 it. The Skull Guild wasn’t likely to harm Iron Wrought’s family as long as they could still be used as leverage against him, to keep him as a double agent against the Labor Guild. It was a cold kind of logic, but it made sense, though I wondered just how Arcaidia came to that conclusion. Was she used to this kind of thing?
It made me think again about how little I knew of Arcaidia’s background.
“I hope you’re right, for his sake,” I said, then glanced sidelong at her. Would it be pushing too hard to ask about the Ark of Destiny, the ship that the voice inside Gramzanber had told me to find? I knew Arcaidia didn’t want to talk about the details of how she’d come to be here or why he was on this world, but maybe if she knew just how much my life depended on it she’d change her mind?
Perhaps now, while everypony else was distracted, would be a good time to ask, so that this could be kept just between me and Arcaidia. I didn’t want the others to know about the three month expiration date my life had just been stamped with, and I figured Arcaidia might be more willing to talk if it was just between us.
“Anyway, Arcaidia, I got something to need to talk to you about,” I began, carefully picking my words.
I held back a laugh, feeling more at ease with this course of action upon seeing that smile. I lowered my voice so that only Arcaidia could hear me, leaning in a little closer as we spoke. I quickly explained my experiences in hearing Gramzanber in my dreams, along with another voice. Arcaidia seemed surprised at this but she listened intently, with her silver eyes becoming much more intense as I described my last talk with the voice inside Gramzanber and what I’d been told, both about my limited life span and the fact that this Ark of Destiny might have information that could save me from an early demise.
When I finished speaking Arcaidia remained silent, with a thoughtful, pensive crease to her feminine features. She flicked a glance at the others in the camp. Iron Wrought was still spacing out, and Binge was... curling up with the dismembered dummy as if it were a pillow. Neither was paying us any attention.
She lifted her hoof that had her Pip-Buck on it and her horn glowed as her magic twisted knobs and pushed buttons on the device. I saw the screen shift to the map. There I saw the same marker I’d seen all those days ago in Shady Stream that showed the tag where Persephone was supposedly located, far to the south in NCR territory. Then there was suddenly another tag, very close to that location, perhaps a few miles west of Persephone’s location.
Arcaidia gulped and I could see her trying to push down her emotions, and I reached out to her, putting a hoof on her withers.
“If she’s alive, we’ll find her,” I told Arcaidia, meeting her eyes with my own.
To be honest I didn’t know immediately how to respond to this. Arcaidia’s voice carried a heavy note of guilt and I could see in the swimming wetness in her eyes that she’d been thinking about this a lot. This must have been weighing on her for awhile now, probably ever since she learned that ARMs have killed ponies in the past. So... how did I feel about it?  Thinking back to that first meeting, however, that feeling didn’t last long.
I just smiled at her, remembering the far more important facts of my first meeting with Arcaidia.
Arcaidia stared at me for a moment before blinking away her unshed tears and she seemed to let an entire ocean of tension drain out of her as she laid her head down over her crossed forehooves, sighing deeply.
Arcaidia giggled lightly and the sound made me grin, pushing away the lingering fear of my shortened lifespan and the worries about how things would go once we got to Skull City. We both settled down to get some rest, and as we did Arcaidia began to softly hum a tune. I remembered it as the same tune I’d heard from her Pip-Buck when she’d discovered her sister’s signal. Even without words there was something quieting and peaceful in the simple hummed notes that helped me drift off to sleep with gentle ease.
You all know what time it is? Longwalk’s Random Dream Time!
What? It might as well be given an official name, given how often it happened to me. At least now I had an idea of why it was happening. Still wished I had some kind of control over it, though.
I didn’t know whose dream I was walking in on at first. I knew it had to be one of my friends because if this were my own dream then I was dreaming of a place I’d never been before, and the detail in the place was too real for it to be just something my mind had conjured on its own.
I was standing in what looked to be a Wasteland settlement, much smaller and more ramshackle than Saddlespring. It consisted of little more than a patchwork barricade surrounding the shop fronts of what looked to be maybe a dozen stores along a strip of run down urban buildings. The shops looked like they’d been converted into homes, with maybe twenty various smaller tents or shacks lined up along the outside or situated among the open spaces of the parking lot that seemed to make up the settlement's courtyard.
Ponies were about, perhaps a few dozen, all wearing the normal Wasteland fare of faded, dirty barding, or just the general dust and grime of the world. Still, there was a feeling of energy and good cheer here that felt... homey. The ponies here sat in large, huddled groups, chatting amiably and eating what looked to be grilled meat. The smell made my mouth water. I missed the gecko meat from home so much, and I felt a surge of homesickness at the sight of this simple little community surviving in the Wasteland.
The ponies were mostly armed, with a few keeping watch on the walls, probably for dangerous animals or Raiders. The only thing I noted that seemed off was that, off in one corner of the settlement, there were a few ponies who didn’t look local. They were a unicorn mare and pegasus stallion who looked normal enough; both sporting the dirt and dust of the road, but clearly from out of town by the way they sort of kept to themselves. The pegasus reminded me of Glint and Sunset, having a similar colored coat and mane, through his was a much more bright and solid orange. The one who stood out most in that group was the huge, steel stallion, his whole body from tail to muzzle covered in thick armor that looked much bulkier than the Odessa power armor I’d seen.
I glanced around a bit, wondering just why I was here and who’s dream this was.
I wheeled around, staring at a little filly who was suddenly behind me. Her green coat and darker green mane, poofy and wild, was immediately familiar.
I was suddenly very wary, not sure what to expect out of one of Binge’s dreams, but she seemed to not recognize who I was, or at least she was doing a wonderful job of pretending. I decided there couldn’t really be any harm in just playing along, for now.
 It was the same sock she had in the real world, only its face was made from smeared dirt in this dream, not blood.
“Heh, well, wasn’t expecting to drop in,” I said, rubbing the back of my head, not sure what else to say. Why was Binge having a dream about her foalhood? I had to assume that’s what this was, a moment from Binge’s past. It didn’t make much sense otherwise. It was interesting to see she was a pretty normal filly, once, though I could still easily see the tad oddness that kept with her through the years. To think she had that sock this whole time.
“Binge, Mug!” called a mare from across the way. She was as green as her daughter, though her mane was a lot straighter. The mare trotted up, giving her two children a stern look.
“Nope, not hearing it. You’re far too young to be on the wall, and it’s late enough as it is. You’re going straight to bed. You can play with your brother in the morning,” Binge’s mother said, reaching down to gather the little squirming filly up.
Just then, however, there was a shrieking, raw bellow of rage from somewhere near the far end of the settlement, a voice filled with such unmitigated fury it sent a frozen claw into the pit of my stomach.
That scorching, rage dripping voice was punctuated by gunfire and screams. I barely caught sight of the muzzle flashes and the angry, orange tracers. I didn’t even get a clear look at who fired before I felt something warm splatter across my side. Binge’s mother shuddered and fell, her body catching fire and her skull blasted open by gunfire, the mare’s blue eyes wide and open with shock as her mouth dropped her daughter.
Binge hit