//------------------------------//
// Chapter Eight: A Chance Encounter. 
// Story: The "Tourist" 
// by Monochrome-1 
//------------------------------//

A few hours later alone and with his thoughts, Zephyr didn’t really know what else to do as he walked down the streets in the middle of the night. Go to a store? It was still midnight, and dragons still slept at the somewhat normal hours that everyone else. Look for a place to sleep? He didn’t feel tired. Look for a place to eat? He could, but he didn’t feel hungry, and oddly enough the thought much less the act of eating felt strangely off. It had been a few weeks ever since he got the compass, a few weeks since he had met with discord, and in those few week’s he hadn’t had anything to drink, drink, or even sleep. How did chewing or even swallowing work again? 
Stopping for a moment Zephyr awkwardly tried to recreate the motions that he remembered. As he did his mouth felt stiff, his jaw felt loose, and something in his head about this said that it was wrong, very wrong, but for what reasons he didn’t know. That thought whatever it was simply evaded him. 
It was strange, very strange. He didn’t feel the need to do any of those things anymore, at least not as long as he didn’t think about it. Because if he did it felt like a distant gnawing at his head. Annoying, unpleasant, but something that could be ignored  so that it wouldn't bother him, and it was strangely easy doing so. Like the thought was a magnet and he was another one turned upside down. He could feel the pressure on his head if he thought about it or tried to do it, but as long as he ignored it, it went away. If he did focus on it it simply tried to evade him, only becoming apparent if he really wanted it to be. So far, he had been without twenty or so odd days of running around with Discord’s blessing and without much trouble so far.
Or was it even twenty days? The other part of Discord’s blessing didn’t help with keeping track of time either. Because that dealt with something important, very important, time, and his memory. Things felt foggy as he walked from place to place, or doing things that he didn’t actively involve himself with. Interviewing the people in the chancery or in the hotel for example was easy and it kept him focused.
But the moment that he walked out of it, or he let himself have a few moments to relax that didn’t end up going from room to room like in the chancery then the feeling came over again. It was like switching the channel so that your tv only played static while you raised the volume. Thoughts became hard to have to the point where you didn’t have them anymore, your vision blurred, your actions felt sluggish, and before you know it you blacked out. Only coming back in the circumstances when one event was about to happen: the train coming to a stop, night coming back on the boat, and before he even got to The Isles going from place to place. 
The biggest example of this? The Everfree. He didn’t realize this until now, but going through it was very much like before now that he reflected on the trip. Ordinarily going through the Everfree would take someone a week on average if they didn’t know what they were doing, three days if they had a guide and a trail, but he managed to do it in a single night. Something that he heard was impossible or at the very least was only done by a particular alchemist in that forest before.
But…was it a single night? He never saw a search party after, or even one before, but he did see one during it, or did he? The memory part of those little trips thanks to Discord’s blessing didn’t help with things. He could remember things happening during those times he faded away, but faintly. Almost as if they were written on paper with ink and they were washed away with water. With him only being able to make out a word or two on it, but nothing more than that. 
Within that case he could remember walking through the forest, going through trees, tripping over logs, and the distant light beams from flashlights, but…nothing more than that: no words, no guards, no vehicles, nothing. Nothing except that faint inkling that he had in his head that it was real, but combined with the confusion that maybe it was just a dream and he was imagining things. 
But this isn’t me dreaming, this is real, Zephyr tried to reassure himself as he stood alone in the empty streets. I can breathe, I can feel the weight of my suitcase, I can see the rings that Father Silver gave me, and If I pinch myself to the point it hurts I don’t wake up. He stopped his thoughts for a moment before he admitted to himself, eh, that last one takes some effort though. He wiped away a bit of blood from the small cut that was on his hand. 
“But still, I don't know where I am, what time it is, or even what day it is,” Zephyr grumbled out loud to himself as he took a look around with a grimace. “Hmph, feels like I'm back in the medieval fairs for sun’s sake.”
The reason for why he said this was because he was in the northern districts of The Isles, and all around him were keeps, manors, country houses, and more, all of which was fit not for ordinary men, but instead giants. Giants that were either twice his size at the regular and small, or five or ten times as tall depending if they were old, but all of which were elaborate and palace-like in their quality. One that felt felt larger and taller as he got closer. 
Because in this place a low stone cut wall that he saw minutes before was a border became a high wall for him when he got closer, a simple garden turned into a sprawling field, ordinary statues became masterpieces, a fanciful stone gate, and the entire place was laid down with mosaiced brick. With each and every place that he could see in his site having enough space inside to move around, sprawl, host a party, and do whatever the owner wanted with space to spare. He knew a single place like this would go for a king's ransom back home, but here and now it all just felt like an ordinary suburban home.  One that anyone who was anyone in The Isles could easily afford with the cash and the treasure he knew they had.
“I guess that’s the only thing that they could do with it to be honest,” Zephyr mused to himself as he looked at a wall and idly picked at it with his fingernail. “That or store it all away for a rainy day that’ll never come.”
He didn’t know why, but the more he looked at the wonder, the splendor, and the pure wealth that this place had the more it made him feel sad. All of this cash, this wealth, this treasure being spent on nothing but fancy manors, pools, gardens, and more for what? Looking around he noticed that none of them even seemed to be inhabited right now. He couldn't hear anything, he couldn't see any lights from any of the buildings around him, and he was sure that if he simply walked in nobody would ever think to look. It was just a big waste of cash to his eyes that did nothing for a dragon apart from giving them something to do with the money they had. 
But, what else was there to do if you were a dragon and you weren’t interested in technology or modern day products. Use it to help the poor? No ,not that, never. Because from what Zephyr knew, even if It was prejudiced, dragon’s didn’t pay attention to that kind of stuff. If you weren’t on the top or if you weren’t family, then you were fit to be nothing more than gutter trash fit for the rats. The strong and the wise ruled, the weak or those that were best in the position to do served, and life moved on as it had for hi guess to be time immemorial.
Shame the only way things are different now is because they're facing extinction I guess,” Zephyr mused to himself as he moved on. I’m positive they know they are being scammed for everything they buy, but with the way things are now they probably don’t care. Like the others have said, amass as much tech as you can, modernize, and do what you can before it’s too late.
Honestly, I wonder what they could have done if they weren’t focused on saving themselves from this. Zephyr mused to himself as he walked down the sidewalk before he let out a melancholic sigh. “Probably something big, something lasting, and maybe even something beautiful. Nothing like what the lady near the port is doing I'm sure.”
“Well,” a voice said from his left side, “if you want to find out, I can tell you.” 
“Hmm?” Zephyr blurted, turning around to face the source of the noise confused.  Had he heard what he thought?
The source of the noise came to be a woman that was inside one of the buildings that he was walking alongside. The house itself being a country house of sorts and sporting a large iron fence with bars thicker than he was and each being over fifteen feet tall. The woman was dressed in a macabre outfit of gray robes that were decorated with skulls, bones, and small macabre fetishes. All of which was finished with a gray stone mask that made it impossible to figure out what they were underneath. 
“Did you,” he started to word out before he was interrupted.
“A lucky guess,” she said brushing off the accusation, “I've had those thoughts before when I got here enough times that I've stopped counting on just what the dragons could do if they focused on something that wasn’t for themselves.” 
“And what conclusion did you come to?” he asked her, putting a hand on his hip and raising an eyebrow.
“That they could do something brave, something heroic, and something that nobody had ever done before,” she answered him. “All without spending a single cent if they just cared enough.” 
She waved for him to come inside, and he did, squeezing through the iron bars with only a grunt of effort before he walked through the courtyards until he was face to face with her. 
“So,” Zephyr said, taking a quick look at her. “Mind telling me about it? What is it?” 
“Well,” she playfully said, “it’s about them taking in a group of people that have been hated across the entire world for being who they are without expecting much in return.” 
“Are they bad people?” he asked her with a raised eyebrow. “Murderers, criminals, thieves?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Perhaps who they may have been affiliated with in the past, but not them. They’ve never hurt anyone nor have any intention to at the moment.” 
“Well,” Zephyr said snorting playfully. “Who are these people? Are they refugees from another country? Scientists working on experimental weapons? Soldiers or mercenaries?” 
“Scholars in an obscure art that’s been hated across the world,” she answered him, “necromancy.” 
And with that last word, Zephyr’s playful demeanor melted away as a cold air came into the conversation. He’d heard of necromancy before, everyone had in the modern day, whether it was from a book, a show, or reading the laws, the general knowledge about it was clear. Necromancy was the art of raising the dead, getting them to serve you, and setting them loose among the living. Something of which was highly illegal and punishable by death today, even in Equestria..  
Zephyr took a step back in fear. He’d heard of what they could do if you let them have a chance. Of how they could drain your soul with a look, rip the bones from your body with a touch, and imprison your soul into a gem that kept them alive and strong but that slowly drained you until you were nothing. The movies may have exaggerated them to some degree, but the history books didn’t. Entire towns and civilizations were confirmed wiped clean from the earth by them and a tidal wave of the undead. 
Knowing what he was most likely thinking, the robed woman merely rolled her eyes. 
 “Oh don’t give me that look,” she snapped at him, annoyed. “I get that look and worse from the rest of the world on a daily basis, and I'm not taking it from you just because you’ve hopped up on the propaganda. I already told you that I and the others don’t hurt people, so if you want to learn more, then I suggest stopping it here and now.” 
“Or,” she began as she pointed towards the fence from where he came in with a thumb. “You can run away with your tail between your legs, and not learn what I have to say. Of how the dragons are doing something more than just helping themselves.”
“A-are you sure?” he stuttered out. 
“Positive,” she reassured him with a nod of her head. “We wouldn't hurt a fly if we could.” 
“A-Alright,” he said, trying to calm himself down. It was a bit hard as he was standing next to a person that he thought could drain his soul, and he couldn't get the jitters out of his hands,  but he tried and as he did so she calmed down. 
 “Good,” she said, her tone becoming lighter than before with a touch of sweetness,” follow me and we’ll talk and walk.” 
With a sigh, Zephyr did so walking alongside her as she led him deeper into the country house’s garden. The only thought on his being the wish that doing so wouldn't be a decision that he regretted later.

“I guess some context is needed,” the robed woman said as she led him through. “Just to help dispel the fear that I won’t rob your soul from you.”
“That would be uh…nice to say the least,” Zephyr hesitantly said as he followed her, keeping a nervous grip on his suitcase.
“Well to begin,” she said as she led Zephyr through an exotic exhibit of multicolored flowers. “Necromancy itself is a type of magic that is associated with decay, life, the soul, and in turn the dead. With its most renowned use being the users puppeteering dead corpses through their will so they can do their bidding. Oftentimes  with those intentions being that of wanting to inflict grievous harm on someone or something. Because of this, it is outlawed in nearly every part of the world with the penalty of death or life imprisonment depending on the circumstances. With those nations that do so having the belief that anyone who uses it is corrupting themselves as it is perceived as an evil art whose use corrupts someone's soul and moral faculties.”
“Right,” Zephyr said, nodding to the information that he already knew. “So what’s there to say about it? It’s an evil art, the world sees it as evil, because it is evil.” 
“But it isn’t,” she said, holding up a finger with her back turned towards him. “Did you not listen to what I just said? Necromancy is perceived to be evil, not that it is. It is in fact simply a magic that the world perceives to be evil.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asked her. “Pretty sure all of those movies, books, radio shows, and more have something different to say.” 
“Then answer me this,” she said, turning towards him with a fire in her eyes. “ Is a sword evil, is a gun evil, or is a pen evil? All of those things that I have just mentioned to you are capable of and have done incredible acts of evil. With a sword you can skin a child alive in front of their mother, with a gun you can mow down a squad of civilians within seconds, and with a pen you can doom a nation to a meaningless war for a childhood grudge. They are tools and what matters is the intent of the user, not what the tool is or capable of.” 
“I guess,” Zephyr said begrudgingly, “but that doesn't change the fact that everyone who uses it is usually insane. What with them declaring on everyone alive, trying to live forever, and whatnot. Those movies on you people might be exaggerating a few things, but that doesn't mean they aren’t lying.”
“That…I sadly cannot deny,” the robed woman said deflating a bit. “It is true for some, but it is one that I am tired of to say the least. What with it being used by maddened warlocks, secretive and jealous scholars, and men and women that are terrified of death. All of which doom The Art to a legacy of infamy. The Art itself should be the pursuit of one’s goals, not for immortality, power, or any one of those other barbaric means.”
“Really?” Zephyr said, looking back at her with a look of surprise. “Not turning yourself into a lich to live forever or to wage war upon the living to rule forever?”
“Those men and women would have done it through other means if they didn’t have necromancy such as alchemy, occult magic, or politics,” she blew off with a dismissive wave. “When someone goes down such a path with the intent that they have the means that which they harness to achieve their goals are meaningless I assure you. For them necromancy was just the most ready and available tool that they had available.”
“Ready and available tool?” Zephyr mumbled out confused. “What do you mean by that?
“Practicing the art is easy, remarkably easy, and anyone can do it as long as they have the proper reagents and the will to do it.” She looked at Zephyr for a moment. “Even you.” 
“Even me?” Zephyr said somewhat surprised as he put a hand to his chest. “I can’t use magic, you do know that right?” He unfurled one of his arms to show the lack of unicorn bone that was on there. “No unicorn bones, see?”
 “There's no need for that,” she waved it off as Zephyr rolled his arms back up. “Magic’s everywhere in our world and anyone can find ways to use it if they know how to, and for necromancy as long as someone has the will and the intent they can practice it and in doing so raise the dead.”
“I mean how else are those tortured scholars, warlords, and roguish criminals in those movies going to summon an undead army to their will,” she remarked to him somewhat playfully. “Studying ancient books, being a unicorn, and practicing it?  Pffft, no, on my first night that I learned the art I already had my own familiar, raised my first corpse, and put it to work cleaning my home.” 
There was a visible pause before she added with a sigh, “shame it broke all of the dishes I had during that time to be honest. I quite liked them.” , 
“Were they expensive?’ Zephyr asked her somewhat curiously.
“Monetarily, no, ” she said, shaking her head, “but they were gifts from my uncle and my aunt to me when I moved out of my home to get to my first job.”
“In what grave robbing?’ Zephyr joked around with. “You learned to dig up corpses in the middle of the night?
“What? No,” she said somewhat offended with a baffled look of incredulity. “It was a job to be a teacher’s assistant for kids in elementary school.”
“Oh,” Zephyr said deflating a bit and then scratching his head awkwardly, “I'-I'm sorry about that.”
“It’s okay, I forgive you,” she said with a shrug. “You just didn’t know. “

There was a moment of an empathic pause with the necromancer mourning her lost dishes, and Zephyr feeling too awkward to really intervene. Eventually however he broke it up with a question on what, The Art, was. Something of which he had a few times by now. 
“Just a name that many of us use instead of necromancy,” she answered him. “Sounds cleaner, better, and you can send letters across nations describing your work as though it were an artistic project without anyone noticing. Artists are weird people anyway and nobody pays that much attention to someone fondling the bones of the dead if they are one. Most of the time they think it’s just for anatomy work or for private collections, and if not well,” she drawled on for a moment before answering, “there’s fetish artists for a reason.” 
“Mhmh,” Zephyr merely hummed in neutral agreement as he took a look around the place. The section of the garden that they were in was strangely immaculate. The plants of the place were freshly trimmed and water given on them as if it was only a few hours ago. Doing something like this would take an entire crew of workers ordinary, and If what she said was true...then.
“Is this your doing?” he asked her, pointing around him at the well kept nature of the garden.  “I haven’t seen or heard anyone around so I'm going to guess that you had a hand in keeping this place clean?”
“I do,”  she confirmed with a nod. “Me and my friends have a few…servants,” she said with air quotes, “running around here maintaining the place like: dusting the cabinets, watering the plants, and chasing away the birds. It helps to keep the place clean and gives them something to do.” 
“You aren’t afraid of them being seen?” Zephyr asked her, raising an eyebrow as his eyes shifted left and right to keep watch for any of the undead in his sights. “I’m pretty sure people will freak out if they ever see one.”
“Maybe, but that’s up close,” the robed woman said as she gestured for Zephyr to follow her. “Give them a set of clothes, fix the way they walk, make sure nobody gets close to them, and you’ll never have to worry about being found out,” she finished gesturing towards a set of shapes in the distance of the garden that were working away. “Take a look for yourself.

And as he did Zephyr saw a number of humanoid shapes that were working away in the garden: cutting flowers, watering them, rearranging them, and for a few that carried the necessary materials, planting new ones. They worked slowly and sluggishly as they maintained the garden, carefully clipping hedges or watering the plants, but true to the robed woman's word they looked entirely ordinary in the dark. In any other set of circumstances zephyr would have presumed them to be ordinary night shift workers.
Filled with morbid curiosity he made his way closer towards them. During which neither of them reacted to his presence or him coming closer.  The answer as to why they didn’t was obvious.
They were undead, workers that were skeletons wore padded clothes that were nailed to their bones, and the zombies simply wore ordinary clothes that were tightened to their stilled bodies with rope and string. Horrified, Zephyr waved a hand in front of a zombie as they worked, but he didn’t get a response. And he never would from the white and dulled eyes of the creature in front of him as it toiled away, its sluggish body set to the task through necromantic magic to maintain the garden. 
“I hate to repeat myself, but you do know what will happen when people see this right?” Zephyr asked her as he turned around to look at her. “They’re going to freak out, riots will start, and people will want to see you dead.” 
“I know,” she said sadly, walking over to him, “they always do. It doesn't matter that the men and women that you see before you were murderers and rapists in their past lives, people will always react in the same way that they have always had. With fire, faith, and hunting dogs. Sure the means towards how they execute us now have changed with us either being shot at by firing squads, beheaded at a post, or electrocuted, but the intent and the meaning always stays the same.” 
“Honestly, I understand why so many of us turn towards acts of violence even if we are not evil,” she said as she grasped the chin of one of her servants and tilted it so that its white eyes faced the slits of her mask. “How can you be willing to help others or to even exchange a word of kindness when they treat you as nothing but a monster that must be cleaned with fire.”
  “Ten thousand years I've heard was the date necromancy was first invented,” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear as she let go of the servant's chin and let it work. “Ten thousand years since its birth and the situation has never changed since then. We are still seen as monsters, we are still seen as madmen, and we must all die and burn in hell for the sins of our acts and existence.” 
A silence ensued as the two watched the undead work, the woman’s gaze still transfixed on them, and Zephyr merely followed it as he was struck speechless. Has this really been happening for all this time? 
Wracking his head for answers Zephyr found the same ending that the woman spoke was in the stories he heard about. Because if a necromancer was not redeemed by another and in the act of doing so abandoning their art in the process then they would burn for their crimes. Perhaps not in the literal sense, but very much in the metaphorical as they were always doomed to die or to suffer the consequences for meddling with what was said to be the blackest of arts. Their death was simply inevitable. 
Struck with empathy and sorrow for what he understood to be a fragment of the woman’s own he walked to speak to her. 
“I’m sorry,” he said, starting to make a gesture to pat her on the back but stopping out of the fear that he still had for her, “I'm sorry that this happened to you. Is there really no place for you?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “There are a few places, but they are filled with evil men and women.  They wish to invite us into their halls so we may share our secrets for whatever goal they have in mind: immortality, power, or fulfilling some strange dark lust they have. It’s all the same in the end, we are seen as kindred or colleagues in their eyes, but only in the veins of still being mad, and thus entirely without care for the consequences our actions have upon the living.” 
She sighed again In lamentation tearing her gaze away from the undead creatures, “and in the many years of my life, I have known too many friends who out of desperation cast away their morals to have safety in their lives. Willingly turning themselves into monsters so they can have a home, but it always ended the same for them. They were either betrayed, went mad, or died in an alley somewhere lost and forgotten.” 
Zephyr said nothing as he continued to listen. A part of him felt that he should apologize, but what was the use? It wouldn't do anything now. It wouldn't wash away the revulsion that he still had for the undead creatures in front of him, it wouldn't heal the pain that the woman had for what she said, and it wouldn't fix anything. So instead fighting through the fear that he felt, he just reached a hand out and expressed what sympathy he could through a pat on the back.
“Thank you,” she said gently, moving it away as she took a moment to compose herself. “It means more than you think it does, honestly.” 
“But,moving on for a moment,” she said, changing the topic. “That’s why what the dragons have done for me and my colleagues is so important for us. They’ve done the one thing that I've never seen anyone else do, not even The Twin Monarch’s themselves, and that is to extend a hand of friendship along with the promise of sanctuary asking for little in return.”
“The terms for it are so,” she continued with a wave of her hand. “We must promise not to harm a living soul save in self defense, and if we do we must endeavor not to kill. We must regulate ourselves, we must cooperate with the law and orders as we are not exempt from it barring conscription, and we must be aware that we are given asylum under the permission of The Dragonlord. Something of which can be taken away if we violate it. However we are given subsistence funding, may make requests for materials as we wish that can be granted review, are protected by the law as any ordinary citizen should be, and will not be subjected to discrimination or prejudice by those under the Dragonlords rule.”
“Sounds like indentured servitude to be honest,” Zephyr quipped with a raised eyebrow. “You're still being treated in the same way you just told me earlier.”
He looked around him for a moment before pointing towards the sealed gate. “My guess your forced to stay here I'm assuming? Can’t leave unless a guard is escorting you around? That doesn't exactly sound like friendship to me.”
There was a tense moment when he said that. With the woman’s figure stiffening in anger, her hands clenched, and her eyes narrowed at him. Zephyr in return merely waited impatiently for an answer to his question. Was this just a false deal? Or was it something truly more? 

The silence continued, Zephyr waited impatiently with his arms folded, and the tension in the air almost reached a peak before it was broken by the woman speaking. 
“In that regard,” she said to him with some sorrow, “yes, you are correct. We are still held with suspicion, we are still seen as criminals in the eyes of some, but,” she said, holding up a finger as the sorrow that she had faded away. “We’re not expected to share our knowledge with anyone, we’re not told to make someone immortal at the cost of innocent lives, and we aren’t forced to raise the dead for someone’s foolish ambition for power. And in that regard,” she said gesturing with an open palm towards him,” things are different, very different.”
“Alright,” Zephyr stiffly accepted, his arms unfolding, “I’ll accept that. Maybe things will be better in time, and you’ll be treated to where you want to be now, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday.”
“Someday,” she echoed with a nod. “This is a start at the least, and right now it’s better than nothing.”
“I suppose,” Zephyr said as he walked around for a few moments as he thought to himself. Something about this didn’t feel right. Not with the sense of The Isles side of the equation, but instead the necromancers. Wasn’t necromancy still a harmful thing with zombies hungering for human flesh and lich’s sucking peoples souls to keep themselves alive? What were they doing to make this work? Wanting to know, he asked his question. 
“There are…ways,” she began to answer with some hesitation as she put a finger to her mask as if she was in deep thought, “to use the art in a way that dispels those notions that you’ve mentioned. It is tiring to the caster, time consuming, and less powerful, but it can be done without causing pain to others. For example, did you not notice the undead that you saw just now?” she asked Zephyr pointing towards the gardeners still at work.
“Yeah?” Zephyr said, nodding. “What of it?”
“Well it didn’t try to eat you the moment it saw you so it’s got that going for it,” she snickered to herself for a moment. “But more importantly it was able to perform gardening work. In ordinary circumstances they wouldn't even possess half the intelligence that they have now. Instead they would simply be dumbly standing there waiting for orders from their master. Orders that which they would fail at unless it was the simplest of tasks.” 
“So they’re smart?” Zephyr said as he watched one of them notice that the bucket of water that they were ladling to the plants was empty and shambled over to a distant well.
“No, far from it,” the robed woman answered with a shake of her head “They’re still stupid, but they are…wiser than they were before?” she said with an unsure nod to herself before pointing behind her as the undead creature walked towards the well. “It’s a bit hard to say exactly, but see for yourself and you’ll know what I mean.” 
 And with an accepting nod Zephyr accepted, and the two watched the undead creature make its way over towards the well. When it did, it looked at it slowly, its face with the same pale expression of stupidity that Zephyr had seen before in the creature such as this. Ignorance and stupidity. A state of which it could have carried on for eternity if it was not interrupted by someone else.  
But instead of doing that, the undead creature looked at the well with a spark of familiarity within its eyes. Something within it, something deep within it that it may not have understood why knew what it was for, and more importantly what it was meant to do here
Dropping the bucket that it had without ceremony, it fumbled around for the well’s crank, and as it pushed the weight of its arm against it the well vented water onto the cobblestone floor. A moment later and with the grasp of the bucket’s handle again, it clumsily made its way back to continue its task.  
“I uhm,” Zephyr faltered to speak as he processed what he saw. Looking at the robed woman she could see only unmasked glee was on her face through her mask.
“See! See!” she said, her voice light and filled with cheer, “not only can they be taught, but they can learn! Still stupid I will admit, but wise enough to know what they are supposed to do if taught or by sheer memory of their past life. Why, I’m sure that in the right circumstances there can be a society that works in harmony with the undead” she said wistfully and her eyes twinkled with wonder. “One in which the living are not used as fuel to be converted into undead forms as I've seen before, but are instead respected for what they are. Free to do whatever they wish during their lives and to enjoy the benefits of prosperity that a ceaseless if somewhat dumb workforce can bring.” 
“I’m pretty sure that people won’t like that you know,” Zephyr argued as he rallied himself. “Just because you say it’s okay doesn't mean it will be.” 
“I know,” she said with a nod as she deflated and sighed. “I know, but one can hope, yes? To live in a world where the art is not shamed, its wielders are not burned at the stake or executed by firing squad, but instead one in which we can practice it in peace. “
“I guess,” Zephyr said, being somewhat neutral on the subject. “But is that really the only way you can help? By summoning the dead and letting them loose on the living in one way or the other?”
 “No, not entirely,” she answered with a shake of her head. “There are…other ways, but we are trying to figure them out. The ritual of animation is but one practice into the art.”
“And what would the other practices be?” Zephyr questioned her. “Skeletons, mummies, and ghosts?”
“Hmph, a little bit,” she said with an unnoticed smile underneath her mask. “But there are ways in truth: talismans that can momentarily halt ones death for a short time, wands that can heal by leaching one’s surroundings, masks that can allow one to speak with those who are gone, spells that can and the binding along with others,” she finished looking at Zephyr.
“The binding?” he said confused on what that could mean. “Like you're shackling someone’s soul to a place?”
“In relation yes, but in practice no,” she corrected Zephyr. “The binding is an art that allows those who have departed from this world to return to it momentarily in a ghostly form or by repressing their dead bodies by their own free will and choice for a similar amount of time. During which they can directly aid the living in whatever way they can. .”   
Zephyr merely raised a dubious eyebrow in response.
“Yes, yes, I know,” she said with a sigh knowing Zephyr’s suspicion as it seemed like just another form of necromancy to him, “but who better in a time of need or want to help us than the venerated dead? Because as I've said before, with their help we can achieve so much.”
“Right…well good I guess,” Zephyr hesitantly acknowledged patting the woman on the back. In her eyes whether she was simply passionate about her work or mad it was hard to say, from what he heard Twilight Sparkle could be the same, so he brushed it off with simple passion as he asked her another set of questions. “Who accepted you guys by the way?” 
“The Dragon Lord herself,” she answered somewhat confused, “I thought it was obvious by now?”
“Oh I just wanted to confirm that’s all,” Zephyr said scratching the back of his head. “Was wondering if it was some politician, some clan member, or the like.” 
“No, no it wasn’t,” she reconfirmed with a shake of her head before. “In fact they were the ones that actually called for our death when we arrived. She was the only one who halted them from doing so.”
“Really?” Zephyr said interested. “You didn’t exchange letters and arrange it beforehand or anything?”
“If we tried that I'm sure that we would have been denied from the moment they saw it,” she answered. “In order to get to where me and my colleagues are now we had to gamble for a bit. Smuggling ourselves into the country, requesting an audience via a neutral third party while obscuring our identity, and requesting asylum then and there before her throne during the meeting,” she stated plainly as if she had described a trip to the grocery store.  
“But I thought that she extended a hand of friendship to you,” Zephyr tried to recall stuttering all the while. “What happened to that?”
“Oh she did extend a hand of friendship to us,” the robed woman said with a nod. “But only after we were all arrested on the spot, our undead servants were killed again, and our leader was isolated from the rest of us and alone to talk with her.” She rubbed her wrists for a moment. “I understand why, but they could have been a bit loose with the cuffs. My wrists still hurt with how tight they were at the time.” 
A pregnant silence ensued between the two. Zephyr too filled with shock to speak, and the robed woman waiting for his response. 
“I can tell you what happened,” she eventually offered to Zephyr. “I wasn’t there as I was in a dungeon with the rest of my colleagues, but our leader relayed to us what happened after.” 
Gathering his wits together Zephyr numbly nodded as she began telling the story.

Alkiat, a lich of three hundred years nervously waited for The Dragon Lord’s reply to his request. It was a gamble, a gamble that if it went right would be the signal of a new age for them, an age in which they didn’t have to run or to hide anymore. In which they didn’t have to parlay with tyrants and madmen and kill the innocent for the loan of a free home and that upon its expiration would be ended with a knife in the back. In which they could be free to live their lives in whichever way they wished, could study what they wanted, and never fear being persecuted or burned at the stake for what they believed in.
But, it could also cost him his life, and not just his, but his colleagues, no, his friends that now waited in dreary cells and weighed down with lead weights.  Friends of whom he had known for years or centuries, and who had families to care for. They had trusted him, followed him here, and now they waited for the herald of a new age or to be met with the truth that they had always known. That the world was still the same as it always was to their kind. 
So with a nervous and an unstilled mind he stood in front of the Dragon Lord’s throne for a reply.  He was wrapped in lead chains intertwined with those of rock salt, watched in every angle that he could imagine by guards armed with rifles, and all of whom he knew were waiting for the chance to put someone like him down. 
As for the dragon lord herself?  That he did not know for certain. He couldn't see her face, nor the entirety of her figure, the sun from a set of windows behind her obscured his vision of her, but he could see her move, and that she was indeed there. Still internally contemplating what he had said, and until she spoke all he could now was simply wait. Wait and hope that she didn’t order his death on the spot. 

“And is that all?” she eventually asked him from her throne.  “That is all you wish?” 
“Yes,” he confirmed with a nod with an internal sigh of relief. “We wish for asylum, for the right to continue our practice, to be respected as any other man or woman should be, and to not be forced to participate in evil deeds. In return we promise not to harm a living soul, to keep to ourselves, to regulate ourselves to ensure the art does not spread, and to abide by whatever restrictions that you have set, but,” he stressed, “they must be discussed and agreed upon with us.” 
She only laughed in response. “You do know who you are right?” she asked him while pointing an accusatory finger. “You're not just some random people from nowhere hoping for a safe place to stay, your necromancers, and I know exactly who you people are.”
Alkiat twitched at that and with a sigh he waited as she recited his so-called crimes to the world that he had heard again and again. 
“I know that your liars, your thieves, your murderers, your warlocks, and you’ve been responsible for the mass slaughter of millions if not billions of people,” she listed off with one of her hands. “Honestly even if you weren’t any of those you’ve smuggled yourself into the country, arranged a meeting while lying about being foreign diplomats, and showed up here with your,” she waved a hand in the air in a half effort to recall what she had seen before finishing with a sarcastic, “servants.”
“They’re not my servants,” Alkiat hissed his voice almost like a snake. “They’re my friends. They’re not brainwashed, they’re not enslaved, they’re not my students, and they’re not forced to come here against their own will. Instead they’re just my friends who followed me here.”  
“Alright, so they’re your friends ” she said, begrudgingly accepting it and stressing the last word to make sure he could hear it. “What did you and your friends want to even accomplish by coming here?” she accused him. “Hoping to make yourselves martyrs for your cause?” 
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “We are not affiliated with any order, we are alone. ” 
“So what was it?” she pressed him. “I know that you knew what was going to happen the moment you set foot here. That you would be arrested, that you would be imprisoned, tried, and executed as is the word of Celestia and nearly every other nation in the world,” she finished before giving him a curious look. “So why bother even coming here?”
“I,” Alkiat said, his voice like a whisper as his eyes were downcast, “I hoped things would be different. That what I knew would likely happen would not happen. That the ideals of harmony would prove true for once. That I wouldn't be judged based on my creed, my looks, nor my history, but instead on my good intentions and action,” he said, holding a hand to himself. “I hoped that I would be heard and listened to like anyone else, and not cast aside like trash for what I presume to be in your eyes.” 
‘But,” he said, admitting something to himself. “I suppose that what I truly wanted to know was if harmony was real or if it was a lie.”
The Dragonlord merely raised a questioning look as he continued.
“Because if it is a lie,” he began his hands beginning to shake with envy and want, “then I wanted to see the evidence for myself. To know once and for all and without a single doubt in the world that it is nothing but a lie, and that she is nothing but a herald for its vile promises and doctrine.”
“She?” The Dragonlord said somewhat  interested in what he had to say now. “Who is she?”
“You know who, The Monarch of The Sun, The Uniter of Equestria, she who is said to bring forth the day, Celestia,” he spat out with venom. “She who was the first in my eyes to influence the doctrine that so many of your kind practice today, and she who slew my master so many centuries ago.” 
“She did?” The Dragonlord asked dubiously her voice touched with emotion. “Why?” 
“Because in her eyes he was wrong,” he hissed out his hands beginning to shake at the memory of the day it happened. “Because in her eyes he was evil, that he had to burn, and that he had to die for his so-called crimes against the good and fair world. Why?” he voiced out loud. “Because he existed, because he practiced the art, and because he had the audacity to help her in a time of deep need. It was all the same to her in the end and he would be rewarded for his crimes as anyone else in our rank would to her eyes.” 
“And his reward for doing so if you may be so curious?” he said, his hollow voice filled with emotion as he looked at her again. ”Do you want to know what his eternal reward for being a man who acted in good intention was?”
She said nothing, but he continued on.
“He was dragged to the witch's pyre and he was burned to the cheers of a crowd of thousands,” he choked out. “That was his reward, his eternal reward for helping her, and it was one that she continues to mete out without care or conscience throughout her endless rule. All the while continuing to rule in the name of peace, justice, and fairness for all under the guise of harmony.” 
“I…I need to know,” he said with a whisper that she could only hear. “I need to know whether or not the idea of harmony is truly a lie or not. I have heard so much about it and what it can do, that even with everything I have known so far I still believe in it, but I have been shunned in every corner of the world that I search that only gives me the same answer she has. Thus, I need to know whether it is a lie or not for once and for all. Because if it is a lie, then I can at least be content with that. To know that it is a system that does not proclaim equality for all, but instead only for those that it deems worthy and stamping out anything it sees as evil and unholy.”
She was still quiet, so he continued. 
“A man can only run so long before he grows tired,” he said despondently as he idly moved his chains around. “And I have run for so long that I can feel its weight upon my soul and bones. I know I will not get my answer from her because it will always be the same from her, nor will I get it from her student that she so adores, but you,” he said pointing a finger at her.  You are different, you are new, and you are not beholden to her or what she says today.” 
“So can you give me your answer?” he asked her with hands outstretched in want. “What is harmony? Is it a lie? Does it seek to protect only those it deems worthy as I have said before? Or does it believe what I hope it does? That everyone is good in their heart, that their actions and intentions can speak for more than who they are or were, and that we can all live in peace and in harmony if we so choose without judgment for who we are?”
“Or am I just a fool and an old man who entertains themselves with fairy tales and myths, “he muttered dismally as he looked around at the guards still pointing their weapons at him.   
She still said nothing. Alkiat could hear the soldiers that were with her growing nervous as they adjusted their grips on their weapons. A few moments longer and if she did not say her peace then the soldiers around her would instead. They were disciplined, yes, but with this much silence from their leader they had grown anxious. Anxious men and women in front of a threat of this kind only knew one way to silence it, with force.
And from a nearby window a beam of light struck Alkiat, blinding him, and shining him with its heat that he could feel scorch him with its wrathful and uncaring hate. Was this how his master died as well? Desperately asking for an answer that would never come while being shunned by the very sun itself?
There was still no answer from The Dragonlord, and so Alkiat resigned himself to his supposed fate. I really am a fool, he bitterly thought to himself as he looked at the soldiers around him who did not have a shred of kindness in their eyes. An old fool who should have learned his lesson long ago when he had the chance. 
But then suddenly, the beam of light faded away as a cloud passed by in front of the mirror, and as it did it revealed The Dragon Lord. A young scaled woman who was dressed in a three piece navy blue suit and a long coat. She looked not at him, but at the scepter that she held in her hand with solemnity and sorrow. What thoughts were running through her mind? What was she thinking? Was she thinking of The Monarch of The Sun’s decisions, the laws of the world placed upon them, the burden of her role as leader, or the consequences of her decisions to come? 
He didn’t know, but he could tell that whatever they were, they didn’t end well as she let loose a sigh, one that was clearly filled with knowing regret before she raised it up high to command attention. The moment that she did, all eyes were locked onto her. 
“Alright,” she said, trying to sound regal, but instead sounding awkward and tired. “If what you say is true then in the name of harmony I grant you asylum to practice necromancy, but we’re going to have to talk about this more in detail.”
She then looked at the room at the soldiers within the room. “None of you are to talk about what happened here today,” she commanded with a wave of her scepter. “Nothing happened. As far as you're all aware, some idiot wanted to pull a prank. That or some business owner from who knows where wanted to talk about coffins or dead bodies. It doesn't matter to be honest about the excuse. What does is that nothing like this ever happened.”  
There was a moment as the soldiers all looked at one another with hesitation, a second or two in which they all considered the alternative. Could they prevent an incident if they acted now? Would it be worth it? Acting right now would be treason, but it could save the lives of their families or the people of their nation in the future. None of them knew what would happen from here on out as a nation knowingly protected necromancers under the name of harmony. 
The hesitation continued, their eyes shifted amongst one another, sweat poured from nervous onto their rifles, but before it could resolve in any way there was a stomp of the scepter’s butt on the ground.
“Am I clear!?” the Dragon Lord commanded as she stood up looking at her soldiers with eyes full of steel. “I know who you all are, I know where you live, and I  know who your families are. If any one of you spill a single word of what happened here to anyone else I will make sure it will be the last thing you do,” she growled out looking at the soldiers around her. “Got it?” 
There was a nod and the shifting of weapons to rest before The Dragon Lord let loose a relieved sigh. 
“Good,” she said to herself as she observed the situation before shouldering the scepter. “Glad we got that out of the way. Now this is going to take a while, so we’re going to have to talk about this over tea.” 
“So what is your preference before we start?" she asked him. Smolder’s always pestering me on how I should treat guests so this is probably a good place to start if any.” 
“I can’t taste anymore,” Alkiat said, lamenting the price of his current form for a moment, “but when I was younger I preferred cinnamon.”
“Good!” she said before gesturing to one of the soldiers to grab their attention. “Head into the pantry and get us some if you can? Oh and some coffee as well, I can already feel a headache coming on.” 

“And that’s it?’ Zephyr asked her as the two now sat at a bench looking at the undead work. “Everything started because of that sob story?”
“Not entirely,” the robed woman said. “I think it was more of the implication that the question had to her and what answer she gave.”
“What do you mean?” Zephyr said a bit confused. 
“I mean that what answer she gave then and there would be in a way how she would follow harmony and rule,” the robed woman explained. “Think about it. Even The Monarch of The Sun has faults and Harmony as well. It isn’t a perfect system and it doesn't have any instruction guides as well,” she said scratching the back of her head. “So I suppose the question of it had her act on what she believed was best to her rule.  Did it mean simply following Equestia’s example doing what they do? Or did it mean at times doing something else altogether? To do something that nobody had ever thought of before until now?”
She paused for a moment before giving a shrug and standing up. “That’s just my take on it, I’m sure that she had other things to consider as well. What we could give to her freely, the bragging rights of being the first nation to sanction necromancy and to hold moral standards, or her own simple curiosity of our story and intentions. Whatever it was, her decision was her own and we are here because of it and for the better.” 
“I guess,” Zephyr said, standing up and taking a moment to stretch before grabbing his suitcase, “I should probably be going now. See what else I can do tomorrow before I start heading out.” 
“I suppose,” the robed woman accepted. “Do you have any idea on where to go?”
“Not really,” he answered with a shrug. “Probably just wander around for a bit. See who I can talk to, learn a bit more, and then start finding a way out. ” 
“Well, you could talk to the military personnel here on The Isles,” she suggested. “Ever since the negotiations we’ve become,” she hummed for a moment for the right word to say, “familiar with them to say the least. They’re honest folk so maybe you can talk to them and see what their side is like before you leave.”
“I guess,” Zephyr said awkwardly as the idea of talking to the military much less going up to a soldier was one that he didn’t like. “Any idea where they are?”
“I do,” she said with a nod as she pointed towards the south east. “There's a military base to the south east of here where they are doing their training. The only one they have here to be honest. Look around there long enough and I'm sure you’ll find it.” 
“Mhmh,” Zephyr merely hummed in reply as he gathered his things. However as he began walking away  a question hit him. 
“You said Alkiat was a lich right?” Zephyr asked as he turned around to face her. “And that he lived for hundreds if not thousands of years?”
“I did,” the robed woman said. “What about it?”
“Don’t liches live by sucking people's souls or whatever?” Zephyr said distinctly remembering the few movies that he watched. “Isn’t he hurting people just by being alive.” 
The robed woman merely scoffed in reply, “Like I said earlier,” she began, “there's alternatives to practice our craft and to extend our lives, even in Lichdom. One can easily subsist off of sheer willpower and raw magic if needed. The latter of which I'm sure you're familiar with by now.” 
Zephyr merely tilted his head in confusion, “what do you mean that I'm familiar with the latter? I told you I don’t use magic. I barely even knew what necromancy was about until you told me. How would I know anything about extending my life?”
“I’m…uhm,” she said, faltering a bit as she looked at him for a moment as if to make sure that what she saw in front of her was real. Even taking the time to lift her mask for a moment to rub her eyes. 
“N-nevermind,” she said after some time. “Why don’t you hurry along to that military base, see what you can do there alright?” 
“Alright,” Zephyr agreed hesitantly as he began to walk away. “Stay safe alright?”
She merely gave a shaky nod before returning back to her business leaving Zephyr alone.
I wonder what that was about, Zephyr thought to himself as he exited the site. Maybe it has something to do with Discord's blessing? But how would she even know that anyway? It’s not like I’m advertising that am I? 
He patted himself down for a moment but couldn't find anything off about him that screamed he was magical. 
No not really, he concluded with a shrug before grabbing his compass. Well onto more important things I guess. Now, which direction is south east again.