but also invite national public and legal scrutiny into how the PRT managed its young heroes if it ever got out.
Armsmaster, appearing out of uniform and thus less conspicuous, had been quietly brought in to delve deeper into the matter. His task was to sift through the digital trails and corroborate the findings in person as a law officer without raising internal suspicions or alarm into those being investigated. Rennick had every confidence in his abilities, but the stakes were extraordinarily high. Every extra piece of data or evidence Armsmaster uncovered seemed to add another layer of complexity and danger to the situation. The locker incident was a likely trigger event, Taylor missing was likely due to the gaining of powers or unknown power interactions. Rennick mulled over their next steps, knowing that each move had to be calculated with precision. The potential fallout from exposing one of their own could be catastrophic, not just for Sophia Hess and Taylor Hebert, but for the integrity of the Ward program itself.
Debating how to frame this briefing to Director Emily Piggot was causing Rennick a headache. Piggot was known for her no-nonsense approach and her insistence on absolute transparency within the organization to the rest of the organization if not the public when able. However, revealing the full extent of the mess might prompt immediate and harsh actions against the PRT by the PRT which would lead to rumors and a near certainty of a future leak of what had happened, leading to a public scandal. Rennick drafted notes, outlining various scenarios on how to present the findings. He needed a strategy that would allow them to manage the situation internally before anything leaked to the public. As he organized his thoughts, the weight of potential outcomes loomed large; whatever path they chose, the next few days were crucial in shaping the future of the PRT's Ward program, young parahumans and their parents needed to see the PRT as a safe option and that image could not be allowed to be compromised. To ensure that that image was not tainted, the way things were handled could not be as standard procedure dictated they should happen. Piggot would hate it as much if not more than he did but she would understand the need, and they would handle this while simultaneously tucking it out of sight, somewhere where the media would never find it.
Vista stepped into the Wards' common area, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of her teammate. The space was unusually quiet; the usual banter and clatter of activity were there but lacked a certain disruptive presence she had become begrudgingly used to. "Has anyone seen Shadow Stalker?" she asked, her voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. Heads shook in response, a chorus of negatives echoing around the room as each Ward looked up from their various distractions. Everyone seemed as clueless as she was, but Vista noticed Triumph's reaction; he seemed uncomfortable, shifting in his seat and avoiding her gaze.
"Why do you look like you swallowed a lemon, Triumph?" Vista prodded, her curiosity piqued by his obvious discomfort. Triumph coughed, straightening up as if readying himself for a patrol he wasn't scheduled to lead. "Uh, it's nothing major. Just need a new understocking for my suit, this one is itching something fierce," he replied, a bit too hastily. His answer hung awkwardly in the air, failing to satisfy Vista's concerns. Her eyes narrowed slightly, sensing there was more to the story than a simple wardrobe malfunction. However, she decided not to push further, at least not in front of the others.
Though part of her was concerned about Sophia's unexplained absence, another, smaller part of Vista couldn't help but feel a relief at the lack of tension that usually accompanied Shadow Stalker's presence. It was a guilty pleasure, feeling freer in the common space without Sophia's sharp edges, aggressive words, and darker moods casting a shadow over the group. With a mental shrug, Vista turned her attention away from the mystery absence of the Ward she liked least and towards her duties for the day.
Reluctantly, she headed towards the operations room to start her assigned shift of console duty, a task she found particularly tedious. Being stuck at PRT headquarters while others patrolled the Boardwalk wasn't her idea of an exciting day. She preferred the field, the direct action, and immediate impact of being out there making a difference, no matter how small. As she settled in front of the large screens and started monitoring the various feeds, her mind drifted occasionally back to Triumph's odd behavior and Sophia's absence, wondering what it all might mean. Despite her reservations about console duty, she knew her role was crucial, keeping her team informed and safe as they faced the dangers of the city as well as acting as the emergency lifeline to contact the adults if they got into serious trouble.
Still, she would prefer to be in the field, taking the fight to her enemies. She had faced Hookwolf and lived, though she dared not tell anyone about that particular incident. Even so, she knew what not to do if she ever faced him again. They may not know it, but the gangs were at war with her, and she with them. There would come a day when her school friends could live without fear of being kidnapped and sold into the flesh trade or just simply being attacked when they got off the bus after school. Hers was a righteous cause, and she would see that day come to be if she had to singlehandedly capture all the gangs and twist the Endbringers into space-warped pretzels. Once she was old enough that the adults treated her seriously and let her off the leash, she could get things done. One day.
But for now, console duty.
She awoke with a scream, which was more of a neighing whinny, which didn't help matters at all. She scrambled about and rolled in the grass as she tried to get away from the hooved appendages that were not her five-fingered hands and panicked even more when those hooved legs followed her in her attempt to get away.
"What in the fuzzle clutterbucking widdershins!"
She eventually made it to her proverbial feet and started running; however, the meadow wasn't that big, and she was cognizant enough to avoid running into the burning sulfuric air outside it. She ran in circles instead. The feeling of her wings made her run faster as she tried to outpace them and get away from this new state of being.
She also avoided knocking over the statue, but the realization she had enough body mass to do that now kept her running in circles for a while longer. She eventually calmed enough to think about what she was actually doing, upon the occurrence of which, her brain politely reminded her that she had no idea how to walk, much less run, on four hooves. Whereupon she ended up in a tangled heap of wings and limbs by the pond.
"Snickerdoodling Lollygag!" She finally burst into tears as her panic abated.
She lay there in a sniffling, burbling heap as she came to grips that, no, it wasn't a dream, and yes, she was really no longer human. Her state of self-pity endured until her stomach, or in this case, stomachs made their displeasure at their emptiness known.
She shivered and looked about at the grass and flowers in the clearing; they had been pretty before when she had been dying, but now they looked outright delectable. She gulped in nervousness at what she was suddenly contemplating, mind going back to old fairytales where eating food made whatever happened to the character's body permanent rather than temporary. Then the smell hit her new nose as she inhaled.
"Ohhhhhhh, flock it!" She cried and promptly ate a dandelion flower.
It was glorious.
She came back to herself after eating about half of the flowers around the pond and a lot of the taller grass stalks on top of that. She noticed that the first plants she ate were already regrowing at a rapid pace, which was relieving because she wasn't full yet, although she was no longer starving.
She also realized that she was moving like a horse would, which promptly caused her to lose her balance and fall on her side. She spent several hours after that just trying to get up and move around consciously and not just by not thinking too hard. She couldn't solely rely on her subconscious to move her around by her new instincts. The light was dimming by the time she had figured out how to consciously walk. At which point she stood in front of the statue of Luna and pondered what her life had become.
She eventually took advantage of the last of the daylight to better examine herself, being able to move her head to examine her back and below herself was weird, even if it now felt natural to her.
She was still as she was in the dream before the mirror, an Alicorn with a gleaming coat of black, her mane started black but became white flames as did her tail and the small tufts of hair by her hooves. All of it bellowed in an unfelt wind, not unlike Luna's mane in the dream, or Celestia's mane in the dream mirror.
Her mane was currently smaller than the other two Alicorns, but she felt that it would grow in time. Her horn and her wings were now in proportion with her body and were no longer comically small as they had been when she saw herself in the mirror. There was a design on both of her flanks, a white-winged sword over a golden shield. Using the smooth surface of the pond to better view it, she saw that the sword was also a set of scales weighing white flames; there were four stars in the design, while the gold and white shield was behind the rest of it. Her black coat was the backdrop that made it very obvious to anyone who would see her from the side or from behind.
Which made her realize that she was technically naked and didn't feel that embarrassed about it, which caused her lack of embarrassment to make her feel embarrassed. She had to face hoof in order to get her mind off of that line of thought. She had no way to wear her ruined clothing by the pond and she had no way to make new clothing.
And if Luna and Celestia were any indication, Alicorns didn't wear clothing outside of battle armor. She would revisit this issue later; she didn't have time to waste thinking on something she couldn't fix.
The sun had set, and she was losing light quickly; she settled by the statue and pondered her new form as she tried to think everything through and what she would do next. Should she hate Luna for turning her into this form? Should she thank her for saving her life? Both? What should she do? What did her future look like? How did she get home from this Equestria? What did becoming an Alicorn mean for her in the long run?
Would she ever get home?
She pondered and worried, analyzed and thought over everything that had happened until she felt sleep taking her away from her worries.
The stars appeared as they had before; the door rose from the ground in all its intricate design. And just as she did the night before, Luna knocked and waited for permission to enter Taylor's dream.
Taylor lifted her head and sniffled her permission, whereupon the princess of the moon swept into her dream like an understanding, empathetic force of nature. Taylor couldn't remember the last time someone besides her own mother had comforted her through a breakdown as Luna did. Emma had been there for her before becoming her tormentor, but more as a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen. Not like this.
Annette was the last person to care for her this way when she was emotionally distressed, and that had been several years before she had died. Pulling herself together, Taylor forced herself to focus on the questions she needed to ask before the dream ended.
"Luna, I need to know more. I want to go home to my father, and I need to know how. I am like a case 53 now, and people will be after me if I get back, so I need to be able to defend myself. I need to know what being an Alicorn means with my concept, what consequences that brings. I have so much I need to know, and I don't even know where to begin," she said.
Luna slowly nuzzled her affectionately, something Taylor wanted to initially shy away from but instead found herself leaning into. It brought comfort to her and made her think that everything was going to be alright; it was like hugging her mother again, but she didn't have the will to admit that even to herself.
"I will teach whatever you wish to know, and I shall tell you whatever else I think you might need, to the best of my ability. I would like to think that at the very least we are now friends, Taylor, Aresia, whichever name you keep for yourself. I will always be willing to help you."
Her words were so relieving for Taylor that the younger Alicorn found herself crying again. In response, the elder Alicorn brought her into a proper hug.
"Luna," she whispered in the Moon princess's mane, "I accept your friendship."
While a statue stood vigil and a young Alicorn slept, magic exploded across Equestria as the first true, new friendship was formed in a thousand years...
And in response, Harmony stirred.
The night hung heavy with a light drizzle that added a slick sheen to the asphalt, making the reflective lights of police cruisers and fire engines dance eerily on the wet surface. Officers from the BBPD cordoned off the area, their figures casting long shadows that flickered in the red and blue lights. Nearby, firefighters worked tirelessly, directing strong jets of water towards a mangled truck that had flipped and caught fire upon impact. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning rubber and metal, mixed with the earthy petrichor rising from the rain-soaked pavement.
Officer Jenna Marquez leaned against the hood of her patrol car, watching the firefighters combat the last of the flames. She turned to her partner, Officer Dan Reynolds, who was busy unspooling more caution tape around the perimeter. "Did you see the speed he must've been doing?" she asked, shaking her head slightly. "Hydroplaned right into the van before flipping. It's a miracle the delivery driver walked away."
Dan nodded, securing the tape to a nearby lamppost. "Yeah, looked like a scene from a stunt movie, except in this case the stuntman didn't make it. The cab of the truck is completely crushed. I don't think the driver had a chance," he replied grimly. They both knew the dangers of high-speed driving, especially under wet conditions, but witnessing the consequences firsthand always left a somber mood hanging in the air.
As they stood there, another officer, Lieutenant Harris, joined them. He had been coordinating with the fire department and now came over with an update. "Fire's almost out, but it's going to be a while before we can clear the scene. We'll need to investigate thoroughly, given the state of that truck." He glanced over at the extinguished vehicle, the twisted metal barely recognizable now. "Let's just be thankful we're not looking at more casualties. The delivery driver was shaken up but coherent—lucky guy." The officers nodded, relieved at least for that small mercy as they turned their attention back to the scene, ready to manage whatever came next under the drizzling night sky.
The kitchen was steeped in shadows, the overhead lights left unlit, giving the space a muted, abandoned feel. An old-fashioned rotary phone, its once-vibrant red casing faded to a dull maroon, hung on a peeling floral wallpapered wall. Next to it, an answering machine—a bulky, antiquated model—sat perched on a small wooden shelf, wires trailing like tendrils down to the socket. It was a relic from a time before smartphones, still stubbornly performing its duty. The rest of the kitchen seemed frozen in a bygone era, with ceramic canisters for flour and sugar and a chrome toaster that reflected the dim light from the window.
Outside, the morning sun crept up on the neighborhood, casting light on the shadows through the windows as they fled from it into the crevasses and cabinets. A clock ticked monotonously on the wall, punctuating the silence that filled the room. It was an ordinary morning, yet the air was thick with the unspoken, the seats around the table standing empty, the mumbled good mornings and clatter of dishes conspicuously absent.
Suddenly, the sharp trill of the phone shattered the silence. It rang insistently, each shrill echo bouncing off the linoleum and formica, filling the room with a sense of urgency. The phone continued to ring, unanswered, as if the sound could somehow compel a response from the empty house.
After several persistent rings, the answering machine sprang to life with a soft click. "You've reached the Heberts. We can't come to the phone right now, but please leave a message after the beep, and we'll get back to you as soon as we can," a male voice, warm and slightly rough around the edges, informed the caller. It was a voice from happier days, before sorrow threshed it like wheat and husked away the joy and liveliness from it, leaving it a shell of what it once was.
There was a brief pause on the line, the kind filled with hesitation, then a different voice, professional and concerned, broke the silence. "Hello, this is Dr. Stevens from the ER at Brockton Bay General. We're trying to reach any family members. If anyone is at home, please pick up. We have some urgent information regarding a family member. It's important that we speak with you as soon as possible." The message trailed off into the beep, the weight of the words hanging in the air like the unshed rain outside the window.
But there was no one there to listen.
BEHOLD! Aresia's Cutie Mark! You can see it at( https:double-forward-slashimgurdotcom/a/gxuRyGl ) (fix the link by replacing the italicized words with their namesakes)
(Authors note)
Looks like I'm riding the runaway muse train, WHEEEEE!
I will be working on The Wreck after my muse is done bullying me over this one, sigh.
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