The snow frosted his dark coat, making it shimmer under the pale light of the moor, like a mantle of stars upon the night. Each spasm scattered the flakes around him, clearing the frost with involuntary movements. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
In the distance, amid that immaculate canvas, a single spot of color broke the monotony. He approached it, guided by a primal impulse, until he reached the reddish stain resting behind a rock. Petals as delicate as breath, trembling, absorbed the scant rays of sun that managed to reach the north.
Sombra marveled that something so fragile could survive in a place like this. With his snout, he brushed the tip of the flower, letting himself be wrapped in its softness.
"Hope..." he murmured to the Alpine rose.
The silence of the wilderness was so deep that he could hear his own heart, beating with a clarity he had never imagined. When he came to his senses, he raised his gaze and scanned the surroundings. Once sure that no creature had seen him, he hurried back to the place where they had left him.
Claws tore through the soft snow. His whole body jolted. He turned immediately—and saw it.
It was there. Several meters away. But that brought no comfort. He couldn't relax. If those fangs touched him... who knew what would be left of him.
The wolf stood motionless upon a rock. Silent. Unyielding. Only its ears quivered, barely, to the rhythm of the icy wind.
Sombra bared his fangs. A raw grimace, incomprehensible to ponies. The wolf, instead of retreating, tilted its head with primal curiosity. Its nose, now steady, pointed to the heart of the threat.
Sombra stepped forward. Step by step. Steady. As if fear hadn't seeped into his very bones. As if his breath didn't come out in trembling vapor.
The wolf also closed the distance. That was when Sombra could truly gauge its size: it nearly reached his throat, but was broader, denser. Built to endure.
He wanted to drive his horn into it—not to wound, but to make it understand. To make it known. But at that very moment, a voice called to him from afar.
The wolf turned. Fled swiftly to its den, like a shadow melting into the snow.
Sombra stood still. Chest heaving. Legs about to give out. He had been a breath away from death.
Without magic, he wouldn't have stood a chance if the wolf had wanted to kill him. And yet, he had stayed.
Death had breathed down his neck since he was a colt. Aggression... had been his only defense.
Starlight came trotting quickly to where he was.
"Oh... by Celestia, don't go so far," she said between gasps, worn out from the run.
"It's not like I'd die from spending five minutes on the ice," he replied in a monotone.
Starlight glared at him, waiting for him to close his mouth before continuing.
"Anyway, Twilight's recovered. We'll be able to return to Canterlot soon," she said, leaning her body against Sombra. He subtly pulled away, without looking at her.
"Right. Twilight told me you helped her back in the cave."
A brief silence fell between them, broken only by the soft thump of a hoof against the snow.
"Anyway... it doesn't benefit me if she dies now."
"Of course, because what you really want is to take Canterlot, isn't that right?" she replied with a mocking smile.
"It doesn't really matter what I want," Sombra growled.
"Sometimes you're infuriating, you know?"
In the Crystal Empire, Twilight lay in a bed in the infirmary. She didn't want to get used to these places. Her wounds, though painful, hadn't been deep, and with minimal care, she was already ready to return to Canterlot.
"Well... what's the plan?" asked Shining Armor, looking at his sister.
"At least now we know what the problem is," Twilight replied, frowning. "But honestly, I can't think of anything."
"Can't we trap him in the ice, like Amore used to do?"
"Those spells were lost centuries ago. I could try to replicate them, but it'll take time."
"We don't have much. We don't know if that wolf will come for us."
Twilight didn't respond. She only lowered her gaze, feeling the weight of the silence that followed.
Later, she went out alone. She needed to think.
She stopped at the edge of the Empire, gazing out at the frozen wasteland. They had discussed the possibility of placing a guard outside the palace, hoping to gain a moment of peace amidst the chaos. But no pony could survive in the north for long, alone.
And if she stayed outside, there would be no one left to prepare the spell.
"I'll do it," said a hoarse voice, dragged in by the icy wind.
Twilight turned with a start. Sombra was there, standing in the frozen mist, staring at her with the same dull expression as always. His presence made her hold her breath.
"I can't leave you out here alone," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sombra stepped forward a couple of paces, snow crunching beneath his hooves.
"You shouldn't worry," he replied calmly. "I don't have the strength to take the Empire."
Twilight lowered her gaze slightly, but kept her head held high.
"That's not what I meant," she murmured. "It wouldn't be fair of me to send you on such a dangerous mission."
Sombra raised an eyebrow, just slightly.
"I'm not as weak as a pony, your highness. I've survived in this land long before you ever dreamed of setting hoof here."
For a moment, silence wrapped around them like a second layer of snow. Then Twilight stepped closer and gently touched his shoulder.
"Thank you for saving me…" she said sincerely. "I'm sorry I can't help you the way you truly need."
He looked away, hardened by years of pride, but his voice came out lower, more honest.
"I'm doing this for me. Not for you. There's something here… something calling to me."
Twilight looked at him, as if trying to decipher the shadow he always seemed to carry with him.
"If you help with this mission," she said at last, her tone softer, "maybe I can convince the others that it would be a good idea… to release you from my spell."
Sombra allowed himself a smile. It wasn't ironic or bitter. Just a shadow of what had once been something real.
A rare truce settled between them, as the wind continued to sweep across the ice.
"What makes you think I won't turn on you the moment you do?"
"Have a little hope in yourself."
When Twilight said "hope," Sombra's heart skipped a beat. Without another word, he slowly walked into the frozen storm, as if he meant to lose himself in it.
What followed, for Sombra, passed in the background. He only caught fragments of the conversation between Twilight and the rulers of the Crystal Empire. They discussed, they argued, until finally, they were convinced that he was the best option. Not without making it clear that Twilight would remain responsible for him.
Later, they traveled together in a private carriage, isolated from the outside world. During the journey, Twilight calmly explained the terrain, how to move, how to take care of himself. But when she got to the part about where he would sleep, Sombra stopped listening. His mind was elsewhere.
They gave him a rustic but sturdy cabin, as far out as possible within the safe zone of the tundra. Inside, he found blankets, a few climbing tools, and a medical kit.
When Twilight finally left him alone, Sombra went out walking across the icy plain. He saw nothing but snowdrifts and frozen walls, no sign of life.
His mind returned to his earliest memories, when he writhed in the snow, barely feeling the tingling of nerves fighting to retain warmth.
Now the cold felt different. It was almost a caress, like that of a baby missing the warmth of the womb. The wind reminded him he was alive, brushing cold across his coat and running through his trembling veins.
As he ventured beyond the familiar landscape, Sombra began to see what most ponies ignored. The snow dunes were tinged with a soft pink as dawn arrived, slowly dragged in by the sun's light. The pale canvas turned orange like the sun itself, yet still mingled with the deep, cold blue that only snow knows.
Even the icicles on the roof of the glacier sparkled, as if a perpetual rain had frozen midfall in an enchanted forest.
Ponies had lived—and would go on living—without ever knowing such wonders. They were not creatures of winter. If not for necessity, they never would have inhabited these lands; even Amore had built her oasis in the tundra, like any other pony settlement fleeing the cold.
There were few things that truly stirred Sombra. Few that could tear him away from his doubts and fears. And yet, that moment… that fleeting instant of unexpected beauty… was gone too soon.
Without much resolve, Sombra made his way to the most remote edge of the wasteland, where the ice met the black waters of a river. The path was long and desolate, with wind howling relentlessly through cracks and frozen slopes. That corner seemed forgotten even by winter itself.
Despite the cold, the sun shone with unusual intensity. Its light, reflected off the crystalline surfaces, seared the eyes and burned the skin as if trying to scorch what the ice had failed to break. The sun's dry heat mingled with icy gusts that sliced like blades.
It was a place inhospitable, hostile to any creature… which was precisely why it unsettled him. No sane being would seek refuge there, and yet, that was where the signs pointed.
There was no sound: no birdsong, no crackling of branches, not even the murmur of the river. Only the distant echo of his own hooves crunching on hardened snow.
Every shadow between the rocks looked like a hidden back. Every uneven shape beneath the snow, a trap lying in wait. The silence wasn't empty — it was expectant. As if the wasteland itself were holding its breath.
Sombra pressed forward, knowing that what he was looking for could be closer than it seemed… or simply watching him from afar, waiting for him to lower his guard.
He moved slowly, each step crunching beneath his hooves like a whisper in the vastness. He had learned not to trust silence. He knew it often hid more than a thousand roars.
The river, though narrow, twisted sluggishly, covered by a thin sheet of ice. No visible water flowed, but a faint murmur could be heard beneath the surface, like a sigh trapped below.
Along one bank, the snow piled in strange shapes, as if something had once crawled beneath it, leaving marks behind — marks whose intent had long since frozen over.
The air began to grow heavier. Not from the cold, which still cut sharply, but from that viscous feeling that sometimes comes before danger — as if the whole world paused to watch.
Sombra knew that feeling well. He'd felt it on battlefields, in dark hallways, in dreams where he wasn't sure if he was truly alone.
He stopped for a moment. No tracks. No wind. No birds. Yet the sun still blazed above, its light reflecting off the ice in a silent fury.
It didn't make sense. This place wasn't meant to be warm. That shine wasn't natural.
He turned an ear. Nothing.
He walked a few steps more.
And then he felt it — not a sound, but a shift in pressure. As if something had moved far away, beneath the snow. So subtle it could have been an illusion… but it wasn't.
Sombra said nothing. Showed no fear. He simply kept walking, body tense, senses alert, certain now that he was not alone — even if he couldn't yet see his stalker.
The ice cracked. Not like before.
It was drier, sharper. Closer.
A crack with intent.
Sombra turned his head just a second before the impact.
The wolf burst from the blizzard like a living spear — black and massive. Its fangs closed on empty air, just missing his mane. The air exploded around them as they collided, rolling through the snow in a tangle of claws and bodies, relentless.
Sombra growled, his hind legs slipping, but he managed to brace himself. The weight of the wolf pushed him back, sliding. He hit the ground on his side and felt the beast's breath strike his face — hot, rancid, like it came from an abyss.
The wolf's eyes were pitch black. No light, no fury, no fear. Just a boundless void staring at him through pure beast.
With brute force, Sombra twisted his neck and sank his teeth into the wolf's flank. There was no cry, only a dry grunt, followed by the animal stumbling backward.
He took the chance to spin and slam the creature into an ice formation.
The beast collapsed into the snow.
It didn't stay down. It rose immediately, paws bloodstained, breath ragged.
But it didn't attack again.
They stood still for a long moment.
The wind passed between them, lifting whirls of frost.
The wolf tilted its head, as if trying to understand what stood before it.
Then, without another sound, it turned and disappeared among the snowy mounds, blending back into the landscape.
Sombra watched until it vanished.
His chest heaved with frantic rhythm. He felt the sting on his sides, the warm blood trickling through his coat. He stayed there, trembling — not from the cold, but from how close it had been. Again.
The wasteland watched in silence.
Always waiting for the next attempt.
He tried to chase it, but the wolf vanished into the snow like a specter. In a matter of seconds, its figure blended with the folds of the terrain, and silence swallowed him whole. Tracking it would be difficult. Too difficult.
Weeks passed. Shadow roamed the wasteland relentlessly, facing the white monotony and the constant cold. There was no trace, no footprints, no recent scents. Only snow, wind, and the biting silence.
Then came the message from Twilight. She had identified an area that, according to ancient Empire maps, might harbor creatures sealed long ago. A forgotten corner on the farthest edge of the wasteland, where the ice gave way to a river hidden by mist.
Shadow went without enthusiasm. He didn't expect to find anything.
The region, despite the cold, burned under an unrelenting sun. Rays bounced off the hardened snow, reflecting in every direction, forcing him to squint. It was the kind of place no sane creature would choose to hide. And, for that very reason, maybe it was the only place where something was still left to discover.
Two frozen mountains rose facing each other, forming the entrance to a vast icy cave. Inside, the gloom revealed silent galleries where ancient monsters lay trapped in thick layers of crystal. Some were so blurred by the passage of time that their silhouette was barely distinguishable, as if the ice tried to forget what it once held.
Still, their shapes were unmistakable: giant scaly beasts, creatures covered in dark fur or completely bald, feathered bodies evoking twisted birds, serpentine beings that seemed ripped from a nightmare. Many were no different from the horrors told to foals in bedtime stories.
A colossal crab caught his attention. It had died with one of its legs still stretched toward the crystal, as if it had tried to escape in its last moment.
The sound of his own hooves echoed on the frozen walls, accompanying him as the only witness of his passage. Then, in a remote corner, he discovered a narrow hole that, though dark and cramped, seemed wide enough for a solitary pony.
Without much thought, he tilted his head and forced the entrance with his dull, crimson horn. The frost yielded with a crack, and after a few moments, he found a hidden passage. He followed it to a small chamber carved with precision. The ice wall was so carefully sculpted it served as a rudimentary shelf holding scrolls and remnants of forgotten writing.
—This is probably what Twilight meant —he murmured to himself, barely audible, as his breath froze in the air.
He stepped away from the scroll shelf and began to search the place. It was a modest refuge, but surprisingly functional. A futon hardened by years of abandonment rested beside a rustic yet clever oil lamp. In the center, a worktable held the remains of what seemed to have been an improvised laboratory.
Shadow remembered hearing that Amore was a talented alchemist, but he had never paid much attention to those stories. Still, something in the atmosphere suggested this place had belonged to more than just a simple explorer.
He stumbled upon something on the floor: a simple, dusty satchel. It wasn't the kind Amore would carry — too rough, too practical. Examining it more closely, he noticed a missing clasp on the closure; the torn edge clearly showed it had been ripped off in haste.
He opened it cautiously. Inside, he found some torn scrolls, broken quills, and among them, a modest notebook with a rough cover. He opened it slowly; the pages creaked as they separated. On the first page, written in already faded ink, was:
First month of research north of the empire of...
Northern Wasteland. Now I understand why explorers called me crazy when I came here. It's hard to find your way, and supplies are running low. I've heard howls near the ice waterfall. I know it's foolish for a pony to follow them, but it might be my only clue.
Shadow looked up at the ice surrounding him. That place held secrets older than his hatred… and perhaps more dangerous.
Pages after tedious logs about routes and weather, the diary took on a more personal tone. The handwriting became more uneven, as if the author wrote hastily or with trembling hands.
I've managed to find Amore's secret laboratory. It's… exciting. I know many would kill to be here, and sometimes I can't believe I actually made it.
Fortunately, she left a spell to dissipate the cold in this section. So, at least for now, I can stop worrying about firewood. It's ridiculous that I'm writing as if someone could hear me. But this diary is all I have…
It's been years since I learned to be alone. Since I lost my only friend.
Before Shadow could wonder who had been brave — or foolish — enough to explore this place, a faint rustle of fur broke the silence of the tiny room.
His old "friend" had returned.
The wolf emerged from the shadows, sliding like smoke among the crystals. It circled him with slow, almost ceremonial steps, drawing a circle of stalking. Its eyes, black as obsidian, didn't blink.
Shadow didn't flinch. He straightened his neck, puffed out his chest, and tried to appear bigger. It wasn't the first time he faced beasts. Since he was a foal, he had developed a peculiar fondness for observing animals and learned to read their language.
But that wolf didn't fit any pattern.
It neither retreated nor attacked. It just measured the distance, calculating. It paced between the cave's edges and the outside ice like a guardian defending its domain.
Shadow understood then.
This was its territory. The creature had no intention of sharing it. In a white desert where every prey is scarce and every threat intolerable… he had been marked as the next meal.
And he couldn't let that happen.