Fine Steps

Chapters

In which light is cast upon darkness
In which wings are given roots
In which shadows gather
In which the truth is no comfort
In which the dust is disturbed
In which three venture forth
Intermezzo I
In which the stones speak
In which we spend a day in the city
In which we shape our tools
In which we share a cup of tea

In which light is cast upon darkness

A yellow unicorn sat in his shop, sketching out a chaotic pattern of circles and lines and squiggles that, somehow, resolved themselves into a music box. He gave the sketch one last look, poured sand over the wet ink, and then set to re-cutting his quill.

He looked up as the creak of a floorboard announced a visitor. The lack of chimes told him precisely who it was.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Luna,” Worker declared, sweeping out of his office and bowing with a flourish. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I thought I should check on my Royal Engineer,” she replied, looming over the smaller pony. Her face was blank, but a strange light shone in her eye. “It’s been ages since he’s sent a report.”

Worker blinked, then glanced over at a drawer stuffed with tightly-rolled scrolls. “Ah. Well.” His mane suddenly seemed too tight. “You see, I get so busy, and I forget to...”

Luna’s lip trembled, and she fell into laughter. “Oh, Worker! Your expression.” She giggled like a schoolfilly. “Priceless!”

Worker’s panicked desperation faded into uncomfortable self-awareness. “Well. Right! Of course,” he harrumphed. “I knew you were...” He laughed, shaking his head in resignation. “Yes, you win. Very good.” He turned towards the cabinets. “Now, shall I collect the scrolls for you before I faint?”

Still chuckling, she shook her head. “No, no. This is purely a social call, old friend. I just wanted to see how you were doing.” She glanced at the crowded room, and its organized chaos of boxes, bins, and barrels. “You seem busy, at the least.”

“Very busy,” Worker agreed. He paused to clean his glasses, then balanced them back on his nose. “All news is good news, it seems, when you’re in business.” He shrugged. “Free advertising. Anyway, we’ve cleared the debris of the old shop, and are well into rebuilding it. It should be complete within the month, just in time for Nightmare Night.”

Luna nodded, smiling at her subject. “I don’t suppose you can spare the time for a walk?”

“Of course, Luna,” he agreed, then turned towards the office. “Let me just douse the lights. I’ll meet you outside?”

Moments later, Worker stepped outside and joined the princess who waited in the early evening. “Where to?” he asked.

“The gallery is having a showing of a few of their best pieces,” she replied. “I hear they have a few of Smudge’s works, newly-acquired from a private collection in Hoofington. I’d love to see them again.”

“Your wish is my command, your highness.” He bowed low, and walked alongside her through the quiet streets of the mercantile district.

They passed shops of all sizes and shapes, with every manner of goods on display. A few heartier souls still had their lamps on, and welcomed customers in after nightfall, but they were the exception. Luna smiled at each one they passed. Worker stopped at a small cart and bought them each a hot mug of cider.

“Worker,” she asked, sipping carefully, “how old was Sonic, when you left Mobius?”

“That’s an odd question, Luna, but...” He examined the ripples in his mug. “I’d have to say he was in his late teens. Maybe his early twenties.” He turned his attention to the princess. “Why do you ask?”

“It just occurred to me,” she replied. “Anniversaries. Nightmare Night is one of mine, after all.” She looked up towards the hillside where Worker lived. “Speaking of anniversaries, how long have you and Skyshine been married, now?”

“Just past eleven years.” He drained the mug, and returned it to the vendor’s cart.

Luna nodded. “About Nightmare Night,” she continued, and turned back towards the roadway. “You’re aware of the tradition?”

“Of course,” he laughed. “I have a filly, after all. She loves the costumes, and the chance to stay up late. Not that she ever makes it to midnight.”

Luna slowed her pace to match Worker’s, and smiled at the occasional passer-by. Looking ahead, she nonetheless addressed her companion. “Do you know the story?”

“I...” Worker paused. That question could have many answers. “I have my suspicions.”

Luna nodded. “I thought as much.”

The wild-maned unicorn realized he had stopped walking, and quickened his pace to catch up. As he rejoined her, he asked, “Is that the real reason for your visit, Luna?”

Luna smiled down at him. Worker thought he caught a flash of concern in her eye, but if it was there it vanished quickly. “I won’t mislead you, Worker. It did influence my decision to visit now, but not for the reason you might think.”

“Now you’re being mysterious.” He did his best to fill the word with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Luna’s laughter was muffled behind a raised foreleg, her eyes crinkling at her companion. “Why, Worker. Haven’t you learned that much about me, yet?”

“I’m not surprised, your highness,” he replied primly, barely hiding a grin. He strolled ahead, and then spoke over his shoulder. “I’m merely pointing it out.”

“Mm. If I am being mysterious, it is with good reason. As it so happens, I do have some questions for you, but they can wait. First, I’d like to see the gallery, and then perhaps we can visit with the family.”

“They’d be delighted, I’m sure.”

* * *

“She’s—it’s exceptional,” Worker critiqued. “I can almost see her breathe on the page. It is paper, isn’t it? Wrapping paper?”

Luna murmured agreement, smiling with familiarity at the lime-green pegasus that soared within her frame.

Worker studied the picture a moment longer, then turned his attention to the study of Luna. After a moment, her expression registered. “You knew her,” he said.

A small blue colt paused at the pair, and mumbled his apologies. “Beg pardon, your highness, Mr. Worker, but we’re closing up for the night.”

The princess smiled at him, and Worker nodded cordially. The new pony turned about and walked away very quickly, a polite smile frozen beneath eyes spinning in panic.

Luna turned to leave, and gestured to Worker with a wing. He fell alongside and did his best to keep pace. As they passed through the exit, she answered Worker’s question.

“Yes, I did know her. Her name was Cayenne. She was the mother of a very spirited filly by the name of Spice Drop. Spice reminded me in some ways of your daughter, but by the time I met her she had already gained her cutie mark. I understand Snowdrop is eager for her own.”

“Of course. She’s memorized the Crusader Handbook, and wants to join the local chapter. I’ve convinced her that her studies are more important for now, but that wasn’t too difficult.” Worker smiled up at his royal companion. “She seems to hold her teacher in rather high regard.”

Luna glanced at him and beamed. He continued his questions.

“What of the other mare?”

“I never met her, but I understand her name was Copper Key. It does make me wonder.” She paused and glanced back towards the gallery. “Those works were family heirlooms. I don’t know how they ended up in a private collection, but I can only hope they arrived there legitimately.” She shook her head and then turned back towards the path.

“You said Hoofington, earlier this evening.” Worker realized she was heading towards the park at the outskirts of town, and kept pace alongside. “Were they residents?”

“Cayenne was, yes. Copper Key, I understand, was from Ponyville, as was the artist.”

“Amazing.”

“Hmm?”

Worker paused, and his eyes were pulled towards the heavens. He watched the myriad stars shimmer before remembering her prompt. “Ah. I mean, your memory of it all. I have a head for figures and schematics, but I wager you could recall every pony you’ve ever met.”

She stepped to his side, and lifted her gaze as well. Her voice dropped into a near-murmur as she replied. “I can, after a fashion. Small things fade over time, of course, but if I learn a pony’s name, it stays with me.”

“That must be difficult,” he reflected, gazing at the cratered face of the moon as it soared overhead.

Luna frowned, and stared down at her old friend. “What do you mean?”

He looked down at his hooves, and then into the treeline, while he explained. “Knowing, closely, all those who have ventured on. How do you manage?” He returned her gaze briefly, but could not continue to stare into those too-knowing eyes. Thankfully, she turned away and continued her stroll.

“With effort,” Luna replied. “After a few centuries, it became easier.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“It’s quite all right.” Luna wore a smile, now, but it fought to remain in place. “Though I am constantly reminded of the brevity of my subjects’ lives, I also marvel at how much you can accomplish in your spans.”

“Sincerely, Luna,” Worker said, turning so he could look at her properly. “I apologize for putting a damper on the evening.”

The princess shook her head. “It’s a small thing. Perhaps a somber mood is better for what I wanted to discuss with you. We should visit with your wife. She is involved as well, or will be. Will you travel with me to your home?”

“I must say,” Worker murmured, stepping closer, “I much preferred the playful mystery to this one.”

Luna spared him an unreadable glance, and then the world shimmered.

* * *

Snowdrop crept down the hall, carefully setting one hoof down before lifting another. From the voices she had heard, she knew the family had company, but now she could hear no pony sounds at all—not even snoring. If her mommy and daddy had a guest, why weren’t they talking? Grownups loved to talk, even when it wasn’t raining outside.

She reached the edge of the hallway and leaned forward, craning her neck to peek around the corner, and nearly squeaked in surprise.

In the living room, around the low table before the fire, sat her mommy and daddy and Princess Luna! They were all surrounded by a glowing blue bubble. Is that why she couldn’t hear them? She dropped down to her belly and scooted forward by inches until she could spy more comfortably.

She looked from pony to pony. Her parents had their backs to her, but Luna was facing in her direction and—

The bubble vanished. “Snowdrop,” Luna stated, her voice flat. “Come here.”

She was nearly halfway down the hall before she realized she had been called. “Ponyfeathers,” she whispered, exhausting her entire store of epithets before turning about to plod back towards the greatroom.

“I heard that, Snowdrop.” Princess Luna did not sound happy.

The little filly rounded the corner, chewing on her lip and staring at the floor. She waited there, next to the fireplace, while her parents and the princess regarded her.

“Snowdrop,” Luna began, “your parents and I are having a very private discussion, and you should be in bed. How can I trust you’ll listen to my lessons if you can’t listen to your parents?”

“I’m sorry, princess,” Snowdrop replied, kicking at the floor. “I just thought I heard voices, and then it was so quiet, and I got s’picious, and...”

“I understand. Come here, please.”

Snowdrop sniffled but obeyed, her eyes welling with tears. “I just...”

“Shh.” Luna folded a wing around her, and nuzzled her cheek. “It’s quite alright. I’m not angry at you, just a little disappointed. We can talk about that at our next lesson, alright?”

Snowdrop nodded mutely, her cheeks damp.

“Now go on to bed. Give your folks a hug before you go, hm?”

“Yes’m.” Staring at the floor, Snowdrop turned about to trudge to her father’s seat and nosed him in the side. He tousled her mane, fighting a grin, and whispered that he loved her. Skyshine, in turn, frowned at her but gave her a hug nonetheless, and patted her side as she passed out of the room.

* * *

All three adults listened for the quiet click of the filly's door, then the bubble sprang back into existence.

“Really now, Worker,” Skyshine grumbled, “was it that funny?”

Worker fought back tears, hiding a frozen grin behind his hoof, and nodding furiously.

Luna rolled her eyes, shook out her mane, and tried to bring the conversation back around to the subject at hand. “Thank you for letting me handle that one, Skyshine. She needs to understand the importance of the rules, and that was a prime opportunity.”

“Of course,” Skyshine replied with a curt nod. “You were saying something about Nightmare Night?”

“Yes, thank you,” Luna agreed. “If Worker can control himself?”

Worker had managed to choke down the smile. He nodded in reply. “I’m listening. You have my utmost attention.”

“Very well,” she continued. “As Worker has no doubt told you, the stories of Nightmare Night are not entirely accurate. While it is true that I was rescued from Nightmare, we were not separate beings at the time.”

Any hint of humor faded from Worker’s face, and his mouth was drawn in a flat line. Skyshine looked nervous, but said nothing.

“Ages ago, my sister and I defeated Nightmare, although we did not know it at the time. It had taken the two of us, working together, to banish it from the realm. Over the centuries, it found a way to return, and influenced one of my sister’s pupils.”

Luna gestured at the table. Suddenly, wisps of glowing light danced across it, taking the form of ponies. Two tall winged creatures approached a smaller shape. It shimmered, and something peeled off and faded away.

“When we recognized it, it fled, but not before the damage was done. Celestia and I were forced to imprison the student, and his counterstroke led to suffering for a great many ponies. Soon, it returned, but it had learned the value of deception.”

The shapes shimmered again. Now, a single alicorn walked alone, and a small cloud hovered behind. It grew larger and larger as her tale unfolded.

“It recognized that I was unhappy with certain truths about our subjects. It wheedled and whined, hinted and suggested, pretending to be my own voice. I was a prime target for it. I was stronger then than I am now, in fact, and less wise to the nature of evil.”

The cloud slowly filtered into the alicorn. It darkened, but its eyes still glowed.

“Over time, it consumed me. It trapped me within myself, and assumed my form. My sister was forced to...” The princess shuddered, pausing to take a breath. The wispy alicorn winked out.

Skyshine reached out and placed a hoof atop hers. “Thank you,” Luna whispered. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. Visibly steeled, she continued.

“By the time Celestia recognized I was no longer in control of my faculties, Nightmare was too strong to expel. So we were imprisoned—cast into the sky, and locked away in the moon. For a thousand years, the Nightmare waited, and when it grew bored it would torment me, robbing me of my strength and, I feared, my sanity."

A shimmer reappeared. A desolate sphere moved over the table, approached by four brilliant sparks.

“Over the years, Nightmare reached across the cosmos, and found allies in the stars. A few agreed to help set it free, in exchange for prominence in the sky. A thousand years later, it did so, and thus began the legends of the Elements of Harmony.” She smiled, and looked out the window.

“Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Applejack and Twilight Sparkle,” she listed, each name filled with warmth. Unobserved by its creator, the blue-white shimmer took on shapes that Worker could only guess were cutie marks. “I knew them all, and trusted them implicitly.”

“Wait,” said Worker, his brow furrowed. “Twilight Sparkle? As in, Princess Twilight Sparkle?”

Luna turned back to the table, and the blue glow winked out once more. “Yes, Worker. The same pony—but that is a story for another time.”

“I understand,” he said. “You were saying something about the Elements?”

“Indeed, yes. They rescued me.” Luna smiled, then—a genuine expression of joy. The rest of the room seemed dimmer in comparison. “By embodying the Elements of Harmony, those six mares freed me from Nightmare’s influence, and cast it out. We thought it gone, but had we considered its past, well...”

“You would have realized it was trying to influence me,” Worker concluded.

His wife’s head whipped around. Wide-eyed, she stared in terror at her husband. It was Luna’s turn to place a hoof upon hers.

“Skyshine,” Luna soothed. “Influence is one thing. Possession is quite another. Worker has only been touched briefly by Nightmare, and it has fled once already upon seeing my sister and I.”

Skyshine hazarded a guess. “Is that...” She found she couldn’t complete the thought.

“Yes. That is who shouted at you, all those months ago. And, I imagine, what you saw was the product of a series of reasonable suggestions.”

Worker nodded, frowning at his hooves. “They were.”

“I know,” the princess replied softly.

“How...” Skyshine started, then tried again. “How do we defend against it?”

“Vigilance,” Luna replied. “From what I know of Nightmare, it chooses a suitable target and tries repeatedly before either being defeated or... well, winning.”

“But—”

“I do not intend to let it win,” Luna interrupted, her voice developing an edge of steel. “I have personal business with it now. Since it’s shown its interest, it may have done itself more harm than good.”

“What do you mean?” Skyshine asked.

“With my skills,” she replied, and looked over to the pensive unicorn. “And Worker’s intellect... we may be able to undo its influence for good.”

Worker nodded slowly, turning the idea over in his mind. Luna smiled, baring teeth in a manner almost feral.

“What do you say, Worker?” Luna extended a hoof. “Do we have an accord?”

“Yes, your highness.” He clasped her hoof in his own. “We do. For as long as it takes. That is, if my wife agrees.” He turned his gaze to Skyshine.

“I’d be lying if I said I had no reservations,” she began, looking down at the table. “But I trust you both.” She smiled weakly at each pony in turn. “Just... remember why you’re doing this. I’ll do what I can.”

“Then, my friends,” Luna declared, “we have a lot of work to do.”

The night wore on, but only Snowdrop got any sleep.

In which wings are given roots

The wedding had been lovely, even if the groom had to be reminded of his lines. At the nearby Pasofino Conservatory, ponies gathered to celebrate the nuptials and give their best wishes to the happy couple.

Down the hall from the main stage, two mares headed towards the dressing rooms to freshen up. “Ugh,” Saber Dance muttered, tugging at her bridesmaid’s dress and hanging it on a nearby peg. “Moss green does not go with purple.” The small, lavender mare continued grumbling unintelligibly as she ducked into the showers to freshen up.

Bulwark followed behind, laughing. She removed her dress coat and cummerbund and hung them on the next peg. “Maybe we should have swapped outfits? Green would have worked better with white, although I’d likely need two of your dresses to fit me.” She shook her head in amusement, then shoved her mane beneath the tap at the sink and turned it on. “Anyway, the ceremony wasn’t about you, Saber.”

“I know,” Saber called, raising her voice over the rushing water. “I’ve had my own ceremony, after all. Amaranth and I have been together, what, almost ten years now?” There was a pause, and then, “No, eleven?”

Bulwark stepped back from her ablutions and closed the tap. “How old is Tea Blossom now?” she prompted, before shaking out her mane and wrapping a towel around it.

“Eight, so...” The shower cut off. “Yes. Eleven.”

Bulwark laughed. “I’m sure Amaranth would be thrilled to hear you remember your wedding so well.”

“Hmph!” Saber stepped out of the shower stall, dripping everywhere, but still found a moment to grin savagely. “What about you?”

“What do you mean? I’m not married to Amaranth. Honestly, he’s too fond of his books for my taste.”

“As if you know what one looks like.” She spun a towel around her mane, then stepped to the other shelf to pick up a second.

“A book, or a stallion?” Bulwark pursed her lips in thought.

Saber stared at her levelly, then returned to drying off. “A book, of course.”

“Well, of course I do!” she responded, nose in the air. “I’ve got one under the left side of the headboard. My bed wobbles otherwise.” Bulwark lowered her voice, and smiled roguishly. “The difference, I guess, is that a stallion makes it wobble harder.”

“You’re impossible!” Saber huffed.

“You must have meetings,” Bulwark murmured in reply.

“What?”

“The number of ponies who tell me that, in that exact tone of voice?” she remarked with airy innocence. “Can’t be coincidence.”

“Ugh. Forget it. What I mean, Bulwark, is where’s your paramour?”

Bulwark shrugged. “Well, I’ve dated...”

Saber stepped over to the mirror and began combing out her mane. She addressed Bulwark’s reflection. “No interest in settling down?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I mean, that might change, but I think I rather enjoy answering only to myself.”

“Heh.” Saber grinned into the mirror. “I still answer to myself, Bulwark. And now, Amaranth does too.”

“Oh, you’re so wrong.”

“What can I say? Some mares got it...”

“I’ll leave that one alone.” She took down Saber’s dress and gently rested it across her back, then pulled down her coat to do the same. “Want me to drop off your dress at your place? I’m gonna run my coat back to Velvet’s shop.”

“Yes, thank you.” Saber turned back to her friend. “Wait, that’s a rental? But it looked so good on you.”

Bulwark shrugged. “No need for it. I’ll remind Amaranth of the party if I see him. See you back here in a few.”

“See you.”

Sundown swept his wings in slow, regular strokes and soared over Pasofino. Beneath him lay the town in all its charm, and he could just make out a gathering of ponies trickling into the Conservatory. From his high vantage point, he watched a dappled grey stallion clad in a dark green sash pace atop a cloud bank that had been positioned to keep the partygoers cool.

The new pegasus flared his wings in agitation and seemed to be muttering to himself. Sundown banked and began a slow glide towards him, dragging his hooves across the cloud-stuff to slow his approach. Before he could even fold his mismatched wings, the new recruit was well into a practiced complaint:

“I’ve nae time for canoodlin’!” he began, running his hoof through his auburn mane in frustration. “I’ve got ranges t’ learn, updrafts t’ keek, patterns t’ find—”

“You seem to think I’m giving you a choice, Skean,” Sundown interrupted. “If you want to be a weather pony for any earthbound town—especially a primarily earth-pony town—you’ve got to understand the importance of their ceremonies.”

Skean turned and glowered, his green eyes dark. “I ken marriage, Sundown. I’m nae glaikit.”

Sundown rubbed his forehead and made a mental note to cover slang later. “It’s different for pegasi. A witness, a few words mumbled, and we’re in or out, and it’s just as easy either way. For these ponies, it’s a lot more serious. It’s like... tying yourself to your clan.”

“Tying?” Skean bristled, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I’m born an’ bred Eriskay, an’ I’ll—”

Sundown raised a hoof to forestall him, and shook his head. “You’ll appreciate if I don’t speak so lightly of it. I know. My flight instructor was from the Hebridles. Maybe even of your clan, if I recall rightly. That’s why I requested you when I saw your name come up.” He reached up and adjusted Skean’s sash, then clapped him on the shoulder and gestured to the bustle below.

“Look. Earth ponies put different weight on things than we do. This isn’t a party for a party’s sake, it’s part of the tradition for their weddings. While we treat marriage as a contract, for them it’s a life-choice: A permanent thing, and not easily broken even if both parties desire it.”

Sundown strolled a few paces away and stretched out his wings, testing the joints on the artificial span. Satisfied, he looked over his shoulder and put a point on it. “Much like joining a clan, as I said, if you don’t have the fortune to be born into one.”

Skean frowned, mollified, and dropped to his rump. “I think I see. I think m’ Da would be shocked, how little we ken about earthbounds. It was his idea t’ join the Weather Corps.”

“They know just as little about us. It’s why we have to be open, and warm, and... approachable when we’re out here. They told you when you signed on for the Corps that you were to consider yourself an ambassador.” Sundown stepped off the cloud and hovered, waiting.

“That means you have to watch your words, and watch your temper. Earth ponies, on the whole, are a lot slower to anger than we are, even if they are quicker to forgive.” He beckoned to his understudy with a hoof. “Never forget this: An entire generation of ponies will look at you as the exemplar of our culture.”

“Ach. I think I can manage it.” Skean flapped over to his mentor. “I jes need t’ shut m’ geggy so I dinnae look a dobber.”

“It’s all I can ask.” Sundown descended towards town in a slow spiral. “Now, about slang...”

“Aye?” Skean asked. “What of it?”

“He’s a cute one. You say he just arrived?” Bulwark sipped her punch, but never took her eyes off the new pegasus at the other end of the room.

“This morning,” Skyshine agreed. The grey mare looked him over appraisingly, shielding her gaze by fidgeting with her mane which was still coiled in elegant braids. She wore her gown, but had removed the train, and had kicked off the formal shoes somewhere. “He’s not really my type. I like ‘em a little more grounded, and besides, I haven’t properly trained Worker yet,” she mused. “But he certainly looks mysterious.” The corners of her mouth crinkled in amusement.

Bulwark gave her a disparaging glance, then looked back at the visitor. “Who is he? Just passing through? New resident?”

“I think his name’s Skein.” Skyshine set down her cup and scanned the rest of the crowd, but continued her conversation. “I’ve not had a chance to talk with him yet. He’s Sundown’s new project, as he’ll be retiring soon and wants to help the new weather pony get settled in.”

“New weather pony? I’d not heard!” Bulwark beat her hooves against the parquet in irritation. “Why do you townies have to keep so many secrets?”

“Secrets?” Skyshine looked back at her friend and frowned. “You were sent an invitation to his retirement party. When’s the last time you checked your mailbox?”

Bulwark’s ears drooped. “Uh...”

“Too busy with your adventures?”

“Oh, yes,” Bulwark replied, pausing for a sip of punch. “There’s this beautiful copse of trees around a spring just south of...” She trailed off as she saw Skyshine grinning at her. “You’re mocking me.”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I just know how you get. I’d wager you know the wilds better than Holly by now, even if she’s got you beat on medicines.” Skyshine leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “I’m going to go find my husband. He’s probably taking apart something by now.”

“Go on, you. I’ll go see if I can find out some more about our mysterious new weather pony.”

“Good luck!” Skyshine whispered enthusiastically, before she vanished into one of the hallways.

Nodding his hellos and wearing a frozen smile, Skean made a beeline for the back door. Once outside, he took a deep breath and leaned against the railing that bordered the gardens. He had barely taken a second breath when he heard hooves behind him.

“Oi, Skean,” called Sundown. “You alright?”

“Yeah. The place is heevin’. So many ponies in one place...” He shuddered. “It’s nae natural.”

Sundown grinned at him. “Heh. Claustrophobic?” He stepped a little closer, then sat, keeping a pace or two away. “Hate to say it, but you’ll get used to it. Earth ponies really don’t mind close quarters, and if you’re going to be pressing hooves then you’ll be in these situations more and more.” He looked up at a passing cloud. “Then again, most of them have a fear of heights, so I guess it’s a tradeoff.”

“A tradeoff, mibbe. But it dinnae make it easy.” He stared into the distance, willing himself calm.

“I’ll give you a minute, but I would like to see you back in there in a few.” He stood, and turned to leave. “Fair enough?”

Skean gave him a withering look, then sighed in resignation at Sundown’s arched brow. “Fine, I’ll check in soon.”

“Glad to hear it.” He spared him a sharp nod, and trotted back inside.

Skean grumbled, but stood and stretched out his wings. He folded them, and turned to go back inside, but stopped short. Soon, he thought, did not mean now. Grinning, he turned towards the yard and and stepped into the gardens behind the Conservatory.

He paced the rows and soon found himself trotting. Before long, he was at a gallop, keeping a tight route around the planters and raised beds, flaring his wings to help him take the corners. Suddenly, he realized someone was watching from the deck.

He turned and nodded at the pony who waited. “I said I’d be right in, Su—” He froze, his ears burning scarlet. “You’re nae Sundown.”

“Oh, you’re a sharp one,” replied Bulwark, grinning. “But you’re right. I’m not Sundown.” She tossed her mane towards her shoulders. “No wings, for one.”

“Aye, I noticed that.” He nodded, flicking his ears as they resumed their usual shade. “Different color, too,” he noted, cantering up to the railing between them. “An’ his mane’s a bit thinner.”

“Now you’ve done it. Sundown’s very proud of his coiffure.” She turned in place, and took a half step towards the door. “Just wait until he hears about that crack.”

“Wait,” Skean said, lifting a hoof. “You don’t have t’ go jes yet.”

“What, afraid of what he’ll hear?”

“Nah,” he drawled, shaking his head. “But I was enjoyin’ the company.”

Bulwark’s cheeks reddened. “Oh.”

Skean stepped closer, and extended his hoof once more. “Skean Dubh, of Clan Eriskay.”

Bulwark blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“My name,” he clarified. “I’m Skean Dubh.”

“Ah,” she replied. “Um. Bulwark.” She reached over the rail and shook his hoof. “My name’s Bulwark.”

“Bulwark?” he remarked, his voice rising in surprise. “A warrior clan, in Pasofino?”

“Nothing so fabled. It’s a family name.”

“Mibbe you can tell me the tale behind it, then.”

“So forward,” she laughed. “I could almost imagine you mean that.”

“Course I do.” Skean glanced at the door. “I’m due back, ‘fore Sundown pops that vein in ‘is forehead. What say we both go, and you can tell me about it?”

Bulwark nodded, and turned from the rail. “I’d be delighted. Just one thing...”

“Aye?” A raised eyebrow accompanied the question.

“Skein?” she asked, dragging out the pronunciation.

“Ach, no. Nae weavers in the family.” He shook his head, and scratched at his stubble in thought. “Like ‘gain’, but wi’ an S a’fore it.”

“Skean.”

He nodded sharply. “Thassit.”

She smiled. “What does it mean?”

Skean walked to the door and held it open. “That, m’dear Bulwark, is a barry tale on its own merit.”

Bulwark stepped towards the Conservatory. “Why, mysterious and a gentlepony.” She paused next to Skean and looked him in the eye. “Whatever shall a mare do?” she crooned, then entered the building proper.

Skean’s muzzle curled into a roguish grin. “What, indeed?” he murmured to himself, then followed close behind.

Two ponies walked together down the town’s main thoroughfare. A white mare, her coat glowing orange in the sunset, and her companion, a grey-and-white dappled stallion, spoke quietly with one another, paying little heed to their steps and less to their surroundings.

“So, firstborns, then?” Skean asked.

“No, only first-born earth ponies. Let me think...” Bulwark studied the clouds. “The first one I can remember is Crimson Bulwark, back in Hoofington. She’s my... well, there’s a lot of greats. I’m sure I have have great-uncles and cousins and what not with the name that I don’t know about.”

She shrugged, and continued down the lineage. “Then there’s my great-great-grandfather. He was just ‘Bulwark’, like me. Great-gran Crystal moved here, had my granddad Spires—they’re both unicorns. Great-gran Crystal passed a few years back.”

“I’m sorry,” Skean offered.

Bulwark shook her head. “Nah, don’t be. She had a long and happy life, and died peacefully. Can’t really ask for more, now can you?” She smiled at Skean. “There’s my ma, Saffron. She’s an earth pony, like me, but she wasn’t the first-born. That’d be my uncle, Verdant. His full name is Verdant Bulwark, but he never uses it. And then there’s me! First-born earth pony, so I get the name. Have to say, though, I think it fits.”

“Why issat, d’ya ken?”

“Lately? I’ve been fighting the town’s expansion.”

“Brave lass. I’ve met your mayor. She’s a formidable mare.”

“Nah, just what needs to be done, and there’s really no venom between us. It’s just... we’re building out, and we could be using what we’ve already got. I don’t want my town ending up like Hoofington. That place stretches for miles to either side of the river, and doesn’t even feel like a town anymore. It’s more like an all-day fair.”

“So th’ shield...”

“...is for the woodlands, yeah. If I ever have kids, I want them to enjoy the wilds as much as I did, when I was little. Or as much as I do now.”

“I think you’d love th’ Hebridles.”

“Fair enough. Sounds like it’s your turn, then.”

“It is, that. M’ name’s from an old tradition. Used t’ be, back in th’ day, a stallion would keep a weapon or two—or three, if y’ can believe m’ granda—on ‘im, ‘case of a beast or a fight. Even when things were calm, or if visiting a friend, most would keep a small knife about. Those were called skean dubh. In the old tongue, it means ‘knife black’, lit’rally, or ‘hidden knife’.”

Bulwark nodded. “So, you’re a secret weapon?”

“Ha!” he barked, causing several ponies to stop and stare. He shook his head and continued. “Nae, my life t’ now’s been study, and practice, and more study. Signed on t’ th’ Weather Corps a few weeks back, and Sundown here invited me over. Seems he’s lookin’ to retire.”

“So I hear,” she commented.

“So, I got here a few days back. Been studying the airflow, the natural patterns, where the farmland is, an’ so on. Today, Sundown tells me to spruce up and head to this reception thing. My first one, that.”

“Really?” She looked askance. “You don’t do receptions over there?”

“Well, we don’t really do the whole ceremony thing. I mean, we do marriage—we call it hoof-fasting—but it’s not quite the same.”

“Little differences?”

“Y’ could say,” he demurred.

Bulwark changed tactics. “So, tell me about these ‘Hebridles’. What’s home like?”

Skean smiled, and his step seemed more lively. “Dunno if you’ve heard stories of Cloudsdale...”

“Big, white, fluffy, full of weather gear?” she interjected.

“Thass th’ one. Well, imagine something sim’lar, but a little less formal. The Hebridles are islands with braw hulkin’ mountains and rich fields. Lossa oats an’ barley. Potatoes and root veggies further south.” He gestured skywards. “Above it all are the villages, onna cloudtops. Each clan has one. The Eriskay fare out near the northern spans. Each of th’ villages defends a set of islands from creatures like dragons, or sea-serpents, or chimera.”

Bulwark marveled at her companion. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Eh, could be, I guess.” He shrugged. “But it’s kinda old hat. The only trouble is the dragons, and once we convince ‘em the islands are nae good for a den, they usually jes head elsewhere. Last one o’ them was, oh, ten years gone.”

“So, if you’re so busy keeping the islands safe,” she asked, still imagining pegasi battling dragons, “why come out to Pasofino? Doesn’t your home need you more?”

“To be straight, no. We’ve been doing so well, the clan’s fair minted. Some of the more creative types have been workin’ paired, firin’ new trades and startin’ new traditions. But me, all I’m good at is keepin’ th’ heather.” He nodded towards his hindquarters. “Those are th’ flowers on my flank.”

Bulwark’s gaze flickered back, but she pulled her eyes back towards his, her ears reddening.

“Anyway. Since I’m good at weather, I signed on to the corps. ‘sides, this close to Canterlot, I might even get to visit.” His voice softened. “Mibbe see the Sisters,” he said, staring towards the east in awe.

“Worker’s got an invitation,” she replied.

Skean shook out his mane. “Worker?”

Bulwark nodded. “The stallion who got married today. He and Skyshine did. Get married, that is. I’m surprised you didn’t meet him.”

“I might’ve. I, uh, shook a lot of hooves.” He grinned despite himself. “The names kinda blur past a time.”

“You too, eh?” Bulwark chuckled.

Skean shrugged. “My head’s usually elsewhere. I’m nae for names and faces.”

“Sounds like we have a little in common,” Bulwark stopped walking and smiled at her companion. She stepped closer and noticed, with some surprise, that he was slightly taller.

“I wouldn’t object to there being more,” he replied, grinning down at her.

“Why, Skean,” she recoiled theatrically, holding a hoof to her chest. “Are you asking me out?”

He laughed. “Thought that was clear. We’ve walked o’er a mile arready.”

Bulwark blinked, and looked over her shoulder, then at her surroundings. The low brush and the quiet roadway towards Canterlot were all she could see. Her ears turned crimson. “Well, then...” she sighed, “maybe you should walk me home.”

“Home?” Skean cocked his head. “Are you s—”

A feral grin nearly split Bulwark’s muzzle. “It’s getting late, silly.” She snickered at him. “I don’t know what it’s like in pegasus-land, but we earth ponies aren’t that forward.”

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” The stallion’s ears went crimson and folded flat against his head. He looked everywhere but at her. “We will never speak of this again.”

Bulwark turned back towards town, her lips pursed, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “If you say so.”

Skean stepped cautiously, eying her warily. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

She closed her eyes and lifted her chin, strolling casually back the way they had come. “That depends on tomorrow night.”

“Oh?” His ears perked.

“Yes.” She opened one eye, and looked him up and down. “I suggest talking to Sundown about the best restaurants.”

“Oh.” His ears drooped once more.

Worker stepped into the master suite of their new home, and noticed his fiancé—no, his wife—looking out the window. “What do you see, dearest?”

“Oh, just another beginning,” she murmured in reply.

Worker stepped closer and nuzzled her neck. “Another?”

“Mmhmm,” she replied, leaning into the nuzzle. “Maybe one day, we can attend their wedding.”

“Wait, wedding?” He looked up, and tried to peer through the curtains. “Who?”

“That’d be telling,” she replied coyly, and pushed him away from the window.

“Oh, come now, Skyshine.” He frowned at her, stepping backwards, but his eyes were filled with amusement.

“Afraid you’ll have to find some way to get it out of me,” she replied primly.

Worker’s legs hit the edge of the bed. Smiling, he channeled off the lights.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

In which shadows gather

Beneath the Palace of the Sisters lay a warren of tunnels, vaults, and halls. Each had been dug long ago to fill a particular need, but only one still kept its original purpose. In that circular chamber, a fire roared upon the hearth, and stand-lamps illuminated a dais that occupied the center. It was otherwise empty, save for a high balcony that encircled the room and a few scattered benches.

A grey stallion stood atop the dais. His mane was heavy with sweat and his shoulders spoke of weariness, but he persevered. Staring into the flames, he forced himself to take slow, even breaths, and listened for his heartbeat.

“Show me again,” prompted a voice that echoed from the shadows above.

Silently, the unicorn closed his eyes and focused his energies. Closing his eyes would have seemed a blessing, were he not trying to exhibit the spell once more. Still, the sooner she grasped how it worked, the sooner he could rest.

She did not break her stride, nor did she look away, yet Celestia maintained a steady pace along the railing. The spell that Somber Dreams wove was complex, and utilized theories she barely understood. It seemed to pull energy from nowhere, and turned it into a tangible force: This time, a flickering ebony sphere.

“Hold it there, please,” she called down. There, at the tip of his horn, was that looping back? Yes... “I think I see how you are doing that. You can release the spell, Somber.”

The sphere flickered away, and the unicorn staggered on his feet. In a flash, Celestia was at his side. “I am sorry. I should have noticed you growing so weary. Please, let me walk you to your room. I’ll have the kitchens bring something to you as well.”

Somber shook his head at his mentor. He pushed back his mane, stretched his neck, and took a deep breath. Stepping off the dais, he turned and smiled at her, then bowed his head before turning to leave.

“Tomorrow, then?” she called after him. “I think I’ve worked out what you’re doing, but I’d like you to observe.”

He paused at the door long enough to nod agreement, then shouldered it open and left the hall without a word. The door swung shut with a soft click. As soon as it did, something stirred on the balconies above.

“I do wonder about him, my sister,” murmured a voice from the shadows. “He rarely speaks, and his expressions are impossible to read.”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Luna,” replied Celestia. “He finds it difficult to speak more than a few words at a time.” She turned and smiled up at her younger sister. “You worry too much. You should trust your subjects, as I do. After all, can’t you observe their dreams? Sense when they are holding something back?”

“Most of our subjects, yes, and some of them, to answer both questions,” she replied. She stepped forward into the light, then shimmered and stood beside her sister. “I can do neither with him.” Luna eyed the door he had exited warily.

“I understand your suspicion. Give him a chance. Once I can duplicate the spell, I’m sure we’ll be better able to judge where he stands.”

“If you say so, Tia.” Luna stepped close and pecked her on the cheek, then continued her stroll for the door. “As for me, I will keep my polite but cautious distance.”

“As you will, then,” she called after her. “I believe I shall retire. Goodnight.”

Luna paused to look over her shoulder. “It will be, yes,” she replied, then stepped through the door. As it swung shut, she murmured, “Sleep well.”

Celestia frowned. A moment’s concentration found her in her own quarters, and she readied for bed. Still, something about their last exchange felt odd, and it was not until midnight that she had managed to find sleep.

Scattered coals glowed in the fireplace, and stand-lamps flickered in the corners of Somber’s lodgings. The door was barred, the windows locked, and the curtains drawn, but still he felt exposed. Closing his eyes, he stretched out his mind and felt along the stones. Nothing seemed out of place, but still...

He probed between the joints, delving past the mortar and through the fine joinery. No trace of a spell could be found. It’s not perfect, he thought, but it will have to—

They suspect you.

The thought came unbidden. More and more frequently, of late, his skull felt too crowded. Paranoia? Something stranger? He didn’t know, and could not take the time to find the answers. There was too much at stake.

What he had learned in the last few weeks was that ignoring the thoughts simply caused them to become more insistent.

“Of course they do,” he muttered to himself. “They are not fools. I’ve kept too much to myself.” He rubbed his temple. “Indeed, I did not think my evasions would have held out so long.” Somber turned towards the hearth and focused his magic. What coals had been glowing slowly began to die, and the candles in the room winked out.

The dark one is dangerous. She may know.

“If she knew she would have acted. No, I think things will become more interesting after my spells are understood. There is enough to concern ourselves with then.” He paused. Since when had he begun referring to himself in the plural? No matter.

“The Northern Reaches are leagues away.” Somber opened the drawer of his bedside table, and browsed its contents in the fading light. “We will need to be cautious if we are to advance. Once Celestia has tasted this new power, she will be easier to convince.”

Or control.

“Yes,” he answered, and walked to the fireplace. Against the gathering gloom, his horn glowed briefly as he touched up his cutie mark. The spell was layered several times, in the off chance he was hit by dispelling magic, to give him a fighting chance. For the thousandth time, he traced the image of the candle and its oddly-colored flame.

When he was finished, his horn flickered out and darkness reclaimed the chamber. He curled up before the dead coals on the hearth, and rested his head on his forelimbs. While the room was cold, the stones held on to enough heat for comfort. In moments, he fell towards slumber, but he did not sleep.

He found himself in an enormous cavern, cool and damp. At his hooves lapped dark, featureless waters. The only light was that from his horn—a spell cast in reflex, and one quickly extinguished. It would not do to seem armed, here.

As the light faded, something stirred in the distance. “You are late,” it whispered.

“I was delayed,” Somber explained, keeping his voice level and his eyes open, despite the featureless black. “I have made progress.”

“Have you?” the voice crooned, an eager note filling the dark. “Does she agree with your plans?”

“Your faith in my ability humbles me, my Lord, but I feel it is not yet time to show my cards.” This was dangerous ground, he knew. Depending on any number of factors, even the whims of chance, such independence might result in punishment. “I assure you, she will taste of my gift soon. Perhaps even tomorrow. Then will I be able to make my case.”

A long silence filled the cavern. For a time, the only sound the unicorn could hear was the blood in his ears, and the breath in his chest.

A ripple sounded in the distance.

“Very good, Somber. Yet, there is something you are not telling me.”

His heart leapt to his throat, and froze there. “My Lord, I do not understand. I would never think to conceal something from you.”

“But conceal you do. You have been worrying. Concerned...” The voice took on a cruel quality, etching his ears like acid on glass. “Yes, concerned about something that distracts you from your tasks.”

Somber nearly sighed in relief. “I have, my Lord. It is a small thing, I think.” He swallowed, then admitted aloud, “I have been arguing with myself.”

“Arguing? Do you doubt your path?”

Panic clawed at Somber’s mind. “No, Lord, I do not. Indeed, when I discuss these things in my thoughts, I find I am more resolute.”

“That is good. Worry not, then, Somber.” The voice seemed closer, but he knew better than to try to locate the source. “You shall have your reward soon enough, and the Northern Reaches will be the key. Be patient, and be observant. Trust no-one.”

“I shall do as you command, my Lord,” he pledged.

“You may sleep now, Somber.” Something shifted in his mind, but before he realized the meeting had ended, fatigue rolled him under.

Celestia sat at a low table and stifled a yawn. She stretched out her neck this way and that, then stared blearily into the simple breakfast she had prepared. She realized that she was in no mood to eat, and instead poured another cup of hot tea.

The sound of hooves on marble announced the new arrival moments before Luna appeared in the doorway. The mares traded unreadable, guarded expressions for a moment, then Luna clicked her tongue in irritation. She flowed into the room and gracefully sat at the other end of the table. “How do your lessons progress, sister?”

Celestia chuckled into her tea, and shook her head in resignation. “I begin to appreciate his ability, Luna. I can barely manage to sense the individual threads long enough to reach them. Every time, without fail, I close my eyes, reach out, touch something that resists me, and before I can grab hold...” She sighed. “It evaporates.”

Celestia downed the rest of her tea, made a face at the dregs, and poured another cup. “I must have been pushing him very hard, that first night.”

“I am sorry. I wish I could be there to provide some support, but the nightly incursions by those dogs have been keeping me occupied. I fear they will only grow more intense as winter drags on.”

“I understand. We all have our duties. I must remember that as well. I cannot let my fascination with this new power distract me from my responsibilities.”

Luna smiled, a genuine expression of relief crossing her features. “I am glad to hear that. It’s why I made sure to visit, today, but it is better that such a realization comes unbidden.”

Celestia smiled back. A bowl of oats slid into place before her, and a spoon floated nearby at the ready. “Don’t worry, little sister. I know our duties to this place, and the pledges we have made. Still, it warms me that you are concerned.” She sampled the oats and made a face. While chewing, she doused the remainder with milk and sugar.

Luna nodded, and poured herself a cup of juice before dropping a few muffins on her plate. “I’ll head upstairs, then. Will you be seeking another lesson tonight?” She stood and the juice and muffins floated nearby.

“I will.” Celestia swallowed, the continued. “I will also tell our friend that we need to start spacing them out.”

“I think it will be for the best,” her sister replied. “Your duties do not yet suffer, but such single-mindedness cannot be healthy.” She took a bite from the nearest muffin and chewed thoughtfully.

“I agree.” Celestia set down her spoon and frowned. “I do worry that I might upset him, though. He has taken great pains to travel here, and uproot his life, at our request. If he feels like we’ve become fickle...”

“I will make every effort to attend, then.” She stepped about the table and nuzzled her sister. “It is better that our ponies see us united,” she confided, and then turned for the door.

“Agreed. Sweet dreams, Luna.”

“Good luck.”

Somber stared at the princess. His brow furrowed and his mouth worked silently as he tried to put together the words. He sat down heavily on the edge of the dais and tried again.

“I... do not understand,” Somber croaked. It was difficult for him to speak to others in the best of times, but under such duress it was nearly impossible. “Am I not... teaching well?”

Celestia shook her head. “I am having difficulty managing the spell, but I do not feel that is due to any failure on your part.”

Somber’s mind raced. Any further delay would not be well-received. His Lord was not patient. “Where is... the difficulty... your highness?”

“I think it’s in my ‘touch’, as it were.” She gestured with an outstretched hoof. “When I reach for a thread...” Her hoof spun through the air, then dropped to the ground. “I seem to destroy it as often as I ensnare it.”

“I understand.” There was no helping it. He would have to be more forthcoming. “I... did not want to... distract but there might be... an easier way.”

“Distract? Easier?” Celestia took a half step forward, and peered at him. “What do you mean?”

“Part of the magic... results in dramatic... side effects if you keep your... eyes open. But it might be... easier... to handle the spell.”

“Simply by keeping my eyes open? Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“The... effects, your highness are... very off-putting.” Somber turned and lowered his head. Strange magics flickered and formed before him, and an ebon sphere of crackling energy materialized above the dais. Then, he turned and looked up at Celestia from his seat.

His eyes, once a pleasing green, had changed. Now they glowed an ominous, fiery red, and coursed like living flame. From their corners streamed a menacing purple glow, like a mist of arcane tears.

Celestia recoiled and took a hasty step backwards.

“That...” He closed his eyes as the magic winked out. When he opened them once more, they had returned to normal. “That is what I meant.” He turned his head to look at his cutie mark. It suddenly seemed much more relevant.

“What causes that?” Celestia whispered.

“I think... it’s part of the... looping I do to... control the spell.” He shrugged, then stood once more.

“And you have noticed no ill effects?” asked Luna from the doorway. She strolled towards the pair, serenity itself, but Somber noticed her eyes were locked on him.

“My sister,” Celestia declared. “Welcome.”

Fool! Now they have both seen!

“Your highness,” Somber bowed his head.

Luna did not return the greeting. Instead, she paused at her sister’s side, and looked down at the unicorn.

“I could not help but notice the... effects... of your ability,” she stated. “It is unusual for magic to trigger a secondary glow at all. Even then, it only appears in times of great duress, or when we alicorns delve into deeper magic. And never before have I seen such a dramatic example.”

She frowned at him. “So, it leads me to wonder. Whence comes this ability? What shapes its realm? You have been eager—very eager—to show us this power. But at what price does it come?”

“Your highness... I...” Somber began, fighting to speak, cowering in apparent terror. In the back of his mind, he mused that he may soon stop acting. “I know only that... I can touch it... and use it. I know... nothing more.”

You have given us away, foolish unicorn! The voice in his head screamed with frustration.

Silence! He screamed back at it. There was a long, blissful silence. He marveled in shock. Had the voice fled?

Luna eyed him warily. “A thought has occurred to you, Master Somber?”

Why would... He struggled to control his features. “N-no, your highness. I just...”

“Luna,” Celestia soothed, “he says he means no harm. Unless your abilities can prove differently, would you cease your assault?”

“Assault?” Luna bristled. She looked away from Somber and glared at her sister. “My care for our ponies, and the health of the nation, is assault?”

“Luna,” she replied, her voice quiet and cool. “If you care for our ponies, then show that you care for this one as well. He has done nothing wrong.”

Somber took the opportunity to step back a few paces. Under cover of darkness, he began edging towards the exit. If a fight broke out between alicorns, he was not yet prepared. Still, it was gratifying. He knew he had chosen the right princess, now. He knew what had to be done.

He channeled the barest trickle of power into a well-worn spell and vanished from view.

The sisters were still arguing when the door opened and shut, silently, of its own accord.

Somber was woken by a knock on his chamber door. He stood from his spot before the hearth, and glanced about the room. Beneath the glow of his horn, he could see his sheets were rumpled, his lamps were doused, and his cutie mark was in place. Yes, all was in order.

He approached the door and unbolted it, then swung it open. On the other side stood Celestia, flanked by two of her guards. Their expressions were unreadable, but hers spoke volumes.

“Master Somber,” she said, her voice as warm as her smile. “I wanted to come see you this morning...” She glanced into his quarters. “But I am afraid I may have woken you.”

Somber shook his head. “No matter... highness. Can I help?”

The princess nodded to her guards, who stepped to the far side of the hall, out of earshot. “My friend, it will be difficult for me to spare the time to study with you, but I intend to do so. It will be doubly difficult to avoid... complications.”

Had he not been watching for it, he might have missed her flickered glance skywards—and in the direction of her sister’s tower.

“I propose we meet here, or somewhere close by, at or around noon. Would this meet your schedule? I know you’ve moved some of your business here to accommodate my request, and I would not wish to impose further upon your livelihood.”

“Your highness,” he answered in a low bow. “I could move some... other work around... yes.”

“I shall meet you here, then, today, if that suits you.”

“It does.”

“Thank you, Master Somber. We shall complete these studies soon enough.”

He smiled and bowed once more. “Yes, your highness.”

Celestia turned and rejoined her guard at the end of the hall, then vanished out of sight.

Somber closed the door and latched it, then turned back towards the hearth. He did not need to stand there to speak with his lord, but the more familiar the surroundings the easier it was. He stretched his mind out into the darkness, and...

“You have something to report?”

“Yes, my Lord. There has been a schism, as you predicted. We are ready.”

“Excellent. You may proceed.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

The connection severed almost instantly, and Somber staggered with the recoil. Wiping a trace of blood from his nostrils, he snorted, and turned back to his bedside table. He began removing its contents—vials, pouches, ampoules, and more—and packing them carefully into a small bag.

Soon, he thought.

Soon, answered the voice.

The laughter that bubbled forth was the first honest emotion he had expressed since his arrival.

Author's Note

Hey, Pony-Fans! All speech has been translated from Old Equestrian. - Ed

In which the truth is no comfort

He had been warned that it would be disconcerting, this far in. The usual senses could not be trusted, and he would have to interact with his surroundings through intuition. Still, the darkness was foreboding. It seemed almost aware.

But it wasn’t dark, exactly. To be ‘dark’ would imply a simple lack of light. Instead, there was nothing to be seen. It was as if he were adrift in that realm between ideas, or the pages of a book. Still, there were presences. Feelings. Thoughts. A sense of ‘up’ which, while unreliable, also implied a sense of ‘down’.

It was ‘down’ that Worker swam. He imagined his legs working awkwardly through the nothingness as he propelled himself towards something that glimmered below. It seemed forbidden, that glimmer, and all the more desirable.

After an interminable journey, Worker found himself at hoof’s distance—if he had a hoof here—and reached out to touch the wisp of light that hid in the folds of nothingness. Just a fraction of an inch closer, and he would…

Luna descended the final few feet and set her hooves atop the worn stones of her aerie. She gingerly folded her wings, and released the long-held dweomer that hid her from sight. The sole guard keeping watch showed no surprise as she popped into view. She nodded a silent greeting to the pony, and to the city itself. It had been nearly a year since she had seen either.

The peace she had won was worth it, she knew, but she had missed Canterlot. In many ways, it was more of a home to her than the ruins in the Everfree. Here, there were always a few ponies who braved her nights.

She turned, then, to observe: the shadow-clad stones, the quiet whispers of a city that knew most ponies had gone to bed hours ago, the occasional joyous hoots of laughter that split the night, and the awkward silences that fell after every outburst. Naught had changed since her departure, and if her luck remained, naught would change now that she had returned.

But those were thoughts for another time. For now, she had other priorities. First, some food. Then, her duties. And finally, a well-deserved rest.

The princess’ horn pulsed faintly as she opened the ornate hatch. She winced, stretching this way, then that, the strain of even minor magics causing every muscle in her neck to tense in agony. Lowering the moon, she reminded herself, would be far from pleasant. Maybe she could ask her sister’s assistance?

No. Those days were past.

Luna sighed. She shifted where she stood, rolling each foreleg in its socket, then turned to descend the ramp - only to find her way blocked by a familiar yellow mane attached to a cobalt unicorn.

“Your Highness.” The stallion briefly bowed his head.

“Chancellor,” she greeted him in return, her voice assuming practiced neutrality despite the flicker of irritation that danced in her eyes. She stared through him, down the ramp.

After a moment’s silence, awareness dawned and he stepped aside to let her pass. He fell in behind her and began his report. “I apologize for the lack of decorum, but having received word that you would be arriving, I have been watching the tower. It is important that you be made aware of a guest.”

Luna paused in her descent. She lifted her chin and gazed over her shoulder, fixing a sidelong look at the nervous stallion. “A guest?”

“Yes, your Highness.” He nodded in the shadows.

Luna shook out her mane and continued her walk. “None but you and the Night Watch knew I would be returning today, Chancellor. Are you telling me that there is a breach in my circle?”

“No, your Highness,” replied the voice behind her. “The guest has been waiting for you for some time now.”

Luna focused briefly and shut the ramp high above. In reply, more knots wove themselves across her shoulders. She hoped the deepening gloom had hidden her grimace. “And by some time, you mean…”

“Eleven weeks.”

“Eleven?” Luna’s horn flared, a blinding beacon that was quickly dimmed to a more reasonable lantern.

“Indeed,” the chancellor replied, blinking to restore his vision. “He refuses to leave your Court, but is otherwise cordial. He simply states that you will be returning soon, and that he insists upon his rights to speak to you. He has likewise refused any suggestion to meet with your sister.”

With that, the pony paused, seeming to look for the best phrasing. “I... am not certain if she is... aware of his presence.”

Luna reached the base of the tower, then turned to address her old confidant once more. “Tell me more about this guest. What does he look like? I assume he has not given a name.”

“He’s tall, and thin... almost skeletal.” The chancellor’s face contorted with distaste. “He is a unicorn, and has a pronounced horn—it could, quite possibly, challenge yours for length. His coat is pale, and his mane, I think, is reddish-orange, but he’s so… so filthy.

“Well, he is not in the best of states. As for a name, no, your Highness. He did bring a token that he showed us, but would not let us take. It is a silver disc, perhaps part of an old medallion, with your emblem on one face—”

A thunderclap and flash interrupted the report. By the time the chancellor’s vision had returned, two of the Night Watch were rushing through the door, and Luna was gone. Her haste was remarkable in itself, but it was her expression that he found most troubling.

Muttering to himself, he bowed his departure to the Watch and made his way to the Palace.

A bundle of soiled rags stirred in a side chamber of Luna’s court. Slowly, a long, filthy leg descended from the fetid pile, and then another. They were a pale yellow, stained with mud or worse, and they shed dried clumps of matter as they moved.

The creature to whom the legs belonged lifted his head from the bundle, the tangled knots and clumps of his orange mane looking much like the other debris. He stared through the wall at someone, or something, in the far distance. He smiled, then pulled his hooves beneath his chin, and waited.

What sounded like a thunderstorm on the horizon gently rattled the large doors that led to Luna’s throne room. As soon as the sound faded, they opened, revealing a slate blue mare.

She remained in the doorway, one hoof raised in mid-stride, frozen in shocked study of the chamber’s sole occupant. She had imagined the Chancellor’s description an exaggeration, but in truth he had not gone far enough.

The pony within was emaciated, his too-tight hide pulled over not enough flesh. His coat and mane were fouled, and he cloaked himself in blankets that were so tattered they barely deserved the name. What held Luna’s attention, though, were his eyes.

Deep within their sunken sockets, two glittering black orbs emitted an almost imperceptible reddish glow. Luna realized the occupant was staring back, but refused to break eye contact.

“Worker?” she breathed. “Is it you? What in the name of the First Circle happened to you?”

The pony rose slowly from his seat against the wall, then shook off the blankets that scattered caked debris as they slid to the floor. They could have shed diamonds, and Luna would not have noticed, as her attention was fixed upon the perfect wings on her guest’s back.

Slowly, Worker unfurled them. In the back of Luna’s head, a voice screamed a warning, but she could not heed it.

“Nothing you didn’t do to me, Luna.”

The doors, unbidden, closed behind the princess with a whisper.

“If…” Luna began, but paused, her long journey catching up with her. She swayed a moment, then found her footing and turned again to address her guest. “If you seek to harm me, Worker…” Focusing her attention on his horn, she prepared a counterspell for anything he might attempt.

The pain that lanced across her temples and down her spine reminded her that it had been far too long since she had last slept. Her body took immediate steps to rectify the situation.

“Luna,” said a voice, interrupting her slumber.

“Luna, wake up, please,” continued the voice. “It’s almost time for dawn, and your sister...” It nattered on for a while longer, but she stopped listening. Why wouldn’t it just go away? It’s not like she had anything to d—

Luna bolted upright. “Moon!” she gasped, “I must lower the moon!” She scrambled to her hooves and found herself swaying, the floor and ceiling not quite agreeing on their orientation. Before she fell, a force gently enveloped her and set her firmly upon her own legs.

“Luna,” soothed the voice once more. A pale, gaunt alicorn stepped into view, his horn glowing faintly as the force faded from around her. “It’s me. Worker. Focus for a moment. I can lend you strength, but I cannot weave to the moon.”

“Lend me strength?” Luna asked, “What do you me—” Her eyes widened as every ache and pain in her limbs succumbed to the magic coursing from Worker’s horn. It flared for only a moment, and as it faded away, she felt as if she had slept for days.

She gazed at her old friend, eyes wide. “But, how?”

“In time,” he replied. “For now?” He gestured to a high window with his horn.

“Of course.”

Worker sat in a quiet chamber beside a small fireplace, its heat slowly fading. A blanket covered him from withers to dock. He was not cold, but as the Watch might deliver a message at any time, it was a simple solution to keep certain truths hidden.

His host sat nearby, atop a favorite pillow. She had offered him one, but he declined. He told her he preferred the feel of the cool stone, but in truth he was no longer accustomed to such things. After niceties, pretending to sip his tea, and some awkward small talk, the first real question arrived.

“How did you hide?”

It was a simple query, but her words were heavy, laden with unspoken accusations. “...from me?” was the first. “And what are you hiding?” was another.

Worker ignored the subtext. Instead, his mug floated to rest atop the mantle. Once it was secure, he returned his attention to Luna. “Quite simply, I do not dream.”

“That’s unhealthy, Worker,” she breathed. “All ponies need to dream.”

“Most,” he corrected. “Have you not been flying for weeks?”

It was true. She had not stopped since the hostilities had ended.

“You seem to know more of my doings than my own chancellor,” Luna mused, pushing her old sparring partner to reply.

“I am well beyond his tier,” he murmured, shaking his head with a rueful half-smile. It was not boasting, but a statement so obvious it seemed almost insulting to say aloud.

An uncomfortable silence fell, and the two ponies looked about the room, each trying to measure the other. Finally, Luna prompted her guest once more.

“Worker,” she asked, staring into her cup. She looked up and met his eyes. “What happened to the children?”

“You know what happened,” he replied, trying to keep his tone neutral. “You attended each of their funerals.”

“I did, yes. But I attended yours as well.”

Worker looked into the fireplace. A few coals pulsed with heat, but the flames had long passed.

“No, they do not live,” he said. “Snowdrop faded after ninety years in this world, and Foxglove passed a few years after, forever the little sister.”

“And Skyshine?” It was an absurd question, but...

Worker shook his head. “She is gone, too. Of my family, only I remain.”

“Is that… why you chose to become an alicorn?”

Worker stood with an uncanny grace, a single fluid motion that brought him to his hooves. He regarded her with a level stare. A half-second passed, then he turned away, taking a few steps towards a low shelf with well-worn books.

Luna studied him from her perch, but did not stir. She realized, perhaps far too late, that she was behind a closed door with an unknown factor. Whoever this pony might have been, there seemed to be very little of that person left.

She lowered her mug, and leaned forward for a better look at his face.

He picked up a book, examined the title, and set it down with a faint sigh.

“Luna,” he said, “I did not choose this form.”

“What do you mean? One cannot become an alicorn by chance.”

“Of that I am painfully aware.” He peered at the ceiling, studying the tile work, before continuing. His voice sounded more familiar now, that of a tutor reciting a lecture. “Twilight, who earned her wings by finally recognizing what everyone else had known for years. Cadance, whose horn appeared when she stayed true to her cutie mark, and risked everything to keep those who loved each other safe from harm. I suppose even earth ponies can ascend, but from what I know of them, most are content with the gifts of family and field.”

“There have been ponies from that tribe, in the past,” Luna interjected, “but they have moved on to other realms.”

He gave her a sidelong look, then turned to face her. “The point is, I did nothing of the sort. I realized no inner gift, I performed no great act, I pursued no unattainable goal. No, all I did was raise a family and try to lead a quiet life.” He grimaced, then turned back to regard the princess. “It would have been enough, for me, but that’s hardly enough for ascension.”

“Then… what?”

“You.”

“What?”

His brow furrowed, and he dropped his gaze to stare at her hooves. “I only put it together recently. When you, so many years ago, turned me into a pony… when you were actually envisioning the shape for the spell…” He looked up, and searched her features for something. “What sort of shape did you envision?”

Luna shifted uncomfortably. “I was thinking of myself, and how I knew what it meant to be alone, and distrusted.”

Worker paced back to the fireplace, and nudged the last glowing coal away from the carpets. He watched it slowly crumble, and as it did, he continued. “But I am not you. You were clearly not thinking ‘Luna’. You were thinking ‘pony’.” He watched the coal until the last few sparks faded.

Again, he regarded her from the corner of his eye. “But what kind of pony?”

Luna did not speak, but stared at him, her mouth half-opened in a forgotten reply.

Worker looked back into the fireplace, his lip trembling. “That…” He swallowed. “That’s what I thought.”

“Worker, I…”

“...didn’t mean to. I know.” He stepped away from the cooling stones, and approached Luna atop her cushion.

“But…” she protested.

“You don’t get it, do you, Luna?” he seethed through clenched teeth, suddenly looming. “You never mean to. Every horrible thing you have wrought has been, not due to your intent, but your negligence. Even your imprisonment was borne of lashing out, acting before truly thinking.”

Luna stood from her seat, and drew herself up. “I will not be spoken to in this fashion.”

Worker drove a hoof into the stones beneath him, throwing sparks as he gouged it deeply. “That’s where you’re wrong. I will speak. You will listen. You will listen as I recount how I was not ready.” His voice raised in volume, but it could no longer gain intensity.

“About how I did not know what would happen. About how I could neither understand, nor prepare. About how little I found I knew about your stories, the tales they tell children, and how often those tales are truthful.” The glow deep in his eyes intensified, casting a hellish light about his features. “How I watched, powerless, as my wife went on to where I could not follow.”

He bared his teeth in a feral rictus, shouting through them. “As my children did the same, neither knowing I still lived! And you will tell me, finally, what twisted curse empowers this form, and why I seemingly cannot take a life!”

Luna glanced reflexively at the door and the tiny window in the far wall. In the barest whisper, she asked, “How do you know about that?”

“How do I know, she asks,” he mused, his voice dripping with cruelty. He reached up to his chest and parted the rough fur. A series of hideous scars were marked out, like lines on a chalkboard, above his heart.

“Because, Luna, I tried. And when I determined I could not kill myself, I tried killing other creatures. Squirrels. Rabbits. A Diamond Dog who tried to steal my commission. I. Could. Not. I would have, but something kept me from the killing blow every time.”

“Worker,” she began. “Worker… we—alicorns, that is—can only take a life in defense of Equestria.”

The anguish that twisted his features faded, a candle’s flame in a hurricane. “Only in defense.”

“Yes,” Luna replied. Before the word had left her lips, she found herself cast across the room.

Worker approached, his horn sparking, tendrils of smoke rising from his tangled mane. “Then I regret what I must make you do.” He reared back on his hind legs, and suddenly found himself unable to move.

The fireplace and pillows winked out. The walls dissolved, and the doors collapsed into nothingness.

“That is enough, and more than enough,” Luna declared, striding into the emptiness of what was once the room.

Her doppelgänger hissed at them both as it picked itself up off the floor. As it moved, it shimmered, losing all hue and depth until it became a jet-black shadow. The shape hovered for the barest moment before it fled, somehow malevolently glaring at both ponies despite its lack of form. Luna let it leave. She turned her attention, instead, to the wild-eyed stallion she held in stasis.

“Worker,” she intoned. “You will wake now. I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”

Worker moaned as he woke, but not in fatigue. “It was so real, Luna,” he said, her familiar profile resolving as he blinked the sleep—and tears—from his eyes. He ran a fetlock across his nose, sniffling.

“I am sorry, Worker. I should have known it would only be more adept with the passage of time.”

“So real,” he continued, half in a daze. He sat up from his mat in the center of guest chambers, trying to reconcile the lush appointments with the cold stone he could still feel.

“I felt immeasurably old. And unbelievably powerful. I could feel every feather on my wings. But… how could she have known that we’d have named a second daughter ‘Foxglove’? How could she have known any of it at all?”

Luna settled down beside him and brushed a stray lock from his brow. “Nightmare knows what you know,” she reminded him. “We discussed this, before. Only your deepest secrets are safe, and then only if you are lucky.”

“But… what of the things I do not know? If she knows my secrets, does she know yours?” His brow furrowed, and he stared at his hooves as he gestured, turning over the words as his mind raced to keep up.

Luna sighed, but said nothing.

“What about the spell you cast? Is such a transformation possible? Could... it have actually happened that way?” There was a moment’s pause, and then Worker’s eyes bulged, his throat working for air as his legs scurried to lift him. He convulsed, gagged, then dropped to his knees, unable to remain standing.

“Luna… Luna, did it happen?”

He met her gaze, and watched in horror as silent tears flowed down her muzzle.

“Luna, please…”

Luna stared a moment longer, then closed her eye and shook her head. “Worker, I cannot tell you that you have seen your future.” She frowned at him, and wiped the remnants of of her tears away. “But, I must admit you may have learned your past. Nightmare works in secrets. In lies. It forges doubt into a weapon.”

“But she said… and you…”

“I know what was said,” Luna snapped. She took a soothing breath, then continued. “The most effective lies are the ones mixed with just enough truth. I was thinking of myself when I cast the spell. I was imagining how happy I was when I was freed from Nightmare and returned to a world that could learn to love me. Whether that means the spell took my thoughts literally, I cannot say. It was never studied that closely, for what should be obvious reasons.”

“The Bellum Draconis. Yes, you’ve told me some of that.”

“Does that answer your question?”

“One of them. As for the other…”

Luna’s eyes narrowed, and she lifted her chin a degree. While much closer to her emotions than her sister, she rarely showed fear. As such, Worker knew what it looked like when it did appear.

“Luna, why can’t an alicorn take a life?”

The question hung in the air.

Luna rose, walked to the doors of her chambers, and locked them. Without a word, she moved to each of her windows, and fastened them in kind. Finally, her horn sparkled, and a translucent blue sphere materialized around them both.

Her precautions taken, she sat next to Worker’s mat, and shifted until comfortable atop the plush carpets.

“That, Worker, is a very long story.”

In which the dust is disturbed

In the dead of night, on a gently rolling plain, two ponies rested at a crossroad under cloaks, packs, and a pale winter’s moon.

It had been a week since their selections—over a month since the message first arrived that demanded a representative from each tribe—and since that final decree the pair had been traveling together.

The taller of the set—a pegasus—flared her wings with irritation as she paced beside her partner. A light coating of road dust darkened her nearly-white coat, and fatigue pulled at her shoulders as well as the corners of her muzzle. She shook out her pink mane and glared at the smaller pony.

That smaller pony was a unicorn. She absentmindedly tapped a quill against her lips as she scanned the night sky, a second feather decorating the tangles that comprised her cornflower mane. Her coat was a dusky blue, and were it not for her magic, she would have been difficult to see under the waning moonlight.

“C’mon, Inky,” prodded the pegasus. “The sky will still be there once we get to the inn.”

The smaller mare frowned, her eyes darting from constellation to constellation. “It will, yes, but the stars seem… odd.” She dropped her gaze and gave her companion’s starburst cutie-mark a pointed glance. “For somepony who spends so much time in the sky during the day, Elly, you certainly seem to have no interest in it at night.”

“The sky?” Elly smiled in the dim light. “I love the sky. I know every cloud and current.” She drew herself up proudly and shook out her mane. “What you’re looking at is a bit beyond the sky. You can see it better from up there, sure, but you aren’t exactly any closer to touching it.”

Inky frowned in thought. She shifted her pack into a more comfortable position, then asked, “Didn’t Fulminus say he reached a star, once?”

“Fulminus?” She scoffed. “Ha! You believe anything out of that blowhard’s muzzle? He said he found a star. He even showed us his proof: a piece of twisted metal, maybe two hooves in width. It didn’t even glow.“

“He always seemed earnest to me,” Inky murmured. Still frowning, she pulled her hood up and started pacing forward.

“Oh, we’re done?” Elly blinked, holding a hoof to her chest in mock surprise. “We can finish the last league before sunrise?”

“Yes, yes,” Inky grumbled. “Let’s go.”

The room was small but tidy: white plaster walls and weathered oak beams met dense thatch above and worn planks below. A single window, facing south-east, allowed the sun to peek into the room, where it cast its light across a sleeping mare.

The mare slept deeply, unaware of the light that crept across her face, until her slumber was interrupted by an insistent hoof that poked her flank. “Psst. Inky. Hey. Ink-butt. Hey.”

Against her better judgement, Inky cracked open an eye. She immediately regretted it, recoiling with a low moan. A familiar, wild-haired silhouette bobbed into view, blocking the worst of the glare.

“Oh, ugh, Elly. Why are you waking me up at this hour?” The unicorn’s horn sparkled a moment before a pile of pillows stacked up in front of the window. “The sun’s barely up!” Inky rolled over to face the wall and pulled the sheets over her head.

Elly flopped over onto her own bed—the room was mostly taken up by the two mattresses—and grinned at the heap of linens. She leaned over and continued poking.

“Our counterpart is here, sleepy-flank. Besides,” she continued, taking on an air, “Commander Hurricane always said you should rise before the sun. It shows proper respect to the unicorns who have to wake to address the issue every day.”

“You don’t need to lecture me about decorum, Elly,” Inky grumbled, sitting up. She yawned loudly and pawed at an itch behind her ear, then ran her hoof through her tangled mane. “I used to help with those sessions before I moved on to research.”

“Yeah, yeah. Research.” Elly gripped Inky’s sheets in her teeth, then dragged them to the threadbare carpet near the door and sat on them. “Wike how youw eyewids”—she spat out the linens— “look during the day.”

“Okay, fine, yes. I’m up.” Inky turned and dangled her rear legs off the bed. “And it just so happens, Miss Bossyfeathers, that my research is astronomical in nature.” She rummaged on the tiny side-table for her brush and mirror.

Elly arched a brow, grinning from ear to ear. “You mean you wanted to sleep through the day,” she said, poking Inky’s moon-and-cloud cutie-mark, “and so you chose a course of study that let you do so.”

“And what if I did?” The brush and mirror danced about her mane as she attempted to tame it. “Didn’t—ack!—didn’t you choose a patrol route that brought you by my tower on a regular basis?”

Elly rolled her eyes and blew a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Fine. Fine. Just because I want to keep an eye on my little sister…”

Inky gave her a level look, set down the brush and mirror, and hopped off the bed. “Anyway, what do you mean by ‘counterpart’?”

“The earth pony champion, of course! He’s staying here too!”

Inky paused, levitating the pillows away from the window. “And how do you know what he looks like?”

“Well, I don’t. But the innkeeper told me all about him when I started my rounds this morning.”

The pillows fell onto the bed, and Inky opened the window for some air. “You’ve already been patrolling? This isn’t even your assignment!”

Elly shrugged. “Old habits. Besides, ponies are up at this hour, which means you can, y’know, talk to them, rather than the bats and owls.”

“Since all you’re doing is taunting me, now, why don’t you let me freshen up and I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast?”

“I’ve already eaten, she replied, “but I’ll let you get prepared for your day so you can enjoy the glorious sunlight.”

“There are times I truly do not like you, Elly.”

“Nonsense. You love me more every day. It’s because I am the embodiment of goodness.” Elly made a face that was closer to a gargoyle’s than a pony’s. “Blargh!”

“Alright! Out!” Inky’s horn glittered once more, and Elly stumbled forward as the rug on which she sat headed out the door.

“You’ll regret this, fiend!” She shook a raised hoof as the door closed in her face.

The common room was filled to bursting with a mismatched assortment of chairs, tables, benches, stools and cushions. Three stacked stone walls were largely bare, but a few hooks had been pounded into the joints at fairly regular intervals. Each hook held a tarnished lamp. Which lamp was lit appeared to be largely a matter of chance. Small circular windows allowed some light in along the wall facing the street, which was built of stacked timbers and featured an imposing iron-clad door.

The door was chained open at this hour. The chain ran over a well-worn post beside the bar where a round, balding pony wiped down the counter. A low ceiling, fashioned of the same heavy timbers as the wall, gave the establishment a claustrophobic feel, and the entire inn smelled faintly of beeswax and woodsmoke.

Opposite the bar, two sets of stairs—one to the cellar, and the other to the rooms above—ended at a landing surrounded by turned posts. It was down these stairs that Inky clomped, fully intending to give Elly an earful, decorum be dashed. Her fury was distracted, however, by a strange voice in conversation with her longtime companion.

She peered through the railings at Elly’s table, and the back of the new pony’s head. A quick glance to the left and right showed a room largely devoid of any other ponies.

“Figures,” Inky muttered.

The mystery pony had a golden brown coat. He sported a brilliant white mane and tail, each braided with colorful ribbons. From this angle, she couldn’t see his face, but she recognized the fixed smile on Elly’s as that of a pony who desperately wanted to talk to somepony else. Inky could just make out the conversation.

“So, really, we’ve known each other forever,” Elly said. “It’s just funny that we both got selected. Speaking of, how did you get the nod?” Elly patted absentmindedly at the mug before her.

“Um, well. I imagine your selection process was similar,” he explained. “First, the elders asked who wished to represent the tribe.”

“Uh-huh.” Elly nodded.

“And then, the willing competed to show who best represented our strengths,” he continued.

“So, like, races? Combat? Games of strategy?” Elly leaned forward ever so slightly.

“Oh. No. Stuff like farm yields, ability to tend to the wilds, or heal wounds, or build towns.”

“...Oh.” Her eyes drifted about the inn. At the same time, Inky stepped away from the landing and walked towards the chatty couple.

“So, I was elected best representative,” he continued. “I grew the most bountiful, nutritious hay and apples of any of the competitors—and made the best preserves. I think that’s why my cutie-mark is crossed sickles.” He shrugged. “I tend to harvest at just the right time.”

“...Ohhh,” Elly said again, before noticing the pony in the shadows. “Heeey, it’s Inky! Inky, come on over and chat with us.” She made a wide, welcoming gesture, then patted the seat next to her. “Aurum, this is Inky. Inky, Aurum.”

Inky smiled warmly, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. She approached the table and nodded a welcome. “Aurum, hello. Good morning.” Her voice dropped into a stage whisper. “My name’s actually Selene. Inky’s a name that Elly here prefers to call me.”

Aurum nodded slowly. He had bright yellow eyes, which gave him an almost lupine gaze. “Which do you prefer?”

“Oh. Well, if I have a choice,” she murmured, her ears drooping as she blushed. “Um, I guess Inky is fine.”

Elly pushed back from the table and lifted a hoof, hooting happily. “Victory!” she cried. A clatter from the bar joined the mutterings of the innkeeper as he picked back up a mug.

“Now, now, Helia,” Inky taunted. “Mind your manners.” As Aurum looked towards Elly, she stuck out her tongue by way of punctuation.

“Helia?” Aurum asked the pegasus.

“Her real name,” Inky supplied with a grin. “Don’t worry, you can keep calling her Elly. She hates Helia.” She sat next to her old friend, across from the new earth pony.

“I… think I see,” the stallion replied. “I was just telling Elly about my selection. How were you two chosen?”

“I think I caught the tail end of that,” Inky confided. “My own selection was rather competitive, delving into lore. Like…” she searched for an analogy, “...a tavern riddle game, but with more difficult puzzles. After that, we were presented with challenges for arcane skill in various situations, each designed to distract or threaten the unicorn involved.”

“Ooh, that challenge part sounds exciting,” Elly interjected.

“More like terrifying. At the end, I only had one other challenger.” She paused, and glanced about for the possibility of listening ponies. “Thistledown.”

Elly sat upright. “Clover’s little sister? One of Star Swirl’s students?”

Inky nodded.

Aurum watched her intently. “That’s amazing,” he said. “What was your final challenge?”

“A test of will. Using only what we knew, in the face of great adversity, we had to make snap decisions that altered the challenge as we went. It was, perhaps, the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Stop teasing, Inky,” Elly whined. “What was the challenge?”

“I’d… well, I’d rather not get into too much detail. Much of it happened in a different… perception. What truly made it hard, though, is that my kind are prone to careful analysis first, action second.”

Elly muttered something under her breath.

“Shush, you. I might have had a bit of an advantage there. Ever since Elly and I met, my instructor says I’ve developed a rash streak.” She winked at her old friend. “But quick decisions are meaningless unless they’re also the right ones. In the end, I was deemed able to make a decision when Thistledown could not, and won the right to represent the tribe.”

Aurum nodded. “Sounds like something my grandmother would say.”

“Well, thank you for a potentially exciting but ultimately useless story, Inky,” Elly deadpanned. “We were thrilled to not lea—Ow!” Elly’s eyes widened at the exact moment Inky put on an air of innocence.

Elly reached under the table and rubbed her leg, glowering at the unicorn. “I guess it’s my turn,” she said.

“Yes,” Inky grinned toothily. “Do regale us with your exploits.”

Elly opened her mouth to speak, and took a second glance at her suddenly feral friend. “I… uh.” She regained her composure, then said, “You’re weird, sis.”

Aurum looked askance. “You… you’re not related, are you?”

Inky smiled. “No, although little details like that aren’t enough to stop somepony like Elly. She decided that since I didn’t have a big sister, and she didn’t have a little one, that we would be sisters together. Most days, it’s not worth the time correcting her.”

Elly polished a hoof on her chest and examined it. “I have been known to treat ‘impossible’ as a suggestion, from time to time. More often than not, it works out for the best.”

Inky shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. She turned to their new companion. “Aurum, I’ve heard Elly’s selection tale a dozen times now. I’m going to get some breakfast.” She pushed back her chair and stood, then paused. “Er, can I get you anything?”

“Oh, no, Inky. I’ve eaten. Thank you, though.”

Inky nodded, and strode away to find the innkeeper. Before she had taken three steps, she heard Elly launch into the story.

“There I was, Aurum, with challengers on every side, clutching the banner between my teeth…”

Moments later, Inky found herself in a tidy alcove with a bowl of chestnuts and some brown bread. A thin beam of sunlight shone across the table from the window. She poked at the occasional dust mote as it passed by. Between bites, she realized that Elly’s story never changed, save to answer a new question.

“Huh,” she said aloud, staring out the tiny window in the alcove. “Not that I’d imagine her to lie, but almost everypony embellishes from time to time…”

“Pardon?” The innkeeper looked up from the nearby hearth he tended.

“Oh. Nothing, sir. Sorry to be a bother.”

The rest of her meal was finished in thoughtful silence.

She had to admit, the morning hours had some benefits. Inky drifted from shop to shop, lingering at the occasional stall selling strange new fruits or stranger new tomes. “On the Chasm of th-”, she read aloud, pausing to puzzle out the smudge. Was that a W? The shopkeep yawned behind a lifted hoof, keeping one eye on her as she browsed. “Opening the Gate of Hope, and, ooh, this one I know, The Care and Keeping of Owls.”

“Shopping for necessities, Inky?” Elly’s story must have gone well, as she and Aurum walked up together.

“Not like you’d know what these were, anyway,” replied Inky, her nose in the air but a smile on her lips.

“Oh?” Elly cleared her throat. “The art of war, then, is governed by five constant factors,” she recited, “to be taken into account in one's deliberations, when seeking to determine the conditions obtaining in the field. These are: The Rightness of Action, the Weather, the Terrain, the Strength of Command, and the Army's Training.”

Inky arched a brow. “I’m impressed. I had no idea that Commander Hurricane taught Qianlima’s Art of War.”

“There is much you do not know, Inky,” she replied, taking her turn to lift her muzzle. “There are many mysteries that abound.” Elly widened her eyes and wiggled a forehoof to accent the ‘mysteries’.

Inky couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s the Elly I know. C’mon, both of you. Let’s check our supply list and head out. If that map is up to date, we’ll have to pass some difficult terrain in the next few leagues, and I’d like to manage it before sundown.”

“That’s been bothering me,” said Aurum, finding an opportunity to get a word in edgewise. “Why do we have to travel so far just to meet with the Council? Don’t they normally maintain a presence near the Great Hall?”

“I asked about that during the selection,” Inky answered. “It seems there is a localized issue that requires an honor guard or representative from each tribe. ‘The best and brightest’, my instructor said. Maybe it’s some new tribe we’ve come into contact with, or a new resource that needs to be distributed. The missive was urgent, short, and lacking in detail. Usually that means they don’t want to muddle the issue.”

“Or it’s a mystery,” supplied Elly, grinning madly.

Aurum looked from mare to mare, bewildered. “I… think I’ll go make sure my preserves are okay.” He bowed a hasty exit and strode purposefully back to the inn.

The two mares watched him go.

“I think you scared him, Elly,” commented Inky.

“Nonsense. He’s just falling madly in love with you, is all.”

Inky’s jaw worked soundlessly as Elly strolled away giggling.

Rolling foothills stretched to the horizon behind them, broken by the occasional stand of pines or lonely oak. The road they had traveled seemed to see frequent use until it drew near to the mouth of the valley, where it turned to the south to eventually meet the sea, skirting the mountains that slowly, but steadily, rose before them.

A towering wall of brambles, perhaps a hundred paces high, filled the mouth of that valley, showing no concern for the path it obstructed.

Nearby, an old signpost atop stacked stones pointed helpfully, and illegibly, in all three directions. Beside the post, on the remnants of that ancient thoroughfare, three ponies waited.

“Well, that answers your question, Inky,” Elly said. She set down her pack and sighed.

“Oh?” Inky frowned, studying a worn parchment that hovered before her. She summoned a fresh quill from her pack, having forgotten the three that decorated the bun at the back of her head.

“Yeah,” Elly replied, gesturing at the valley with two extended hooves. “The map’s out of date.”

“Mm. Yes.”

“We saw a few other potential routes, right?” Aurum set his pack down beside Elly’s, then strode to Inky’s side to see what their options were.

“That’s what I’m looking at. The safest one means we would have to backtrack half a league and then navigate a swamp, which would slow us considerably. We’d have to camp at the edge, and then try to tackle the entire swamp in a day.”

“I must admit, I’m not a fan of water,” Aurum confided. “Water full of mud, bugs, and creatures, even less so.”

“The other route takes us on a narrow ledge over what eventually becomes a quarter-mile drop.”

“I… could consider the swamp.”

Elly cackled, only to be met by level stares from the two earthbound ponies.

“Well,” replied Inky, rolling up the map. “Both options will take us out of our way. So, I propose we go forward.”

“Wait,” Elly interjected. “You mean, into the knot of piercing, cutting, tearing thorns, barbs, and tripwires?” She stood and pointed at a dangling, dessicated carcass. “I think that rabbit could tell us about the results!”

“Nonetheless. They shouldn’t be here.” The map, the quill and its three siblings floated into Inky’s pack, which tidily closed its pockets before it, too, began floating.

“So… you’re just going to walk through them.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” she replied, a twinkle in her eye. The pack secured itself to her back, and she strolled casually towards the wall of thorns.

“Damn it all, Inky, stop talking in riddles.”

“The brambles should not be here. Indeed, this map is only ten years old. Without some sort of magic force, brambles cannot be here. Not like this.” She paused just outside the twisted wall. “So, this means one of two things. Either the brambles are enchanted…”

Inky lifted a foreleg, and pushed it into the impassable vines. The sound of snapping branches and tearing fur filled the air, and deep gashes dug through her dusky blue coat. Bits of fur snagged in the verdant barrier, and blood welled forth to spill among the thorns.

“No!” Aurum shouted. He started forward, but a white blur quickly outpaced him.

Elly launched herself at Inky, her wings lending extra speed along the ground. She tackled her friend, pulling her away from the brambles. The pair crashed to the ground, sending Inky’s pack skidding into a nearby stone. “Inky!” she cried, clutching at her forelimb. “Your leg! It’s…”

She held Inky’s perfectly whole foreleg between her hooves.

Inky, covered in dust and dirt, grinned from beneath her terrified companion. “Or the brambles...” She paused to cough. “...Aren’t there at all.”

Elly scrambled backwards. “What in Equestria…”

Inky rolled over and stood, focusing slightly as she dusted herself from mane to hoof. “An illusion,” she explained. “Rather expertly woven, I might add. It almost had me doubting myself.”

“You… you horrible creature,” Elly shouted, pawing the ground in frustration. “You couldn’t have just said something? You had to try to kill me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Inky admitted, a slight blush rising in her cheeks. Her ears folded back as she chewed her lower lip. “I’m sorry. It just seemed so clear…” She glanced at Aurum, and then at Elly. “I won’t do it again.”

Aurum shook his head, sighed quietly, and picked up his pack. He wore a mysterious half-smile. “I suppose we should get going then.”

Elly sighed as well, but paced to Inky’s side, favoring her with a brief nuzzle. “I shouldn’t have yelled. Just… don’t worry me like that, okay?”

“I won’t,” Inky whispered. Before saying another word, she walked directly into the brambles. Her pack followed behind, bobbing haphazardly as it caught up. “Still...” she wondered aloud. Her voice echoed oddly through the illusion. “Who would go to such trouble to mask the route?”

“That mare,” Elly breathed. “One of these days,” she began, but could not finish. She pulled her own pack on and followed behind. Before long, she was laughing at the absurdity of it all.

On their third night in the valley, Inky sat atop a fallen log, staring into the narrow strip of sky between the slowly rising mountainsides.

At her back, a campfire had fallen to coals long ago, and Elly snored softly under a makeshift tent. The gentle rhythm provided a counterpoint to the valley’s crickets and frogs. The relative silence reigned until a crackle of dry grasses heralded another pony’s presence.

“You’ve been out here a while, Inky,” Aurum said. “I’ve double-checked all the supplies, and was about to head to bed. Why don’t you do the same?”

“I’m a night owl, Aurum. I probably couldn’t sleep right now if I wanted to. And I don’t. There’s too much going on.”

“What, in the sky?” He looked up to try and catch a glimpse.

“Yes. The constellations… well, not the major ones, at least not yet, but many of the minor ones? They seem to be changing.”

Aurum’s brow furrowed. “I only focus on a few, myself, for planting seasons. The Wagon, the Lovers, and the Coxswain.” He pointed at the last one, just above the southern ridge. “Are those major or minor ones?”

“Major, all three,” Inky replied. “But the smaller ones? Like the Broken Crown, or the Drake?” Each constellations name was paired with a gesture that Aurum could not follow. “Their stars are moving, or getting brighter or dimmer, and some have winked out.”

“Well, we don’t know much about the stars here in Equestria. Maybe they do that?”

“No, most of the same constellations were visible before the tribes moved here. Sure, some have changed names, and we have records of some stars flaring brightly, but this sort of change—especially over a few months’ time? It’s unprecedented.”

“Maybe the Council will know. I admit I’ve no knowledge of those things, but I’m happy to provide a sounding board. To me, though, it’s just another mystery. I’m content to let it lie and just get to the Council as quickly as possible.”

Inky chuckled, then turned to address her companion. “Speaking of your mysteries…”

“Mm?” He dropped his gaze to meet hers.

“Your ribbons. I never see you unbraid your mane, and yet your ribbons change almost daily. Today, you have three purple and a pink, from your left ear to your brow. Yesterday, you had red and orange.”

Aurum grinned. “It’s a little trick my sisters taught me. Hooves aren’t meant for real fine work—we leave that to you unicorns—but knowing how things fit together…”

He lifted the end of one of his braids, showing a tiny metal ball. “The weight pulls the braids down, keeping them tight. It also keeps them from flying about in a strong wind.”

He pushed the end of the braid up, and the rest of the woven hair began to part. “The braid is more like a spring. When you remove the weight, it opens up.”

Inky’s eyes brightened. “Then you just tie another ribbon to the end of the first?”

Aurum nodded. “And pull it through, yes. Quick, easy, and you can color-coordinate if you want to get fancy.”

Inky smiled, then looked back up at the stars. Aurum looked with her, searching for other stars he knew. A few silent moments passed, then she spoke again. “So, why do you do it?”

“Oh,” Aurum replied. He dropped his gaze and studied the mare. “Well, when I was little, I was kinda jealous of all the brightly colored manes out there. Pinks, greens, purples, blues… All the mares had vibrant colors, and all the stallions seemed to have drab shades. Being the only colt—and the youngest pony—surrounded by half a dozen sisters, each with a different color, well, some days my eyes were more green than yellow.”

Inky turned and smiled at him. “So, the colors…”

Aurum nodded. “Yeah, at first they were my way of changing my mane so I could feel special. My sisters helped. They thought it was adorable. After a while, it became habit, and not long after that, ponies started using it as my identity. ‘That pony with the ribbons in his hair’, and the like. It’s sorta part of me, now, although the jealousy has long since faded.”

Inky regarded her companion with an appraising gaze. “It’s very clever, Aurum, and to be honest I don’t know that a unicorn could have come up with it. You say unicorns are adept at fine work, and this is true, but more often than not we’re also stuck in our ways. You earth ponies seem to be the inventors of the tribes, on average.”

Aurum grinned and kicked at the earth beneath his hooves. “Shucks, Inky. You say that too loudly, and folks’ll start looking to us for more than food.”

Inky laughed, then stood from her log. “You’re right, though. The sky’s a mystery, and one I can’t solve here. Let’s get some shut-eye, and get to the Council as quickly as we can.” She dusted herself off and then headed towards the bedrolls.

Aurum fell in beside her. “Y’know, it seems that idea’s awfully familiar…”

Inky smirked, giving him a sidelong look. “Don’t you start. I get enough of that from Elly.”

“Goodnight, Inky. We’ll get our questions answered soon.” Aurum ducked under a tarpaulin, fished about for a blanket, and settled in for the night. Within moments, he seemed to be asleep.

Inky lingered by smoldering coals a moment longer and gave the sky a final search. As she did so, the entirety of The Three Hoofprints faded from view.

The familiar taste of fear rose in her throat, and she forced it down with a grimace. “I only hope there are still questions worth asking.”

Author's Note

All speech has been translated from Old Equestrian.
As of 04/13/23, some items have been changed due to the author's ignorance of cultural taboos.
:heart: Snarkle

In which three venture forth

For a few days beyond the brambles, the route had been surprisingly pleasant. Despite the ever-present gloom of a mountain’s shadow in winter, and the too-rare glimpses of sunlight over its walls, the valley seemed to welcome its new guests: the winds were light, and the weather was calm. Few stones littered the sandy soil of the path, and what trees grew here did not obstruct the ponies’ journey.

Berries were plentiful, as were tender grasses, and the occasional apple tree still had a few hardy fruits clinging to its branches. The streams ran clear and cold, and the travelers often saw the glint of trout beneath the surface.

The occasional briar-bush dotted the stony mountainside, and further up the relatively barren slopes, out of speaking distance, passed the occasional goat.

Evening gradually fell as Aurum paused to watch these creatures with interest.

“Most don’t speak our language,” said Inky, noting his gaze.

“That’s okay. I don’t speak goat, or whatever they call it.”

“Capran,” provided Elly. She set down her pack and busied herself with checking its straps and pockets. There was a long silence as the two earthbound ponies turned to face her, silently blinking in unison.

Elly looked up from her ministrations and grinned. “One of my sergeants lives near their village over on Crimson Ridge. They had settlements here a century ago, before we ponies arrived. She says they’re good folk at heart, if you don’t mind the mood swings.”

“Sounds like my neighbors back home,” replied Aurum with a nod. “They farm rocks.”

Inky tilted her head in confusion. “How do you farm rocks?”

As Aurum opened his mouth to respond, a faint howl sounded from the western ridge.

Elly spun on her rear hooves, flaring her wings for balance, and scanned the hillside. In a low voice, she asked, “What was that?”

“No idea,” whispered Aurum, “but it sounds hungry.”

Another howl sounded from the ridge to the east.

“Please tell me that was an echo,” Inky said, her voice rising into a squeak. She slowly paced backwards towards Elly.

Aurum shook his head. “I think we should keep moving.”

“Good idea,” agreed Elly, lifting her bag. Through the obstruction, she asked, “Ar’m, can y’ carry two packs?”

“I think so, Elly, b—oof.” The stallion stumbled as he tried to adjust to the sudden increase in weight.

Elly grimaced. “Sorry about that.” She looped her sword’s belt over her neck and stretched her wings. “I’m going to get up there and take a look at whatever’s making that noise.”

She jogged away for a few paces and then was airborne, her wings carrying her in ever-widening loops until she caught an updraft and vanished against the blue-grey sky.

Aurum watched her go.

Inky, however, watched the mountains in the deepening gloom. “Let’s keep moving, Aurum,” she said, nudging his shoulder. “Like you suggested.”

“Right,” he agreed. “Let’s walk abreast. If anything is in the high reaches, it will have to make a lot of noise to get down here, and we’ll be able to adjust.”

Quickening their pace, the pair wound along the bottom of the valley as night descended. When the final rays of sunlight left the eastern slope, the howling only intensified. Suddenly, a white shape appeared before them, looming out of the darkness. Inky choked back a scream and Aurum reared on his hind legs, readying to strike, before either recognized Elly.

“Hold,” she hissed in the dark. “Hold still. We’re being herded.”

“Herded?” Inky spun about, looking vainly in the dark for their foes.

Aurum peered ahead. “Towards what?”

“That I don’t know,” Elly replied. “Inky, you used to help with the sun and moon. Can you tell me where the moon is now? I’d like to know how long we have to wait for some usable light.”

“Um, yes. Yes, just a moment,” Inky said. She drew in a breath and forced herself to relax.

A gentle glow radiated from her horn, and pulsed, slowly, as if breathing. Inky stood stock still, every muscle and joint locked as she held her horn perfectly upright. A moment’s silence passed, and then another.

In the dim glow, Elly and Aurum exchanged glances.
Aurum spoke in a bare whisper. “Have you ever seen her do this?”

“Never,” Elly murmured in reply. “I always had other duties when she was part of the circle.”

“Wait, has the howling stopped?”

It was true. While the spell glowed above Inky’s brow, there seemed to be no sound at all in the valley beyond their bubble of light.

Slowly, the light faded. Inky shook out her mane, stretched her legs, and smiled at the last spark vanished from her horn. The moment it did, the howling returned, twice as loud as before.

“About twenty minutes before it clears the rise, Elly. It’s waning, but it’ll be better than nothing.”

“Right,” Elly responded, scanning the darkness for any sign of motion. “Inky, when you had your horn lit, the howling stopped. Can you try a light spell?”

“I can, sure. I didn’t want to bring attention to us.”

“I think we’re beyond that, now. See what—”

A beacon burst into existence at the tip of Inky’s horn. At the eruption of light, the howling died immediately.

“Agh! Inky! Too bright!”

“Sorry, sorry, let me shape it.”

The radiance, previously shining in all directions, instead focused in a cone ahead of the unicorn.

“There we go.” She blinked, staring into the night. “Wow. I guess we’d all gotten used to the lighting. This place looks different, now.”

The other ponies stared along with her. Where a strip of grass had grown, now lay a dry, sandy trail. Where trees once stood with thinning leaves and rare fruit, skeletal branches grasped at nothing.

“Inky?” Aurum asked. “Can you shine your light further back the way we came?”

Inky turned in a small circle. In the distance they could still see some healthy trees, bushes, and grasses. In the last few dozen paces, the soil had gone barren, and the brambles had grown thicker.

“I don’t like this,” admitted Elly. “Let’s keep walking and get out of this valley. So long as you have that light, I think we may just keep whatever those things are at bay.”

Inky nodded, turning about to continue their journey, and suddenly stopped dead.

“Aurum,” she breathed. “Elly. I know what we’re being herded towards.”

Thirty paces ahead, the path ended in a smooth stone wall.

“A dead end,” muttered Elly, pacing forward and placing a hoof on the wall. “And not an illusion. I wager the true path veered off shortly after dark.”

A low growl sounded behind them.

“And now we’re cornered,” she sighed, bending for her sword. “Let’s make them earn it.”

Smoke rose in thin tendrils from six broken mounds, glowing white in the moonlight that filled the valley. The light crept slowly from east to west, its baleful eye seeking out every shadow and cleft where it might reveal dangerous secrets. It was in one of these shadows that Inky hid.

The unicorn cowered beneath a spur of grey stone, her gaze flitting between the smoking heaps before scanning the dimly-lit expanse for movement. Each of those piles of broken bramble and vine had once been a timberwolf on the prowl. At first, a spark or a flame had been enough to scare them away, but when they returned en masse, she had been forced to defend herself with a spell that was quickly becoming rote.

She had not stirred since. She knew more lurked beyond her sight. The spell was simple enough, and an efficient use of her power, but its light—and the panic that ensued when she first used it—had forced her to retreat to this precarious sanctuary. In the chaos of the melee, she had lost track of her friends. She neither knew their locations, nor their fates.

Something crunched against loose stones, and Inky’s heart skipped a beat. That much noise must mean a pony, she thought. The wolves have been nearly silent. Still, she waited, and she watched. She had to be sure.

A stallion with a golden coat stepped into view and gingerly approached one of the smoldering heaps. He nudged it with an outstretched hoof, then grunted, and turned to scan the landscape. As his gaze swept over Inky’s hiding spot, she could see something tied across his brow that wept a dark substance into his white braids.

“Aurum,” she whispered. “Aurum, it’s not safe there. Come under some shelter.” She summoned a very weak light and then doused it immediately.

The earth pony peered into the darkness, nodded, and approached.

“Inky, they’ve gone,” he said in a low voice. “I think they’re after Elly.”

“After Elly? Why?” Inky’s light returned—a gentle glow, compared to the earlier flare.

“I was able to defend myself, but she… she took the battle to them. While I handled, with some difficulty, two of them, she…” The light in his eye was only partially Inky’s doing. “Well, she was like a reaper, in a field of grain.”

Inky frowned, and began to squeeze out of her hiding place. “So they chased her? Where did she go?”

“I didn’t see.” Aurum shrugged. “I was a bit too involved in my own fight.”

Free from her confinement, Inky stretched out her neck. “I know what you mean.”

Aurum turned to leave. “We’ve still got about twenty minutes of moonlight, I think. Let’s get back to the path. She’ll be able to see us from the air.”

Inky lifted a hoof, but paused before setting it down. “I’d rather wait here. It’s good to know we’ve got something solid at our backs, but if you think it’s okay…”

Aurum gave a reassuring smile. A fresh rivulet of blood trickled from his makeshift bandage.

“Oh, Aurum, that looks bad. Hold still. Let me help you.”

“It’s nothing, Inky. Honestly. Scalp wounds are always heavy bleeders.” He raised a hoof to forestall her. “I’ve put a poultice on it and tied it best I can at the moment. Save your magic in case any more of these things appear.” He kicked a fallen timberwolf as he passed.

Inky glowered. “When we find Elly, you’re letting me help you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a chuckle. “Does that mean we’re going to the path after all?”

“Yes. If only to get out of this valley by dawn.”

The two ponies turned together and began a careful descent towards the path. The clatter of stone announced another presence.

Inky spun about, horn flaring as she prepared another bolt of flame. In her haste, she knocked Aurum off balance, and he slid a few paces down the hill before regaining his hooves.

Atop the rocky spur where Inky had hidden stood an enormous timberwolf. Its eyes glowed a sickly green in the dim light. It growled menacingly, hackles of thorn and briar rising on its back.

Equestria itself seemed to slow. Inky focused on the spell’s formula, but even as she released the arcane blast she knew she was fatally delayed. The creature leapt from the outcrop with a roar of verdant rage, claws extended and jaw open to show rows of cruel barbs.

A shadow flickered across her vision, then, and as it did a white blur dropped from the sky. It bore a silvery blade that passed through the wolf’s head, followed by four hooves which drove the monster’s body to the ground with a sickening crunch.

A gout of flame immolated the stone upon which, a moment ago, the wolf once stood, bathing the pegasus and its prey in its flickering orange light. Silhouetted against the fiery tempest, Elly pulled her blade free and, with a practiced sweep, severed the head at the neck, then kicked it away into the darkness.

As the blade neared the end of its arc, she effortlessly returned it to its scabbard, then paused to appreciate the column of flame behind her.

The fires faded, and time lurched back into its rightful place.

“Nice effects, Inky,” Elly quipped. “Aim’s a bit off, though.”

“Elly!” Inky gasped. “You’re okay!”

Elly nodded in reply. “Not a scratch. Aurum, you’ve looked better.”

The stallion made his way back up the hillside. “I might feel better, too, if we could find our way out of this idyllic deathtrap.”

Elly grunted, a wry grin curling the corners of her mouth. “Fair enough. We’ll camp at dawn. That should give us a few hours to get out of the valley proper and find the route to the pass.”

“Fine by me,” agreed Inky. “Let’s move while the moon is still shining. And Aurum, don’t think I’ve forgotten about that cut.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Inky.”

Weary and worn, the party picked its way down the hillside and up towards the mountain pass. All the while, the moon watched on.

The road from the valley wound between spires of stone and along narrow ledges. Sandy soil gave way to bare stone, and where there was a low point or a crack in a nearby face, gravel pooled along the ground.

“Where, exactly, are we going, Elly?” As she spoke, Inky’s footing slipped in the loose debris and she caught herself with a quick spell. Again.

Elly gazed at the steep mountainside and the thin, winding path that was barely visible. “Up,” she stated.

Aurum trudged along behind the two mares, three packs tied across his back, but seemed no worse for wear.

“I’m going to scout ahead again. According to the Council, the meeting place should only be a few hours away on hoof.” With a sweep of her wings, Elly launched herself into the air, and was soon out of sight.

The two earth-bound ponies stood for a moment, shifting in their footing, when Aurum spoke up. “Leave it to the Council to find the most inaccessible place for an important meeting,” he grumbled.

Inky giggled despite nearly falling over again. “Why, Aurum!” She laughed aloud. “I do believe that’s the first authentic complaint I’ve heard from you since we started traveling.”

“Even the meekest dog will bark, if you poke him, Inky.” He grinned despite himself. “I don’t like to talk about things I can’t change.”

“Sensible,” she agreed, “but there’s something to be said for a little griping to make you feel better.”

“I like to deal with what is,” he explained. “Keeps your head clear. For example, have you noticed that Elly’s normally back by now?”

“You know,” Inky frowned, turning to scan the sky, “you’re ri—”

“Run!” Elly’s voice seemed to come from everywhere, a high-pitched keening that cut the air like a knife. A white streak was rapidly approaching from the mountain’s peak, and behind it was a cloud of… something.

“Run, run, run, run! Downhill!”

Aurum dropped the packs and turned to leave, but paused, waiting for Inky to move. Inky, however, kept her position, squinting at the approaching cloud.

“I said move your flanks, mules!” Elly landed atop the discarded packs and began cutting ropes with her teeth. Rivulets of bright red blood ran from a dozen small cuts across her neck and shoulders.

Inky focused a moment, severed the ropes with a thought, and then eyed her friend. “You’re looking for your sword, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Now run!”

“No. You might have handled those wolves expertly, but whatever this is has already managed to wound you. You cannot handle it on your own. Either the cloud is malevolent, or whatever’s in the cloud is, and it’ll be here in under a minute. I stand with you.”

Aurum said nothing, but took a step forward. A low buzzing began to fill the air.

Elly stared, incredulous. After a moment, she stabbed the blade into the earth, kicked the packs out from underhoof, then spun about to observe the terrain.

“Fine,” she growled through clenched teeth. “Aurum, move forward, below that outcropping!” She gestured towards a rocky spire with an outstretched hoof. “They saw me first, and will be focusing on me. Your coat blends in better with the grasses. If the fighting starts, take any loose ones down.”

She turned to look at the petite pony by her side, and gestured in a wide circle. “Inky, you’re on perimeter! Let’s see what you can do with that horn.”

The buzzing doubled in intensity, seeming to come from all directions.

“I’ll take the brunt of the fight, if it comes to that.” Elly grasped her blade in her mouth and stared into approaching cloud. “Clear?”

“It had better be,” Inky said in a detached calm. “They’re here.”

Like a rolling fog, the cloud descended from above, churning and spinning about the two mares with a buzzing roar. At this distance, Inky could see dozens, no, hundreds of miniscule winged creatures, no bigger than her hoof. They appeared to be some sort of multi-colored insect, and each one bore a tiny spear, or sword, or worse.

They did not attack, but neither did they disperse. The circle they flew around the pair grew tighter, and a single creature broke off from the swarm to fly before Elly’s muzzle.

“Þjófar! Skepnur! Þið eruð ofurliði bornar, furðuverur! Gefist upp!”

The creature shook a spear threateningly. It looked like an antennaed pony with gossamer wings. It was green, and appeared to have rough black stripes across its face—either natural coloring or war paint. The spear looked to be a shard of stone on a twig.

“I… don’t understand,” replied Elly.

“Gefist upp!” it shouted again, pointing to the ground with a free limb.

The words were alien, but the gestures… “Elly,” Inky said, looking up at her friend, “I think it wants us to surrender.”

Elly shook her head, but did not look away from the creature before them.. “Just because they asked nicely? I don’t think so. I need a distraction. Can you make smoke or a cloud or something for a few seconds?”

Inky thought for a moment. “Yes, yes I can. I know just the—”

“Explain later,” Elly interrupted. “On the count of three. One… two… three.”

Inky’s horn sparked to life. With a flash and a roar, a web of electricity kicked up dust and dirt and whipped it into a cyclone that, just as quickly, began to settle back to the ground. In the midst of the arcane display, Elly reared up, spread her wings wide, and flapped with all her strength.

“Fjölkynngi!” The little creature screeched a warning, but it was too late.

The mighty sweep of Elly’s wings blew a large number of the tiny assailants away, spinning out of control. Out of the shade beneath the stone, Aurum leapt forward and, with unexpected speed, smashed his outstretched hooves together—the supposed leader between them.

“Aurum! No!” Inky scrambled forward. “We don’t need to… kill?”

Aurum slowly opened his hooves, revealing a nearly-empty jar of marmalade which now held a furious winged prisoner.

He grinned at the mares, who stared at him, eyes wide. “You suppose I should poke holes in the lid?”

The party continued up the path, their captive’s prison dangling from a branch tied to the packs. At its goading, the other creatures had tried, repeatedly, to intervene.

Every time they got close, Elly’s wings dispersed them, but the warrior bore the aftermath of each encounter with a dark expression and a clenched jaw. She winced every time she folded her wings, and faint rusty stains marred her coat beneath Aurum’s poultices.

After a time, the screeching from the jar faded, and when Inky glanced at it, she found the little creature sitting, despondent, on the bottom, occasionally eating some of the bits of marmalade.

About an hour into the journey, a tiny pinging noise came from the jar. Aurum stopped and swung the branch around, and the ponies gathered around the improvised cell. The captive had broken the stone off its spear, and was tapping the glass with the branch.

It leaned against the curved class wall, sighed, and looked at Elly. “Getum við talað?”

“I think it wants to talk, Elly,” prompted Inky.

“How? We don’t understand it.”

“I have an idea,” offered Aurum.

The stallion set the jar on a nearby stone, set the pack next to it, and rummaged in a pocket. “Here,” he said, pulling out a tiny fragment of chalk. “Maybe if it could draw…”

“It’s worth a shot,” agreed Inky.

“I have my reservations,” replied Elly, “but let’s let it out and see what we can learn.”

Aurum unscrewed the top and set the lid down, then tipped the jar onto its side to set its occupant free.

“Þakka þér fyrir.” it said, walking out of the container. “Mér þykir þetta leitt. Við réðumst á ykkur án þess að taka tillit til skipanna minna. Ég hef verið að fylgjast með þér, og þú virðist taka hvert tækifæri til að forðast átök með þjóð minni. Ég get sagt þeim að hætta við árásinnar, og ég mun gera það.”

It noticed the lack of comprehension, frowned, and took the shard of chalk from Aurum’s outstretched hoof. Turning to a face of the rock, it began to doodle stick-figures.

“En það er ennþá málið um hvað þú hefur gert.” A vaguely pony shape came into view on the rock, and then the little creature added wings. It turned and pointed at Elly.

“Hin vængjaða hefur stolið matnum okkar.” A low, bushy shape was added next, and on top of it, a number of circles were drawn. Lines connected the circles to the pony’s face.

As each line reached the pony, the creature crossed out the circle. It turned, narrowed its eyes at Elly, then returned to the drawing where it erased the middle of the pony and drew in a large oval.

Inky cackled, which earned her a glare from the pegasus.

"Við krefjum það til baka. Þetta fangelsi inniheldur dásamleg efni." It walked to the jar, reached in, and scooped up a blob of marmalade, then showed it to the ponies, before putting it back in the jar. It licked itself clean before continuing..

“Ef þú hefur einhvað meira af því, munum við samþykkja það sem greiðslu, og fara.” A careful drawing of the jar, shaded to show it was full, was then presented next to a pile of circles, and the creature drew lines back and forth between the two pictures.

Elly blushed, and kicked the ground. “I… think I know what happened.”

Aurum and Inky exchanged an unreadable glance. “Do tell,” said Inky.

Elly stared at the mountain top, pointedly avoiding everypony’s gaze. “Well, I was scouting, and I saw a blueberry bush. So, I had a few, and then these things attacked me. Apparently the blueberries were theirs.”

“So, we got attacked by angry bee-ponies because you got snacky?” Inky’s face contorted into a twisted smile, and she bit into her lips to keep from laughing. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

“...Yes,” Elly admitted. “Look, do those pictures mean it wants to trade jam for berries?”

“I think so,” said Aurum. He set his pack down and rummaged through one of the pockets. “I’d think most of these would be too heavy to carry, but…” He set down a number of small jars, then opened the lids, and gestured to them with an outstretched hoof. “Please, try them, and take whichever you want.”

The little “bee-pony” buzzed from jar to jar, sampling each preserve, before stopping at the strawberry jam. It buzzed happily around it, and then landed on the rim. “Ég vel þetta.”

Aurum grinned. “That’s my favorite, too.” He dug back into his pack and retreived a small drawstring bag. He put the jar’s lid back on, but not too tightly, and then stuffed the jam into the bag. “I don’t know how many of you will be needed to carry this, but the strings on the bag should help.”

The little creature flew close to Aurum’s muzzle, saluted brisky, then turned towards some nearby scrub. “Komiði, við höfum nýjann mat til að taka heim.” A few brightly-colored streaks buzzed through the sky, and then more and more seemed to come from every rock or crevice. As one, they alit upon the strings from the bag and lifted it into the air.

The one they had captured turned and bowed. “Takk fyrir. Mér leiðist misskilningurinn. Ég óska ykkur heppni. Ég veit að þú skilur mig ekki, en verið þið varkár. Undarlegir hlutir eru að gerast.” And with that, the little creatures were gone.

Elly, grumbling to herself, shouldered her pack and returned to the path. Inky followed suit, light-hooved despite the pack’s weight. Aurum, as usual, brought up the rear. From time to time he would chuckle quietly. Elly’s blush only grew deeper. She tried to change the subject.

“According to the Council’s instructions, we’re less than a league from the site. It should be visible over that next rise.”

“Well, let’s see what we’re getting ourselves into,” replied Inky.

The party made good time to the top of the ridge. As Elly and Inky crested it, they stopped cold, staring into the distance. Aurum was soon beside them, and saw the reason why.

The valley ahead, for the next half-mile or so, was filled with green, rolling hills and the occasional copse of trees. A stream, fed by mountain springs, meandered lazily through it. A dozen tents and pavilions bearing the banners and crests of the Council were arrayed here and there near the running water.

A little beyond the tents, however, something else lay waiting. It looked as if some powerful event had erased the mountain, and in its place left a spiraling, spherical void that filled the valley. In that void, stars collided, lightning crackled, and a low wail constantly issued forth—a wail that could be heard, faintly, even at this distance.

“It’s… it’s a hole… in the world…” breathed Inky.

The void and the valley met at a knife’s edge which nothing but light could cross. While the ponies could faintly see the layers of stone deep beneath the surface, nothing else seemed to survive the transition. Where the stream touched it, it simply vanished, rather than fall. Where a tree leaned too close, its branches seemed to be cut.

“But not a permanent one,” said Aurum. “Look at the trees move,” he continued, gesturing at a copse in the distance. “See, when the tree moves in the wind, and rocks away from the hole, the branches return. We can’t see in, but it doesn’t seem to be doing any harm. Not yet, at least.”

Elly nodded. “I can see it, yes. Well, there’s one mystery solved.”

Inky tilted her head and gazed at Elly as if she were a potentially hazardous creature. “How in Equestria does this solve anything?”

Elly frowned, staring ahead, and took a step down the path. “We know why the Council called us.”

“We have no idea what that thing even is!” she shouted.

“I suspect those are the details the Council will want us to work out,” she replied, her shoulders drooping. She sighed audibly, shook out her mane, and spared Inky a glance before carefully stepping down the incline.

Inky could only watch her walk away. Aurum stopped at Inky’s side.

“Come on. We’ve defeated pony-eating shrubs and mildly angry insect ponies.” He forced a smile, and nudged her with a shoulder. “What’s a terrifying mountain-sized void got that we can’t handle?” He followed Elly further down the path.

“I’m not ready,” whispered Inky. “I’m not ready for this.” Still, she followed behind, walking stiffly, unable to take her eyes off the sphere of nothing that slowly rose before her.

Author's Note

All speech has been translated from Old Equestrian.
All Breezy dialogue repaired by FIMFiccer palinalif. - Snarkle

Intermezzo I

The stony, starlit field was calm, and quiet, and strangely dusty. Strange in that the dust was only present when she thought of it—imagining rough grit against her hoof or a shimmering whorl in an errant moonbeam made it appear just so—and vanished once attention faded.

Similarly, other features flickered in and out of existence, or changed shape or color, or swapped places with others when she looked away. Yet, when she looked back, she always knew what would be where.

She stepped through a favorite arbor from the Twilight Gardens and breathed in the heady scent of a warm night after the rain. A moment’s concentration turned the rock-strewn terrain into bowers, arches, and trellises of every sort of growing thing.

There were no surprises here save what Luna brought with her.

As if summoned, a giggle erupted from behind a trellis of moonflowers, which shivered a moment before melting away into into a swarm of faintly glowing moths. Where flowers once adorned the landscape sat a little blue filly, oblivious to it all. She patiently plaited a dozen long-stemmed moonflowers into a silvery-white crown, then levitated it atop her own head.

A rueful smile flashed across Luna’s muzzle, then faded. But those surprises, she thought, were more than enough.

“Snowdrop,” Luna chided. “It is not time to play. Not tonight. We have much to do.”

The precocious creature stuck out her bottom lip and dropped her shoulders into a well-tuned slump. For most adults, it evoked pity. She held the position for the barest moment before glancing up at the princess.

The princess, in reply, regarded her charge with an arched brow and an unreadable expression. One by one, the stars winked out.

Snowdrop sighed, then mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” Luna chimed, and the stars returned to their prominence. The crescent moon, high in the sky, gained a halo.

Snowdrop marveled at the display, then declared, “Daddy says that the halos around the moon are caused by ice in the sky.”

“Mm,” Luna replied. “That may be, in Equestria. But we are not in Equestria, are we?”

“We aren’t?” Snowdrop looked about, walking in a small circle as she glanced at the flowers, and the stars, and the stones at her hooves. “It looks like Equestria.”

“It does, yes. In Equestria, though, you are snugly wrapped in your blankets. Your father has just finished your story, turned down your light and cleared away your glass of water.”

“I…” Snowdrop blinked. “I’m dreaming?” Her lower lip trembled, and she dropped unceremoniously onto her rump. Her crown slipped from its rightful place and hung precariously over one eye.

The garden faded, and a forest clearing took its place. A thick carpet of grass sprung into being, and atop it sat a checkered blanket and an overstuffed basket. Between Snowdrop and the picnic, Luna stepped closer, leaned down, and nuzzled the filly. “You are, but not like you’re used to.”

Snowdrop’s pout returned in force, and she folded her forelimbs across her chest. “So you’re not here.”

“But I am. Since I must watch the night, and usually sleep when you are awake, I thought it would suit us both if I met with you in dreams.”

Snowdrop thought about this in silence. In the shadowed boughs above, a wood owl hooted once. Luna waited patiently.

Finally, Snowdrop stood, her brow still creased with thought. “Princess Luna?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Do you have any sandwiches in the basket?”

“Just this way, Snowdrop,” Luna soothed. “Just a bit further.”

The wooded glens and flowered gardens were long departed, and the pair of ponies stepped cautiously around loose stones and thorny weeds as they ascended a narrow path. A few puffball clouds scuttled by, but the moon’s light was not hindered, and gave them a clear view of their route.

Snowdrop peered ahead. She saw that atop the next rise there appeared to be a stone platform. Large boulders had been stacked before it and carved into the semblance of steps. “Is that where we’re going, Princess Luna?”

Luna paused, looking over her shoulder at her charge. “Yes, it is. We don’t have long now.” Her eyebrows rose slightly. “You aren’t tired, are you?”

“No, ma’am,” Snowdrop replied, shaking her head. “I’m not tired.” She glanced about, then asked, “Are you sure we’re in a dream?”

“Yes, my dear,” Luna replied with a nod, then turned about to face Snowdrop fully. “Quite sure.”

Snowdrop stepped closer, looking left, and then right. “How do you know? Or… how…” She fell silent.

“How do you know?” offered Luna.

Snowdrop nodded. “Yes’m.”

Luna peered at the tiny unicorn. The flower crown took that moment to slide forward, drooping itself over the filly’s muzzle.

“Take a look at your crown.”

Snowdrop pulled the flower crown off her head. Despite what seemed like hours of walking, every blossom was as bright and vibrant as if freshly picked.

“The flowers are still pretty,” she marveled in a whisper.

“Mm,” Luna murmured noncommittally. She took a seat in the path. “Snowdrop, can you imagine what your namesake looks like?”

“Namesake?” She looked up from her flowers. “You mean what my name means?”

“Yes,” Luna replied. “Have you seen a snowdrop?”

“Yes, ma’am. They grow in the hills near the Split-Spear Pass.”

“Describe one to me,” she directed, her stare intensifying.

Snowdrop recoiled, then took a step back. “Well…” she began, then shivered. Luna smiled, the strength of her gaze softening to observation.

“Uh… there’s pretty green grass, and some of the grass is tall and it bends over, and then at the end of bent-over grass there’s a little white flower that looks like it’s drooping.”

“Very good! Can you picture in your mind what they look like?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now imagine your crown is snowdrops, and not moonflowers. Tell yourself that, no matter what they were before, they are now snowdrops.”

“...okay.”

Snowdrop’s face contorted as she squeezed her eyes shut. A moment passed, then two. A rustle in the distance heralded a breeze which flowed about the filly, scattering the dried leaves at her hooves. She shivered, then opened one cautious eye.

“Aww…” she whined.

The crown’s greens and whites were as brilliant as when she began, but its dimensions were askew. Each moonflower—and moonflowers they still were—hung, miniaturized, from a slender grass-like stem.

“That’s very good, Snowdrop.” Luna smiled gently and, with a brief shimmer, brought the crown closer for study.

“But…” Snowdrop began, her brow creasing in thought. “But, princess? I failed.”

Luna spared her a glance beneath an arched brow, and the corners of her mouth curled with amusement. “Did you? I saw a change. Just because you didn’t complete the change you wanted does not mean you had no effect.” The crown rose and spun about. “Have you ever seen moonflowers so small?”

“Well, no…”

“Then you had a success,” she explained. “It was simply a different success than what you intended.” With that, she sent the flowers back to her pupil and deposited them atop her head.

“Oh.” Snowdrop blinked, her head slowly tilting to the right as she processed the different point of view. Her crown took the opportunity to slide to the side, where it drooped over her right eye as it dangled from her horn.

“Pfeh,” she muttered, placing the crown back in its rightful place. When she looked again, she noticed the princess was much farther ahead along the darkening path.

“Princess,” she called out, “please wait.”

Luna stopped, then turned slightly to answer over her shoulder. “I am in no hurry. Is it my distance that bothers you, or something else?”

Snowdrop took a pace forward, then stopped, one hoof in the air. She set it back down. “I… it’s awfully dark.”

“Yes, it is,” Luna agreed, turning about to face Snowdrop again. She looked skyward. “Still, the moon is out and the path is clear. Come, join me.”

“I... I don’t like the dark,” she admitted. She stared at her hooves, shifting her balance this way and that.

“Ah. There is no shame in fearing the unknown, so long as your caution does not overtake your better senses.” Luna sat down once more, moving no closer. “You had some success with the crown, did you not?” She smiled reassuringly. “Let’s try something else.”

“Something else?” Snowdrop echoed. “You mean, something to make it less dark?”

“In a fashion. I find it’s easier to change something than to create it out of nothing.” Luna poked at the vegetation beside the path with an outstretched hoof. “These brambles, for instance. Take a look at the brambles near you. Do you see anything interesting?”

“Interesting?” Distracted from the darkness, Snowdrop studied the plants. “I see some thorns, and some vines, and some little berries…”

“Ah!” Luna interrupted. “What color are the berries?”

Snowdrop peered at the miniscule orbs. “They’re yellow, and some are a little brown.”

“Like the glass in the lamps in Pasofino?” Luna suggested.

“A… a little.” She smiled despite herself, realizing where this conversation was going. “I…” She grinned at Luna. “I could make them little lamps!”

Luna’s eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Why don’t you try? But instead of focusing on changing the berry, think about the light from the lamps.”

Snowdrop stared at the berry. She thought of the lamps at home, and the light they cast, and how Mr. Herald always had a kind word for her, if she was out-of-doors when he made his rounds.

Suddenly, something deep within the berry began to glow. A reddish ember flared once, then twice, and then a gentle golden light shone, illuminating the brambles. Snowdrop giggled in amazement, and suddenly every berry on every bramble lit up—a thousand golden fireflies filling the night with their glow.

Snowdrop squeaked with glee, prancing about, taking in the sight.

“Very good, indeed,” Luna commented. She stood, and examined the berries by her side. “I must admit I am impressed. For a filly who has never tried lucid dreaming, you are doing quite well.”

“Luci… what?” Snowdrop scrunched up her nose, not following the conversation.

“Lucid dreaming,” Luna repeated. “Dreaming, but being aware that you are dreaming. It allows you to change things, and to remember more clearly.”

Snowdrop’s eyes widened, and her smile returned in force. “You mean, I can learn to do this even when you’re not visiting?”

“You can,” Luna replied, turning once more towards the platform. It was now only a few paces away.

“Oh!” Snowdrop trotted forward and took her place at her mentor’s side. Together, they climbed the rough-hewn steps to the platform, and from its position Snowdrop could see all of Pasofino below them. In the far distance sat her home, its faintly-lit windows nestled into the hillside. The town proper slept beneath the radiant crescent moon.

Snowdrop gazed from landmark to landmark. She studied how the conservatory’s tiled roof shone under the stars, how the the moonlight played on the fishing pond, and how the lamplight near the park never quite reached the trees in its center.

“Princess Luna, it’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. Every city and town has its own mood at night. Pasofino is particularly gentle, and I try to capture that essence when I must visit in dreams.”

The two stood in silence, taking in the view. After a moment, Snowdrop spoke again. “Princess Luna? Why are we here? Why are you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Snowdrop? I’m taking you to school.”

Author's Note

I hope you enjoyed this little treat. I'll be diving into Luna's teaching methods soon.

In which the stones speak

Three ponies crested the ridge. In single file, they descended into the valley. As they journeyed, they could see other ponies ahead, scattered in small groups around similarly scattered tents. Each group stopped to watch the adventurers draw nearer.

Despite the onset of winter, the valley was lush and green. Steep, rocky walls sheltered it on all sides, and meandering streams lazily paced out a web towards the valley’s floor.

But they never reached it.

In the center of the valley, beyond the scattered tents and trickling waters, a great emptiness loomed. An enormous sphere of nothing, in razor-sharp relief against the blue sky and green grasses, swallowed up the streams, sky, and vegetation as they crossed its horizon. Within its depths, lightning crackled and stars spiraled.

From that great void issued a muted wail that filled the valley, fading in and out on the edge of hearing. It was a keening cry—the sound of wind in the high crags, or the voice of a lost child wandering in search of its mother.

The three ponies approached. The closer they drew, the larger the void loomed: a menacing presence that made it difficult to lift their hooves. Soon, the three found themselves unable to venture any nearer.

A moment passed. Then two. After ten minutes, the ponies gathered at the camps sent out an envoy of five to meet and gather up the new arrivals.

“Ho, there!” shouted a voice. “Travelers! Are you the Selected?”

With considerable effort, Inky pulled her eyes away from the enormous sphere and noted a small band of ponies drawing close. They were all unicorns, in a variety of shades, and each wore the white high-collared cloak of the Council. Their leader was a moss-grey stallion with a deep bronze mane.

“Hello,” Inky called in return. “Yes, we are. But I fear we did not know this was the reason for our Selection.” She gestured over approaching ponies’ shoulders with her muzzle, taking care not to let her gaze cross the void again.

“I am In… Selene,” Inky added, before she nudged Elly. “This is Helia, and this is Aurum. Why have we been called?”

At the sounds of their names, each of her companions shivered awake, then nodded to the Council.

The lead pony nodded in return. “I am Palantir. With me are Littlelife, Cooper...” He tilted his head over his right shoulder at two ponies, a petite purple mare and stocky green stallion, who nodded as their names were called. “...Iris and Thistledown.” These two were over his left shoulder, both blue. The taller of the two smiled, while the second seemed to be distracted by a passing cloud. “We are of the Council.”

“Thistledown?” Inky blinked in surprise. “I didn’t recognize you. You look different, but I can’t put my hoof on it.”

The taller blue mare stepped forward with a smile. “Hi, Selene. It’s likely the mane. My usual braids were too much of a hassle out here, and eventually I just cut it short.” She tossed her silver-grey mane about and grinned. “I’m filling in for Starswirl. He’s on a mission elsewhere, and asked me to take his place at Council.”

“I see,” Inky replied, finding the smile infectious. “That’s great for you. Lots of opportunity.”

Elly cleared her throat.

Inky’s ears flattened, and she glanced at the ground, a blush rising in her cheeks. “Of course. Yes. Palantir, was it?”

The moss-grey stallion nodded once more.

“Palantir, why have we been called? What is happening here?”

“That’s just it. We don’t know, exactly.”

Elly’s eyes narrowed. “Did I hear that right? You had us wander the width of this land because you don’t know what something is?”

Aurum snorted in what Inky hoped was amusement.

Palantir rubbed at his right temple with a hoof. The green stallion murmured something about pegasi before his purple companion shouldered him in the ribs with a glare.

Elly’s wings flared, and her eyes narrowed. She took half a pace towards the unicorn when Palantir raised a hoof to forestall her.

“No, Helia.” Whether he meant that as a command, or an answer, Elly paused to listen.

“We know your presence is necessary, and we know a few things about the situation we find ourselves in, but the details have been kept from us. They’re waiting to speak with the Selected.”

Inky tilted her head. “They?” she asked. “They who?”

He regarded Inky once more. “We’ve no good name for them yet. They refer to themselves in various ways. But we may be getting ahead of ourselves.” He stepped to the side, and turned slightly back the way he came. “Let’s get to camp and we’ll explain on the way. Any questions we can’t answer will be addressed by the rest of the Council, if an answer is to be had.”

“That sounds fine to me.” She looked glanced to each of her companions. “Aurum? Helia? Shall we?”

Aurum grinned and stepped forward, but found his path blocked as Elly drew close to her companions.

Elly’s eyes never left the green stallion. “So, these Council members...” she asked in an exaggerated murmur, “...are they easily replaced if broken?”

Aurum chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Elly stepped a pace away, and he moved on past to join the Council.

Inky shook her head and murmured in reply. “Not now, El. I’m sure he’ll get a proper dressing-down once we’re back at camp.”

Elly grumbled vaguely and launched herself into the sky, and with a few lazy beats of her wings took up a slow patrol.

Palantir waited ahead. Inky walked to his side, and the pair descended towards the campsite.

“I’m sorry for Cooper’s comments,” he said.

“Don’t be. Old rivalries and opinions die hard. Still, until there’s been some proof of chastisement, you may not want to let El—Helia get near him alone.”

“He’ll likely lose his Council cloak when we return. The Council is of all tribes, and while unicorns make up the majority, our work would be impossible without the abilities and contributions of pegasus and earth pony.”

Inky sighed, then changed the subject. “So, let’s start from the beginning. Aurum’s just ahead. Let’s catch up with him, and Helia will grill me for details when we get to camp.”

“Fair enough,” Palantir replied. He quickened his pace, and soon the pair were with the party proper. He told his tale anew.

“The beginning? Well, a few months ago, our ley researchers noticed some… oddities… with the feed lines. As you know, minor changes are not unusual. These were the usual surges in potential, like when a spell draws too much power or there’s a miscalculation in a result. They were simply more frequent and often occurring where no unicorns were known to live.”

Inky nodded, stepping over a muddy rivulet. “So what was so different this time?”

Palantir stepped over the same feature and replied, “The lines started moving.”

Inky stopped in mid stride. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

The other unicorn shrugged. “Nevertheless… Eventually, the researchers noticed a pattern to the moving webs and calculated a disturbance here, in this valley. We sent our scouts ahead and, well, we found this.” He gestured ahead with a hoof. Inky did not look forward.

“Thistledown, Iris, and I were first to arrive. It was Iris’ team that calculated the position, and Thistledown appeared in place of Starswirl, who as we mentioned before is otherwise occupied. It was her idea to enter the sphere, and when we did, we learned a lot more.”

Aurum spoke up from his other side. “There’s something inside?”

Palantir turned to address him. “There’s a great deal inside. And a great deal missing. It’s difficult to explain. I wouldn’t know where to begin, except…” He turned to Inky. “You’ve studied astral projection, haven’t you?”

Inky spared Aurum a half-smile, then answered, “Only as a curiosity. Part of my Selection took place in a pocket projection, but my focuses were Astronomy and Fateweaving, not Realms.”

“Ah. Well…” Palantir paused. He pursed his lips and seemed to search his memory. Inky and Aurum waited quietly, exchanging glances. After a few moments, he brightened.

“Ah!” he said, continuing his journey and his explanation. “Yes. So, anything that enters the sphere from outside becomes… disembodied. No harm befalls a living creature, or things in direct contact with one, but items without motive force are permanently disincorporated.” He smiled broadly, as if the rest was obvious.

Aurum snorted. “So, ‘they’...” he prompted.

Inky answered first. “‘They’ exist in another frame of reference. The pocket projection I tested in would have had some similarities, but only in that aspect.”

“What is it ‘they’ want?” Aurum asked, stepping closer.

“Three, we were told. ‘Send for three, one from each tribe, to speak for each tribe. One that represents each tribe, in every sense.’ They have otherwise kept their intentions close, but I do not believe the entities are malevolent.”

The tents drew nearer. From this distance, they could hear the canvas sides and linen banners flap in the breeze. Aurum and Inky both slowed their pace, and continued grilling Palantir.

“How many entities are there?” Aurum asked, ducking under a branch..

“Two entities speak within the void,” he answered, “and the two refer to a third which they say is a danger to us all.”

Inky frowned. “Danger? What sort of danger?”

Palantir grimaced. “I asked that same question. They showed me images. They were… cataclysmic, on a scale I can scarcely comprehend. Imagine an earthquake that does not end. Or a storm that rains fire, across the whole of the land. Or—”

Aurum blanched. His jaw worked silently as his eyes widened.

Inky quickly raised a hoof. “We get it. Please, that’s enough.” With a shudder, she turned and trudged towards the tents.

Palantir and Aurum followed behind, silent for the rest of the journey.

Inky woke from a light doze, disturbed by a commotion outside her tent. Voices sounded beyond the oiled canvas, and in its dim environs the shadows from outside were razor sharp.

“You’re absolutely certain?” asked a familiar voice. Ah, yes, Palantir.

“Yes, sir,” a smaller shadow replied. Her voice was low, and soft, with a lilt after each word. “Neither can be found.”

“Curse it all, Littlelife. He said he was going to apologize!”

“He left to do just that, but you know Cooper. Perhaps there was an argument?”

“I’ll let Selene know. Wake Aurum and then put together an escort.”

“Yes, sir.” The smaller shadow spun about and moved from the tent’s side. The larger paused outside the flaps.

Inky took the opportunity to rise from her bedroll and, by the light of her horn, rummaged for a set of saddlebags. The tent flap opened soon after.

Palantir stepped into the tent, then sighed. “I take it you heard our discussion.”

Inky nodded, coiling up a length of thin rope and stuffing it into a pocket.

Palantir rubbed the back of his head with a hoof. “So, it seems Cooper went to apologize to Helia, alone, after we told him to stay away.”

A lantern, a sack of granola, and a swath of bandages filled the other pocket. “And now you can’t find either of them.”

He let his hoof fall to the ground. “No,” he replied with a grimace.

Inky frowned, then faced the stallion. A moment’s focus opened the tent flap behind him onto the late evening. “One of them has done something rash. The other is paying for that decision. Let’s hope we get to both of them in time.” With that, she stepped outside. Palantir followed.

A few paces away, Aurum appeared from another tent. He shook out his mane as he found his way towards Inky.

“You’ve heard,” he said in greeting. He stretched his neck and drummed his hooves against the earth, waking the rest of the way up.

Inky nodded, closing the tentflap behind her. She levitated the bags over her back, securing them tightly. As she buckled the last strap, she moved to the earth pony’s side. “Aurum?”

Any question she might have asked was interrupted by a ruckus. Scattered shouts sounded from the southern edge of camp, nearest the curious sphere. The shouts drew nearer, and as they did, two pegasi could be seen on the wing, a pony on a sling stretched between them.

Inky peered at the shape. “That’s too dark for Elly.”

Palantir stepped up beside her, squinting in turn. “That’s Cooper. They seem to be bringing him here.”

In moments, the litter descended. The pegasi—a green mare and a yellow stallion—each gave Palantir a nod before unhooking themselves. The yellow pegasus flew off without a word. The green one reported in.

“We found him at the bottom of the bank near the southern fork. Looks like he slid all the way down. There’s nothing obvious wrong, but I’m sure the healers will know for sure. As for Helia, there was no sign.”

Cooper—still wearing his white cloak, now muddied and torn—groaned softly beside her.

“Thank you,” replied Palantir. “Please keep the patrol up.”

“Aye, sir,” she said. A brief salute and a beat of her wings later, she was gone.

Palantir frowned at the unicorn for a moment, then shouted, “Littlelife!”

“Right behind you, sir,” replied a voice from the north. The purple unicorn from the earlier envoy trotted up and frowned at the pony on the ground. She knelt over him, her horn flaring.

“Tsk. Well, there’s no obvious wounds or swelling…” She murmured to herself as the glow enveloped the stallion. “Bruising, scuffs, possible pulled muscle… oh, and that’ll be a nasty headache.”

“What happened?” asked Inky.

The glow faded and Littlelife stood upright. “He’ll have to give the details, but based on the injuries, he took a solid hit to the head and a tumble down some rocky terrain. No fractures, but he’s gonna be feeling that for a day or two, and may have loosened a tooth.

“The pegasus who brought him said he was found at the southern fork,” stated Aurum.

“The southern fork?” Littlelife spared a glance for Palantir. “That’s mere minutes from the sphere.”

“Yes,” Palantir replied. “I suppose we know where Helia must have gone.” He turned and reopened the tent flap. “I’ll get the medical supplies.”

Littlelife turned about as well. “I’ll help.”

Inky and Aurum were left out-of-doors, standing watch over Cooper.

“She wouldn’t have gone in alone,” breathed Aurum, his voice rising into a query.

“She would,” said Inky. “Especially to prove a point.”

The clatter of belts and buckles sounded from within the tent. “I hoped to take this trip in the morning,” called Palantir, his voice muffled by something. A moment later he stepped from the tent’s confines, a knapsack in his teeth. “But I suppose we’ll go now.”

He flung the knapsack over his back and adjusted its straps. “Littlelife will stay here until Cooper wakes on his own. I will escort you to the sphere. The way is easy, and the path clear, so we should make good time. A half hour, perhaps, even in darkness.”

Littlelife exited the tent and sat down beside the unconscious pony. “Take care, all of you,” she said. “If Helia is wounded, Palantir’s supplies should help. If there’s an emergency, send up a signal. We’ll be watching.”

Palantir nodded, then turned south. Aurum and Inky exchanged a silent glance and set off, side by side, behind him.

Night fell, and a dusting of stars shimmered faintly above three silent travelers. Above the trees, against the darkening grey sky, loomed the great dome which encompassed their destination. Inky could not look away. Every time she thought she had a good handle on its size, a new vantage point seemed to make it loom larger.

Aurum walked alongside her, pointedly staring ahead. He guided her through gentle nudges and along narrow passages, by blocking the occasional drop.

Palantir remarked on every new tree or creature but, after receiving nothing but silence from his companions, eventually kept his counsel to himself.

As predicted, a half hour after they had left the edge of camp, the path turned sharply south and ended in a stone spur which almost spanned the river, but instead led to a smooth, dark, glassy surface that appeared to stretch a mile in all directions.

Palantir set down his bag, then stepped to the side to allow the other to ponies to pass. Neither took the opportunity.

“This is the place we entered. Selene, Aurum, we have seen neither hide nor hair of Helia. I would assume she was within. Before you two enter, please let me give you a rough idea of what lies beyond.”

Inky forced her eyes from the enormity that awaited and focused intently on Palantir’s face. She was only vaguely aware of Aurum standing beside her.

“I cannot guarantee this is still the case, but as of both my prior visits, the realm has breathable air, relatively similar gravity, tolerable heat, and the like. The first time we entered, we found ourselves on a field of white flowers with a black sky, although we could still see. The second time, we were atop a floating island over a sunlit plain.”

“You’re not going in?” Aurum raised a shaggy eyebrow.

Palantir shook his head. “With all due respect, Aurum, if Helia has entered, I do not want to be present. They were quite eager to meet with the Selected, and I have the distinct impression that they only tolerated my presence because I was working to bring you here.”

Aurum turned to Inky. “What do you think?”

Inky shrugged. “She might be in there. Whether he’s going in or not, I am.” She unfastened her packs and slid out of them.

Aurum blinked, then regarded his companion with a curious tilt of the head. “As you say, then. I’m with you.”

The two turned in unison towards the sphere, and together, stepped through.

The surface of the sphere felt like a soap bubble, if one could be forged of ice. It shocked the senses of the travelers, but that sensation was quickly dwarfed by what lay within.

They stood atop a great stone platform adrift in an azure sky. All about them, gargantuan spires of earth and rock floated in obstinate denial of gravity’s pull. They spun lazily, gently shifting in height as if floating in a cosmic sea.

As Inky got her bearings, she realized the enormous tapered columns of stone rose in a slow spiral towards a blinding light above, and an all-encompassing darkness below. She peered over the edge of her spire and encountered a strange wind flowing from those depths, whispering in forgotten tongues as it caressed the stone.

She stepped away from the edge, moving closer to the apparent safety of the spire’s center.

A presence—a sense of being—crashed into her thoughts, a cliffside collapsing into a shallow sea. She staggered on her hooves, then dropped to her belly, gasping for a breath she did not remember exhaling. Just as suddenly, the presence was gone.

A voice washed over them, like the tolling of an enormous bell:

They are here.

Another replied, a wash of sparks from a smithy’s hammer:

They are here.

Aurum swayed on his hooves. His jaw flexed, and his eyes swum in terror.

Inky staggered to her feet, looking in all directions. “Who…” her mouth went dry, and she coughed into a forelimb. “Who are you?”

Something answered that she could feel, but could not see:

We are.

Another voice, lighter but no less potent, echoed the sentiment:

We are who were, we are who will be, we are who are.

Aurum grumbled something under his breath. “What should we call you?” he called aloud.

I am called Tartarus. I am the realm beyond your mortal experience. I am what waits before the egg, and beyond the grave.

I am called Equestria. I am the realm of being. All that are, are me, and I am all that are.

Inky gave Aurum an appraising look and nodded at him in encouragement. She leaned forward with a half-smile.

He cleared his throat and asked another question. “There was a third, mentioned to us. Our reason for being here. What of that person?”

The third is not a person. The third is unmaking.

The third cannot be a person. It is a whisper. A fraying at the edges. An undoing.

The third we call Chaos. It is the end of things.

There was something in the finality of those words which caressed Inky’s mind. It was a siren’s call, alluring despite—or perhaps due to—the distinct feeling of danger.

She shuddered involuntarily. “There was also a third of us,” Inky called. “A pony. A pegasus. She may have entered already.”

The pegasus is present.

A smile split Inky’s muzzle. “She’s here?” She spun about, peering in all directions. “Where is she?”

She has begun her trial, as is her right. However, she does not fare well.

Inky froze. “Trial?” The words were a bare whisper.

“What trial?” asked Aurum. “Where is she?”

Come and see.

The spire on which the ponies stood shuddered and groaned, then slowly lifted skyward. As it sailed higher and higher, Inky peered into the bright sky above. Soon, she saw a swarm of moving specks which grew inexorably larger as they approached.

The spire slowed and stopped beneath a whirlwind of broken, jagged stones twice the size of a pony. They whistled and hummed as they churned the air about them, orbiting swiftly about a column suspended at the center. At the middle of that column lay a white form, barely recognizable…

“Elly!” shouted Inky. She raced to the edge of the spire, and shouted again. “Elly! Are you alright?”

She cannot hear you. Her last attempt to best this challenge left her unconscious.

Inky paced along the spire’s edge, searching the sky for something to speak to. “I… what challenge? Why are we being tested again? Wasn’t that the point of our Selection?”

We had no part in that matter. We asked for one of each of your tribes. Now that you have arrived, we will offer you an opportunity, but you must prove yourself capable.

Inky opened her mouth to speak, but felt a hoof on her shoulder.

“Let me, Inky. You worry about Elly.”

Inky dropped to her rump and absentmindedly patted at his hoof. “Yes, right.”

Aurum raised his voice and called out once more. “What is this opportunity?”

Chaos approaches. It has spied our work here, in the creation of this land. It is an envious being. It seeks nothing but the dissolution of order, and a return to nothingness.

“And we are called to fight this Chaos?” he asked.

You are. We cannot act against it. Not directly. We are all of the same moment. The same impetus. We can work against or with one another, but can neither help nor hinder directly.

Aurum nodded. “You want us to be your representatives.”

In a fashion. We have no need for herald or harbinger. Instead, we seek those who will keep watch, set to guard this realm against the encroachments of the other.

In return, you will be given our power over all things of this world. So long as you live, that power will be yours to shape and guide this creation.

Inky stood, never taking her eye from the fallen figure. After a moment, she shouted, “But what about Elly? We can’t just leave her there!”

She will remain within the test until she surrenders, until someone completes it on her behalf, or until she dies.

Inky’s heart raced and her eyes bulged. “I will take her place! Me! Give me her test!”

You cannot take her place. She must give it to you.

“But…” she began, before finally deflating. She sat on the edge of the spire and watched the white smudge in the distance.

Aurum spoke again. “Equestria, Tartarus, what challenge is she facing?”

She seeks to prove herself capable of doing what is right.

“Right,” Inky spat. “And whirling rocks test that how?”

“Inky,” Aurum growled at her with a level gaze. “Not now.” He raised his voice once more. “Is that your only challenge?”

It is not. Equestria seeks a champion who will do what is right. I seek a champion who will do what is necessary.

“Necessary,” Inky muttered at her hooves.

Aurum coughed a warning, but she ignored him.

“What’s necessary is saving Elly. Fine.” She stood, closed her eyes, and focused. Moments later, her horn burst into a blinding flare, flooded with every bit of magic she could muster.

“You want us to dance for you?” she shouted towards the sky. “To perform your challenges?”

Her head ached and her vision swam, but the magic she channeled never faltered. “I will do what is right and what is necessary!”

“Inky!” Aurum shouted. “Are you mad?”

Inky’s white-hot rage crystallized into seething fury. “Don’t stop me, Aurum,” she whispered, a hiss entering her voice. She glared at him, blinking away tears. “I will save Elly, and these two… two… things can stuff themselves.”

She spun back towards the edge of the spire and, through enhanced senses, studied the scene.

From this distance, she could not leap to the next spire safely, but she could change the spire. Reaching out with her will, she smashed the top of the column into shards, and spread them out. Weaving quickly, she tied each stone in place with an arc of mystic force, letting it drop after she had passed.

She gave no thought to a return trip. Not yet. What mattered most was Elly.

She stopped on the next column. One more to reach, and then the next would have her beside her old friend.

This close to the whirling stones, she sensed a mystical presence, a motive force behind each one. Gently, she reached out and tried to untangle the enchantment. One weave, two, three, until the knot unraveled as if cut and, having nowhere to go, detonated. The rock disappeared in a deafening roar and a cloud of razor-sharp fragments.

That wouldn’t do, so close to her target. Wait. Her target. Elly was a pegasus. She would not be expected to unravel a spell.

Inky watched the stones more closely. They appeared to move at random, but as she kept time with the largest stones, she realized there was a pattern. It was complex, but there was a rhythm to the rotations. If she could move while there was a gap, she could reach Elly.

Moving the remaining shards of the spire between her and the next column, she realized her power was waning. She would have to move quickly. She counted aloud. If she took four seconds to run, leap, and clear the jump...

“One, two, three, skip, five, skip, skip, eight… now.”

She leapt, closing her eyes and expecting the worst. She was never the most athletic pony. To her relief, her hooves touched stone. One jump down. Two to go. Again, she observed the whirling debris.

“Skip, two, three, five, seven… jump.”

With the word, she leapt again, ending the spell that held her previous platform to preserve what magic she had left. One more, and then the column. The pain in her head reverberated with every heartbeat. She tried to make sense of the rotating swarm.

“Three… no, one… four? One, five… nine… ah, forget it. Hup!”

As before, she leapt from the floating remnant. As before, she sailed through the air, but halfway through her arc she took a shard of stone across her back. A second careening boulder knocked her forward, onto the final floating platform, but it was too late. Her store of power was nearly gone, and that platform slowly lost altitude. She watched in horror as the edge of the column slowly crept away.

She had to focus. She had to dredge up every ounce of power she could to make that final leap, but… no. She was beaten. She was done. She knew her journey would end here…

“Inky,” someone shouted. “You can do it! It’s just one more jump! I’ve seen you clear that distance without magic!”

Inky looked over her shoulder and saw, in the distance, a familiar golden pony. He leaned dangerously over the edge, and strained to shout.

“No, don’t look at me. Make the jump! Elly needs you!”

“I… I can’t!” she shouted back. She knew it was true. Even now, the platform on which she stood leaned precariously and listed dangerously towards one of the lethal gyres. “I’m too weak! I shouldn’t have been sent!”

“Weak? You? Adventuring across the wilds? Staring down Elly, of all ponies?”

“You don’t understand, Aurum!” Another boulder rocketed past, shards of stone pelting Inky as she tried desperately to maintain her footing. “I’m a fraud! I shouldn’t even be here!”

“You are the most capable unicorn I have ever met, and one with heart,” Aurum called back. “You can do this. You can make the right decision. Remember your Selection!”

Inky sacrificed the barest thread of magic to amplify her voice. “I am remembering it, damn it all! You know that decision I made? When I ‘chose’ where Thistledown could not?” She dodged another fragment of stone and found the platform’s path had shifted again. “I didn’t choose a thing! The entire test was whether or not you could choose not to act, Aurum.”

“Then you made the right decision!”

“I made no decision! I was too terrified to do anything! The only reason I won is because they thought my shame was sorrow! I’m a fraud, Aurum, and I’m going to be the death of us all!”

An eerie calm descended over the stallion’s features, and a light shone deep in his eyes. “No. No, you won’t.” Without a further word, he spun around on his hind legs, and walked towards the edge of the platform, peering into the dark below.

“Aurum! What are you doing?”

“What I must, Inky. Whatever happens, keep an eye on Elly. She’d be lost without you.”

“I… no! You can’t do this!”

The whirling vortex stopped. For a brief, blessed moment, there was naught but silence.

A voice flowed through the realm, like Aurum’s, but bearing a different timbre… a greater weight.

“I already have.”

With the mystical torrents gone, the massive boulders began to lose their enchantments. One by one, they fell from the sky, slamming into spires, columns, and each other, throwing stone in all directions. And then, her power was gone. The platform beneath her feet dropped away, and she followed quickly after.

She glanced left and right as she fell, but Aurum appeared to be gone. “I won’t let this happen,” she said aloud. She bounced violently off a passing stone.

“I cannot let this happen,” she said again, gasping for breath. Deep within her heart, she felt a shift. A change. A newness. A surety.

“This will not happen.”

All the world stopped.

Inky floated, aware, in the center of nothingness. The massive halls of stone that built the mountains, the rippling pools that formed the oceans, the shimmering glow of life throughout the realm of Equestria, and even the mighty orbs that shed light upon the world… all were as dust.

It was in this dust that she sensed Elly and brought her to her side. A wave of energy pulsed forth, converting every falling stone and shard of rock to sand. The returning echo gathered the sand and spires together, forging a sphere of calm upon which she set her hooves. She gently lowered Elly’s form to the newly-made ground and willed her to wake.

The faintest trickle of magic coursed through her body, and with a shuddering gasp, Elly opened her eyes. The mare scrambled to her hooves, flaring her wings. She turned to regard her friend, and was left speechless.

In that moment of perfect clarity, Inky could sense her thoughts. The mare Elly thought she knew—a bookish, self-conscious pony—seemed so much more now. Her mane glowed with the lights of the night sky, and flowed as if it were in a constant gentle breeze. Her eyes radiated light, and her features seemed idealized—no, refined—as if she inhabited a fine sculpture meant to celebrate her.

“Inky?” She peered at the beatific creature. “Is that you?”

“It is I, Elly.” Her voice was richer, deeper. It seemed to encompass more with every word. “A decision has been made, and I fear a second one must come.”

Elly danced backwards, agog at her new surroundings. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry,” she soothed. “After all, you always wanted a sister, did you not?”

The two of them felt a familiar presence.

Tartarus has made his choice and struck his bargain. It is time to choose a champion of the living realms. Who shall serve as that champion?

“We both shall,” answered the unicorn. Elly stared at her, dumbstruck.

An interesting gambit. Pegasus, do you agree to shoulder the burden with the unicorn?

Elly shook out her mane. “I… yes.” She gave Inky a half-smile, then leapt at her, clutching her sister in an enormous hug. “Yes,” she shouted, “I do!”

So be it. It is time for the two of you to become.

The glow that enveloped Inky expanded, encompassing Elly as well. It grew in intensity until Inky was sure she would be blinded, and then faded, a faint rainbow hue tinting the world as she regained her vision.

Elly wobbled on her hooves.

Inky leaned forward to steady her, but found that she, too, was unstable. She flared her wings for balance, and then realization dawned. Jerking about to see her new appendages, she bowled into her newfound sister, and the two paragons piled atop one another in a graceless heap.

“Ow, Inky,” grumbled Elly. “You’re stepping on my face.”

The two ponies carefully untangled themselves from one another: a slow process, made more difficult by their new shapes.

Each was taller, now. Considerably so. Their features had been lengthened, from their muzzles to their necks to the matching slender horns atop each of their heads. Each now sported a pair of mighty wings, with feathers that shimmered as if dipped in silver and gold. Their cutie marks, oddly enough, were largely unchanged, save for seeming more detailed—more pronounced.

They paced around one another, taking in their new forms, before they were reminded of the urgency of their visit.

“Equestria,” called Inky. “What is it we are to do?”

Defend me from those that seek to harm me. So long as I remain, so does ponykind.

“How are we to do so?” asked Elly.

You are different, but the same. Each of you shares the gifts of your ancestors. The wings of the pegasus. The horn of the unicorn. The gifts of justice and of insight. These are yours to wield in my defense, and the defense of your charges. Even now, unicorn and pegasus magic are filtering through me, strengthening me, and changing me.

“What of earth pony magic?”

You are not earth ponies.

“But you mentioned our charges. Those who dwell here. We cannot survive without the gifts of the earth ponies.”

“Aurum is an earth pony, Inky. What of him?” Elly raised her voice and called out. “Tartarus, what is his mission?”

Silence answered.

“Tartarus?” Inky called as well.

Again, only the sound of the wind replied. After a few moments, a familiar golden-coated stallion appeared, stepping from behind a broken column. He was familiar, but changed, like they were. Broader in barrel, wider at the shoulder, stockier and somewhat shaggier. Each of his hairs glowed warmly in the light of this place, and the faded ribbons that remained in his mane shimmered like the summer haze over a farm.

“Aurum, why doesn’t it answer?”

“It does answer. It seems only I can hear. It says: I protect the realms beyond. Mortality is mine.”

Inky blinked. “Mortality? Wait, if you control the line between the living and the dead, how will Equestria grow?”

“With difficulty, I imagine. A land infused with your gifts will remain as hard to farm as it is now.”

Inky realized it was difficult to separate Aurum’s replies from Tartarus. A moment passed and it dawned that such a distinction might no longer apply.“Is there anything you can do? Can you help us in our duties?”

Aurum stared at the two ponies opposite him. He neither moved, nor blinked, nor seemed to breathe. After what seemed an interminable wait, he sighed.

“I can make an Accord.”

Elly shivered at the word. “How do you mean?”

Aurum spoke carefully, gesturing with a hoof between himself and the mares. “My gifts—those of an earth pony—are not necessary where I will serve. I will give them to you. But there must be a cost.” At that word, he drove the hoof down. “There must always be a cost.”

Inky stepped forward and looked Aurum over, her eyes narrowing. “What cost is that?”

Aurum looked down at her. While she had gained in height, his had seemingly doubled. “In exchange for the defense of Equestria, and all forms of magic—Stars, Sky, and Soil—your powers will be restrained. Life will not be your plaything, neither to create nor destroy.”

“I can’t agree, Aurum,” said Elly. “It might be necessary to take a life to protect Equestria as a whole.”

Silence descended once more. Aurum tilted his head as if listening to something.

“That is acceptable,” he replied. “Save where necessary in defense of the balance of Equestria, you may not destroy life, and despite possessing the gifts of the earth ponies, neither may you create it. In return, I will take under my watch those foes whose powers must be contained.”

Elly and Inky exchanged a glance. Each nodded at the other.

“Very well, we accept your burden, and your gift.”

Aurum nodded, then closed his eyes. His features hardened, and his cutie mark flared. Suddenly, he held a golden sickle between his teeth. He opened his eyes once more, and they glowed with a faint green light.

Before either mare could act, he lifted his right foreleg and placed the blade of the sickle against it. With a sweeping motion, he cut a thin red line around the first joint, then lifted the sickle high.

A single drop of blood pooled on the crescent blade, collecting from its length, and then fell to the sand at his hooves. As it struck, it shone brilliantly, then soaked into the sand below. Where it had fallen, the ground glowed. This glow surged, racing forward until it reached the mares’ hooves.

The two circled about, watching the pooling light beneath them. Like sanguine vines, crimson tendrils emerged from the sand and wrapped themselves around their hooves. A scarlet light shone brighter and brighter, and then winked out of existence.

“It is done,” said the stallion. “Remember this day, Sisters, and remember why you chose this path.” Inky felt his gaze linger on her for the barest moment. “Equestria is, and will forever be, yours.” At these words, the pony’s golden hue faded, and his mane greyed as if coated with ash. Where the sickle made its cut was now a deep black gash, and the leg below it slowly withered away.

Inky outstretched a hoof. “But Aurum…”

“No,” he replied in a whisper. “That is not my name. Golden hay and summer rains are no longer mine. My sickles do not collect the grain or clear the chaff from the fields. Instead, I keep the harvested. In my great storehouse, I reward those who have lived well and imprison those who have not.”

His eyes, now sunken pits in a gaunt face, flared green once more. A wave of shadow rose from the darkness below and crashed over him. Still, he spoke. “Remember our agreement, Sisters. So long as you keep our bargain, we will not meet again.” When the wave receded, he was gone.

The mares stared at the place he had been standing. The sand bore three hoofprints, crisp and clear as if pressed into soft clay. Where the fourth print would have been, a faint smear of dust vanished in the wind.

Inky stared in silence.

Elly turned her eyes skyward. “Equestria… if you are still here… what happened?”

I am here, for now. As to what happened between Tartarus and its champion, there are forms of magic more ancient than you know. Through them, many things can be accomplished. Sisters, I thank you. Over time, my voice will fade, and as it does you shall receive the fullness of my power. So long as you reign, I will live.

The once-pegasus considered this. “But… what of Chaos?”

What indeed? It had intended to take whoever remained from these challenges, but it appears that other plans will now be made. The two of you, working together, was something that none had foreseen, nor the earth pony gift. Your race is truly an interesting one, and in the aeons to come, perhaps we will learn as much as we teach.

The land below them shuddered and lurched, and the two ponies stumbled on their hooves.

It seems that the other champion has left the realm. Sisters, I propose you do the same. Without the assistance of Tartarus, this place will cease to exist.

The two mares peered over the edge of the sandy sphere on which they stood.

“Inky, get on my back.”

“What? Why?”

“There’s no path down, and we don’t know if you can fly.”

Inky opened her wings and raised a slender eyebrow.

“Well, not yet.”

“Ah.”

With difficulty, Inky managed to stretch herself over Elly’s withers, just before her wings. Elly turned about, paced along the top of the sandy island, and leapt…

...and together, the two sailed for the edge of the sphere.

The fire on the hearth had faded to embers, and the candles had long guttered out, but the light behind Worker’s eyes shone as bright as ever.

“Luna,” he breathed. “You have a gift for storytelling.”

“I ought to,” she replied with a warm smile. “It’s been my bailiwick for millennia. You understand,” she continued, the lilt vanishing from her speech, “this is not common knowledge. A few tales approach the truth, but my sister and I feel it is best if our origins remain a mystery.”

“I understand,” he said with a solemn nod. “It does not do to see what is in the magician’s bag.”

“Well, we do not trick or bedazzle our subjects.” She smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “But the metaphor serves.”

Worker stood and paced about, his thoughts whirring. “I have so many questions, though. What happened with Palantir, and Littlelife, and…”

She smiled from her seat. “In time. I’m sure, in time, you will have your answers. For now, though, I have other duties.”

Luna rose from the carpet and strode to the window. The blue-tinted sphere evaporated as she passed through it. With a thought, she unlatched the pane and focused on the western horizon, where her cosmic charge waited.

Worker glanced to the east and saw the familiar glow of false dawn. Moments later, the sun broke the horizon and the moon sank from sight. A faint chime sounded from a nearby shelf.

He chuckled, the raucous noise disturbing the serene calm. “You have one of my clocks,” he said. “You, who never forgets the time.”

Luna smiled at him. “I like to see which of us runs late. Oddly enough,” she added with a wink, “it’s always the clock.”

“That’s fine. I run late myself.” He scratched at the back of his head with a forehoof. “Speaking of…”

“Yes.” She closed the window and unlocked the doors. “We must get you to your rooms. Skyshine will be worried sick.” She turned back to Worker, only to be surprised by a sudden hug.

Worker wrapped one foreleg over her neck and pulled her close, squeezing her tight against his shoulder. “Luna,” he said softly, “thank you. For trusting me, for the story, and… well…”

Gingerly, she reached up and hugged him back. A pat, then two, and soon he released her and stepped back.

“Worker,” she said, her tone uneven, “If it does come to that—and remember, we still do not know—you have friends here who have been through it all. We’ll be here to help.”

“Thank you. Sincerely.” He managed a clumsy bow, then turned, opened the door, and left, quietly closing it behind himself.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered aloud, her eyes tracing over the heavily laden shelves. They stopped at a tiny painting she kept over the door. It was a reminder of an uncomfortable past, and a fear for Worker’s future.

In it, a full moon shone, bearing a mare’s silhouette.

“I only wish we’d have had the same.”

In which we spend a day in the city

Worker walked through the palace’s empty audience hall and towards the great doors leading outside. Now that the sun had begun its march skyward, they were closed, but not locked. He leaned against one, stepped outside, and nodded politely to the two guards outside.

“Good morning,” he began, and then froze in place as a yawn overtook him, locking his face into a half-bray. He fumbled to cover his muzzle, and then set his hoof down. “My apologies,” he continued, his cheeks reddening. “It has been a long night.”

The guards passed a glance to one another, and then nodded in unison. “Good morning, Worker,” replied the guard on the left. Her voice was familiar but Worker couldn’t place it. “Do have a safe trip home.”

“Thank you, kindly,” he said, stepping down the stairs into the gardens.

Past the doors of Luna’s palace — the Court of the Moon — was a large garden and green, and across from that was the Court of the Sun, where Celestia had once summoned him so many years ago. His gaze lingered on the open doors and the distant guards, and he briefly imagined he could see the throne and dais from his first visit. The memory quickly turned sour, and he broke from his reverie, shaking out his mane to clear his head.

“I need a coffee. Or three,” he muttered.

“Two blocks down, on your left,” replied the guard, making him jump. He had forgotten she was there.

He turned and mumbled a thank you, then plodded towards the shop and, eventually, his bed.

Snowdrop’s bedlinens lay in a pile on the floor. Atop them were strewn several sets of clothing that had been considered, then discarded, for being too showy, or too fragile, or too tight… or all three.

Snowdrop grunted, peeled off the leggings, and decided on a minimalist approach at last. She draped a crimson cape lined with golden silk over her withers, fastened a small pouch about her neck, and secured her cornflower mane with a golden hairpin studded with garnets.

(It wasn’t technically her hairpin, but she had found it - abandoned! - in her bedside table and she thought it deserved some quality attention.)

Her ensemble chosen, she steeled herself for the mission ahead. A deep breath, a silent request to the princesses to watch over her, and she concentrated on her horn. She focused on the door leading from her chambers into the hall. A soft silvery light pulsed at the door’s knob, and with a faint click, it opened outward into the dark beyond.

The hall’s marble floors and tasteful decor did little to dissuade her passage. Its embroidered tapestries and objets d’art, each worth several large houses in her home town, did not distract. Its vaulted ceilings vanished into a gloom which stood fast against the early dawn that filtered through high windows.

Her hoofsteps sounded far too loud against the silence, but she carried on. Her goal was the door that waited at the end of the hall, and the chamber that lay beyond, but her mind wandered. The day’s plans had kept her from a good night’s sleep, and despite the adrenaline that coursed through her veins, she felt fatigue dragging at her.

Worker stepped out of the elevator, absentmindedly discarded his empty cup in a nearby bin, and quietly opened the door to the suite. He didn’t want to wake his wife or his daughter, if they still slept. His wife had been less than pleased with his repeated absences, and his daughter wanted to explore the city on their last full day. Worker, on the other hoof, wanted to crawl into bed, black out, and not wake again until it was time to leave for home.

He entered the hall running between rooms and noticed Snowdrop, bedecked in what looked like a cape and crown, creeping towards his bedroom door. He grinned and, stifling another yawn, crept up behind her, being careful not to make a sound.

Snowdrop approached the door to the chamber and began to focus her magic once more, but decided against it. The added light from her horn might reveal her presence too soon. With the slightest tremble in her outstretched hoof, she reached for the silver-chased lever. As she touched it, the door swung silently inwards, and her heart caught in her throat. It was already open.

She froze, silhouetted in the empty door frame, and gazed within. A large bed lay just within view, a moonbeam falling across a single mound on one side that rose and fell in slumber...

There should have been two. Her target was not here.

If not here, though, where?

She took a step backwards, and froze, as she was unable to proceed. Someone, or something, blocked her exit.

“Looking for me?” rumbled a low voice.

Snowdrop screamed and bolted for the bed on the far side of the room. She vaulted atop it and was halfway under the sheets before she recognized the voice. Half terrified, half delighted, she giggled and poked her head back out…

...and found the face of a very irritated mare staring daggers at her.

“EEP!” she squeaked, windmilling her forelimbs.

“Out,” Skyshine growled.

“But, Mommy, I—”

“Out!” she repeated, her voice darkening. She then turned to her husband silhouetted at the door. “You too! I was up late enough when you didn’t come back, and I think I deserve some sleep!”

“Of course dear,” Worker acquiesced. “We’ll just start early.” He motioned to his daughter to join him.

Snowdrop untangled herself from the sheets, then leaned in and hugged her mother. “Have a good rest, Mommy,” she murmured, then tiptoed—perhaps a little too dramatically—to her waiting father.

Her mother flopped back on the bed and covered her head with a pillow.

“Nd dn ft rm sss!” she commanded.

“Don’t forget room service,” Worker replied in confirmation. “I’ll tell them to wait an hour before bringing it up.”

He rubbed his eyes, stifled a yawn, and then ushered the little pony out, closing the door behind them.

Two intrepid adventurers strode down the hallways in the early dawn. The clamor of their hooves on the tile and Snowdrop’s giggles would have disturbed any guests at the hotel, had they not been given the penthouse suite, and Worker mused on whether Luna had made a similar calculus in the housing arrangements.

They reached the lift, and a weary-eyed but sharply-dressed young colt slid the gate open. Worker nudged his daughter inside, nodded a greeting to the operator, and waited in silence as the gate was closed and they prepared to descend.

He never had been comfortable talking in elevators. His daughter, on the other hoof, preferred a direct and thorough investigation of all things new.

“Hi! I’m Snowdrop,” she informed the operator. He smiled and nodded.

“What’s your name?” Before he had a chance to answer, she continued, “...and why do you work in the elevator? Is this always your job? Do you like your job?”

Or semi-new.

She glanced at his flank, but in his uniform his cutie-mark was obscured. “Is your cutie-mark an elevator? I haven’t gotten mine yet. That’s why I’m going to the museum!”

Or familiar.

“I haven’t been to the museum yet. I hear it’s got stuff from all of the Crusaders! Like, their cloaks and everything!”

Or, for that matter, old hat.

“Do you know about the Crusaders? Who’s your favorite?”

The elevator reached the ground floor and Worker ushered his little detective out with an apologetic smile over his shoulder. He was somewhat surprised to see the colt fighting back laughter. Worker arched an inquisitive brow.

“I have a little sister back home, sir,” he replied with a stoic expression. The corners of his eyes crinkled despite his best attempts. “It’s like she’s here.”

Worker shook his head and guided the filly, still rambling about Crusaders and their achievements and their favorite types of tea, towards the front desk and then out to Canterlot at large.

Just inside the museum, the ‘CMC4U’ shop was a celebration of all things Cutie Mark Crusader. That is, if ‘celebrate’ meant ‘package in as many ways for retail consumption as possible’. The storefront bore an oversized sign meant to resemble a treehouse, and the interior design hinted at bare wood walls, slightly off-kilter shelves, and lots and lots of packaged toys at the eye-level of your average colt or filly.

The shop was arranged in a circle. A few nooks and sitting areas were scattered about, but all paths led to the large counter near the entrance of the shop. Behind the counter, two ponies - a pale purple pegasus and light pink unicorn - deftly managed the never-ending line of eager ponies with their purchases. With the registers, the chimes on the door, and the exclamations of the guests, it was nearly impossible to hear anything clearly.

The pegasus behind the counter bore three things: A green ‘shark-fin’ hairdo that stood unnaturally tall, a nametag proclaiming him as both ‘Tor’ and ‘#1 Sweetie Belle Fan’, and a smile of measured sympathy as treasure after treasure found its way atop the pile before Worker.

After the stack of coloring books came stickers bearing the Crusaders’ own marks, a box of figurines ostensibly displaying residents of Ponyville and friends of Snowdrop’s heroes, brooches and buttons with trim in the colors of each pony, and, of course, books.

Sweetie Belle’s “Finding Your Spark” was soon joined by a carpentry book by Apple Bloom - Worker couldn’t make out the title from this angle - and a new copy of the Cutie Mark Crusader Handbook.

“Now, Snowdrop, you already have a copy of that one,” he reminded her. In the back of his head, he had long given up on keeping track of the bill, but he knew the trip had already passed ‘absurd’ and was quickly approaching ‘ridiculous’.

“I know, Daddy. This is so I can give one to the library back home.”

“The library has two copies as well, dear.”

“Oh.” Snowdrop levitated the book away and replaced it with “On Dragons,” a thick, heavy tome that bore a pink six-pointed star on its spine. Intrigued, Worker picked it up and flipped through the first few pages. The sum in his head danced upon the ruins of ‘ridiculous’, and his inner accountant packed up in frustration and left.

“Er…” The clerk coughed and reached for the book. “That one shouldn’t be on the shelf. It’s not one we carry, and it’s definitely not intended for a younger audience. Probably just a mistake on the order.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Worker replied, absentmindedly shooing the salescolt’s outstretched hoof away. “I’ve been meaning to pick something up from Princess Sparkle, and I’d not had a chance to visit the Canterlot library yet.”

“Ah, er…” the colt hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Alright.” He fought away a tight-lipped grimace, then ran his hoof through his mane. “I don’t know what it’ll cost, though. We really shouldn’t have it at all.”

“That’s fine. I can leave my address and you can send me an amended bill.”

“Speaking of, sir? Your total…”

“Oh, yes. What is it?”

The inner accountant sent a letter of resignation from Calabria.

Ensconced in a booth, over the remains of dinner, Snowdrop acted out a minor drama with her figurines atop Mount Mashed Potatoes while Worker sat absorbed in his new book. His forgotten coffee and pie cooled at his side.

“But we can’t go yet, Spike,” Snowdrop squeaked in an affected voice. “We have to rescue Sweetie Belle!”

Worker lifted his head and peered over the top of the book, watching the scene play out. Several tiny, brightly-colored toy fillies were arrayed atop the starchy precipice.

“Oh, Sweetie Belle,” declared the tiny dragon figure in a gruff, totally-not-a-seven-year-old voice. It rocked back and forth in Snowdrop’s spell. “I will rescue you!”

The potato mountain became a potato cave, into which a tiny white pony figure floated. The purple figure floated behind, but by this time Snowdrop had run out of dialogue and replaced the heartfelt appreciation of rescue with ‘blah blah blah’ in varying voices.

Worker realized he had been zoning out. He shook out his mane and, returning to his book, turned the page. “Hm,” he muttered, frowning, and then set the book down.

“What is it, Daddy?”

“This is a used book. Look, here, there’s writing — in quill and ink no less — by the margin.”

“But, you’ve got a lot of used books at home, right?”

“Yes, but I bought them used, knowingly. This was supposed to be new. Some of these notes are quite extensive. For example, this one says, ‘I don’t think we talked about this. Where did you learn about the family structure?’ There’s even a dedication on the title page.”

“Oh.” Snowdrop put aside her figures and shoveled the remaining potatoes into her mouth. Worker picked up a paper napkin and placed it between the pages, then closed the book.

“Wh' d' th' pge say?”

Worker lifted the book to put it in his saddlebags. “What was that?”

Snowdrop swallowed the last bite of potatoes and tried again. “You said there was a dedi… dedication? On the front page?”

Worker blinked, then re-opened the book. “You know, I didn’t try to make out the writing. Here, let’s look.” He put the book in the center of the table and spun it about, then moved to join his daughter on the other side.

“Ooh, fancy ink,” Snowdrop declared. “All purple and shimmery.” It was at that.

“I think it says, ‘To…’ Hm. This word might be ‘pointed’ or ‘nail’, it’s too ornate to make out. But the rest says, ‘Thank you for everything over the years. Love, ‘ - and then there’s Princess Sparkle’s emblem.”

“Princess Sparkle wrote it, right?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe the notes are to her?”

“In a copy of the book? Who would do that? It’s not like Princess Sparkle would know to look in it, or even be able to see it, unless…” He drifted off into thought, and absentmindedly levitated the mug of cold coffee towards himself.

“Unless what?”

Worker took a swig of the coffee, grimaced, and set it back down. Refocusing, he smiled at his daughter. “Unless it’s a review copy? That’s something that an author writes and then has someone else check so they can write an advertisement for it. Still, the name…”

He looked at the remaining dregs, shrugged, and finished them. “Nah. It couldn’t be. Could it? Sweetheart, that dragon figure you have. Can I see it?”

“Sure!” Snowdrop proudly levitated it into view, traces of potato on its claws.

“Do you know if this is accurate?”

“Huh?”

“The colors, and the shape. This was the dragon back in Ponyville, right? Do you know if he actually looked like this?”

Snowdrop tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “I… I mean, there are pictures of him in the, um, windows at the palace, and they look like this, so…”

“No, that’s okay, hon. That’s fine. I think I’m going to return this book after we get you back home tonight. I’m beginning to think the salescolt really shouldn’t have sold it, after all. Are you done with your potatoes?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Alright. Go ahead and pack up, and I’ll pay the bill. Don’t budge from this spot.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

As Snowdrop busied herself with collecting her treasures, the little dragon figurine casually drifted into Worker’s pocket.

Worker’s and Skyshine’s room, albeit small, was luxuriously appointed with tapestries and rugs to keep the chill at bay. A large fireplace occupied one wall if those were not enough. The floor was gold-flecked marble, the walls deftly-woven stone, and the ceiling bore an arched dome. A reading nook took up much of the room before the fire, and a large bed occupied most of the rest of the room. Between them was a tall, arched window.

Skyshine sat in bed, a book forgotten in the covers, and frowned at her husband. “You’re joking. Again? Another late night? After you’ve been gone all day, and the night before?” Her tone was practiced, cool, and to Worker’s experienced ear, a hair’s breadth from fury.

Worker sat at the edge of the bed, and rested a reassuring hoof on his wife’s lap. It couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t fair to her, but he had to fix this. “No, dear. Not another late night. I’ll be back well before ‘late’, by any definition. But I think this book belonged to the salescolt, and I’d like to return it to him. As we’re getting an early start tomorrow, before the shop opens, I’d have to leave it in someone else’s care. This way I can get it into his hooves before the shop closes in an hour. That is, if I hurry.”

“An hour.” The words were flat but the query hung in the air.

“Two, to get there and back.”

“Fine. Two.” She sighed, resigned to his absence, then shifted to swing her legs from under the covers. “I’ll put Snowdrop to bed. And then you and I need to chat about your gallivanting.”

“Of course, dear.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, O Royal Engineer.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Skyshine.” He pecked her on the forehead and, book floating behind him, stepped out the door. At the last moment, he looked over his shoulder, and commented, “I rather like being your catch.”

Skyshine’s expression did not change.

With a shrug and a bemused sigh, Worker closed the door.

“Ugh,” she muttered to herself, finding a houserobe. “Maybe the smartest pony in Equestria, and he can't get the hint. That… that… mule.” She grimaced. Some of her neighbors were mules, and they were all wonderful folk. “Just… ugh!”

The shop was nearly empty upon Worker’s arrival. He slipped inside as a family left, then strolled quietly down a row of short bookcases towards a collection of hats, scarves, and other adornments in increasingly gaudy colors. Across the central checkout area, on the far end of the shop, he could see the salescolt pushing a cart as he busied himself with the unglamorous work of restocking shelves, rehoming wandering books, and wiping up the occasional spill.

Worker took the opportunity to look through the shop in relative peace. He browsed the aisles, made note of some of the marketing approaches, and nearly laughed aloud when he noticed a few of his own toys — randomly colored wind-up ponies — being sold at a considerable markup from within a glass case. He stifled a yawn and realized his attention was wandering once more.

Returning to the task at hand, he scanned the store, found the colt, and made his way to him. As he approached, he levitated the book out of his bag and called out in greeting. “Brought back your book!”

The colt spun about, fluttering his wings to keep his balance. This scattered the books atop his cart. He scrambled to catch them, but knocked over the broom instead, at which point he lost control of his charges entirely - depositing books, broom, and hindquarters to the floor.

Worker hurried closer and offered a hoof up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The pony clambered to his feet, dusted himself off, and smiled sheepishly at Worker. “Thanks, um. I’m sorry. Did you say you had my book?”

Worker tilted his head in the direction of the floating tome. “Yes. I should have listened to you when you tried to dissuade me. This must be precious to you.” He floated it towards the salescolt, who took it gingerly from the air.

“I… well, thank you,” he replied, regaining some measure of composure. He gazed at the book fondly, and then set it on his cart, and began picking up the rest of the books. “I have another copy, but this one has some notes I’d rather not lose.”

Worker nodded, “Those notes are why I brought it back. Here, let me help.” He focused for a moment and collected the remainder of the books, levitating them to the cart. As he set the last one in place, he continued, “I realized it must be personal when I saw them.”

A chime sounded. Worker glanced over his shoulder and watched the last family leave. A light pink unicorn waved from the counter at an extremely bouncy filly.

“So, how long have you known the author?”

His eyes went wide once more. “Oh, uh, Princess Sparkle? Why, I don’t know her at all. I was just scribbling my thoughts.”

“Ah. And the dedication to ‘Spike’, then, in your book?”

“Well, maybe I bought it used. I don’t remember...” A few moments passed. The salescolt gestured haphazardly and his words faded into a mumble.

Worker watched him for a moment. “Ah, maybe you did. It’d be silly, after all, for Princess Sparkle’s faithful right-hand dragon to spend time in a bookshop, so far from her castle. It’d be an alien environment, I’d wager.”

“It’s not much different from the library, ac-” His mouth snapped shut.

Worker caught himself smiling and forced it away. “So, Tor, there’s your book. No need to amend my bill after all.”

“Right,” he replied, gesturing with a forehoof. “Right, nooo amending.”

Worker fastened the strap on his empty saddlebag, stretched his neck out, and turned to go. He took a step, then paused and added, “Say, I notice you have a few of my toys in your case. If you think the museum would be interested, have them reach out to me. I can arrange some wholesale agreements.”

“Your toys?” Tor tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“The wind-up ponies. I made those, in my shop in Pasofino. You’re selling them at a considerable markup, so I can only assume you bought them at full price.”

“Worker’s toy shop?” He nearly squeaked. “You’re Worker?”

It was Worker’s turn for surprise. “I am. You’ve heard of me?”

“Oh, of course! I’ve been meaning to get to your toy shop for years. We order a few ponies every now and then,” he gushed, “but I want to get an owl for, um...”

“A friend?” Worker suggested.

“Yes. Yes, a friend.” An uncomfortable silence fell, and Tor reached for the broom.

“Well, if you do want to talk about ponies for the shop, or that book, or mechanical owls, please write to — or stop by — the address I gave you earlier. We’d love to see you in Pasofino.”

He looked at his broom and then set it atop his cart. “I… might do that.”

Worker gestured towards the door. “I’m going to hurry back now. I promised my wife I wouldn’t be gone too long, and I’ve already spent far too much time browsing.”

He managed a smile. “Okay. Yes. Good luck.”

Worker made a beeline outside. The pink unicorn followed behind, locking the door after he’d left. She watched him stroll out of the museum proper and down the street for a moment, then called over her shoulder, “Who was that, Tor?”

“Just someone returning a book, Galena. He thought he knew me from somewhere.”

Galena nodded, and walked back to count the till. “Did he?”

“It’s a long story, G,” he replied, rubbing his head. “Maybe I’ll figure it out.” He set his book atop the pile, and returned to cleaning up.

Worker opened the door to his suite and smiled at Skyshine, who sat by the fireplace with a book open in front of her. “One hour, thirty-seven minutes,” he said by way of greeting. “All managed.”

Skyshine arched a brow. She knew her husband well. “No loose threads? No unfinished business? No strange adventures in the making?”

“Ah,” Worker hesitated. He couldn’t tell if she bore a faint smile or not. “I can’t swear to that, no, but even if that’s the case, you’re more important. I’ve been wrapped up in a new puzzle, missing sleep, and most importantly, I’ve been neglecting to listen to you. I mean really listen, and I wanted to apologize.” He strolled to her side and kissed her head. “Do you forgive me?”

Skyshine set her book down and patted Worker’s shoulder. “I do. Thank you. That means a lot. Sit for a bit? With all you’ve been up to, lately, we’ve not spent much time just being together.”

“Of course,” he replied, and settled next to her, floating a few blankets over for comfort.

The two rested in silence, then, watching the fire and leaning on one another. As the flames began to die, Worker broke the silence.

“You’ve been trying to tell me something, dear. You’ve been frustrated about my repeated absences - and rightfully so. What’s going on?”

Skyshine shifted, then leaned into Worker. A moment passed, then she replied. “Remember how you talked about having another, back in Pasofino?”

“Another wh-? Ano-” Worker bolted upright. “Oh, by the stars! Are we expecting?”

Skyshine laughed, and patted the blanket next to her. “Come. Sit. And yes, we are. I figured it out a few days ago, and I spoke with a physician today. Now I’m sure.”

Worker snuggled back in. “That’s wonderful! How far along?”

Skyshine rested her chin on Worker’s shoulder. “Not very. By winter, I think.”

He reeled. “Wow. Another foal. That’s… that’s just wonderful!”

They both gazed into the embers a while longer, and Worker began to drift to sleep.

“Worker?”

“Yes, love?”

“If it's a filly, what do you think of the name ‘Foxglove’?”

Despite the fire, the blankets, and his lovely mare, Worker suddenly felt very cold.

In which we shape our tools

It was midsummer, and while the world outside the walls sweltered in the early afternoon sun, the subterranean chamber they occupied was still cool despite their exertion. This deep, the stones soaked up the heat with fervor, and the tapestries absorbed any noise. Only the growing humidity reflected any awareness of the two ponies within. Only one of those ponies noticed it in return.

They had been in the chamber for four hours.

The grey stallion watched his pupil step through her exercises over and over again. Her mane was plastered to her poll and withers, and fatigue dug deep grooves across her face, but she persevered. First the loopback, then the sphere, then pushing the sphere into resonance, and finally a crystal: A multifaceted otherness that hovered briefly in the air as it appeared to drink in the light - and then shatter into flickering energies.

Every time, it lasted a moment longer. Every time, it vanished and left nothing for her to show for her efforts, save the knots working their way down her back.

"Again," Somber Dreams called from the candelabra’s flickering shadow, his voice traipsing along the path from frustration to derision.

Celestia's eyes narrowed, displeased with the new tone, but she renewed her efforts.

Her tutor began to walk in slow circles around her, examining her physique, noting which muscles strained and how her stance changed to compensate. The sphere came again, and the crystal soon after. With a thought, he dashed it away, and sighed heavily, just loud enough for her to hear. "Again," he intoned, as if addressing a particularly dim subject.

The princess nearly growled, and seized the flows of magic once more, weaving faster, and pouring more energy into the structure. He decided to give her a moment of happiness - crushing a pony’s spirit was harder if the landscape never changed. For a slow count of five, he watched the crystal form and - this time - start to develop into something more. At that fifth second he snapped the weaves away, causing it to collapse upon itself with a shower of ephemeral sparks. Celestia nearly collapsed along with it.

“Good, Celestia,” he crooned. “Much better.”

Celestia glowered and turned to face him. “I could do without the commentary.”

Somber Dreams nodded, feigning deference, and labored for words. “I apologize. I thought… emotion… might help.” Celestia’s expression softened, and he forced his face to stillness. “Been a long day,” he continued. “Meet tomorrow?”

She nodded, stretching her neck and working her shoulders in slow circles. “I will return, Somber. But even with that last success…” A self-satisfied smile flashed across her lips. “Well, if progress continues to be this slow I do not think I’ll be able to meet your timeline.”

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, lifting a hoof to forestall the concern. “I am… certain… you will find it… easier, next time.”

Celestia did not seem so sure. “As you say, then. Thank you, again, for your time. I will take my leave.”

He nodded and watched her go, a little unsteady in hoof but held still high. As the door closed behind her, a feral grin split his muzzle, locking his face in a terrifying rictus. She had not sensed his interference once, even when he felt he made it obvious. The smile faded as he began to gather his notes and diagrams into his bag.

“Anything can become normal”, he thought to himself, “if you restrict opportunities and increase exposure.” He hefted the bag to his shoulder and turned for the door. “And I control both.” The smile returned in force.

“Time grows short,” the voice said, and the limitless darkness seemed to tighten around Somber Dream’s hooves. The cool air of this place suddenly grew stale — no longer that of a cavern but of a mausoleum. There was a moment’s pause as if to set that scent in place, and then the speaker continued. “If you are not in place by the Solstice, all of this risk will have been for naught. You will tell me: are you ready?”

Somber drew in a breath to steel his nerves. “Yes, my Lord,” he replied. “Every day I walk her further down the path to working in Shadow. She can bring forth the shards at will, now, and is nearly able to maintain the control needed to shift phases. Once she has that mastery, we will be able to move.” He swallowed, as what was to come next was not part of the original mission.

“While she is open to the umbra, I take the opportunity to alter her perceptions.” Even with his wariness, he could not keep a hint of pride from his voice. “She loses track of time and overexerts herself. While she recovers, she daydreams of adventures with her favorite pupil. This reduces her concern for the building fatigue and explains the affection she has for my presence. When her skills are ready, she will be as malleable as any drone.”

The silence was deafening. Somber strained to hear something, anything, that might tell him how his message had been received. All that stirred was the occasional breeze — now a caustic, vomitous fume — and a sound in the distance of what Somber dearly hoped was dripping water.

A horrifying thought flickered into awareness, and with it came the familiar voice in his head.

You idiot. The voice seethed with contempt. You might never wake up, now.

In the interminable dark, the silence stretched, unfolding from nothing into nothing. He briefly imagined an enormous cat rising from its sleeping spot with murderous intent. He swallowed again, as much against the bile rising in his throat as to soothe his nerves. “M-,” he began.

The voice spoke again, directly behind him, a pulse of chill accompanying the words, the intensity shattering the silence like trees fracturing in the cold. “You seek power for yourself, worm?”

Somber spun, hooves scrabbling for purchase on the uneven ground. He realized only in mid-turn that doing so would show him nothing in this blackness. “N-no, my Lord,” he said to where the voice had been. “Only to bring your wishes to fruition.”

The voice in his head screamed in frustration, but in that moment of panic he found he was able to reduce its keening to the barest hiss.

His master’s voice seemed to come from every direction now, each word a sliver of pain. “Some ambition is necessary, little shadow.” The words began to echo, the slivers now hammers to his temples. “You will take every caution that your scraps of ambition do not become more than necessary. I expect I am clear?”

“Yes, yes my Lord.” Somber dropped to his knees, and pressed his muzzle against the ground. “You are merciful indeed.”

His master’s tone vaulted into incredulity. “Merciful?” There was the strangest noise, then, in the dark. Was — was that a laugh? “No,” he said, every syllable a fishhook raking across Somber’s throat. “I am not.”

At that moment, the connection between realms was severed. Somber found himself prone, staring at his room’s ceiling, and began to sigh with relief only to choke as something filled his throat. He forced himself upright and, with a shuddering gasp, vomited blood and bile into the dead coals of his fireplace. The stench was an assault, but far better than the miasma that had bathed him in the dark. Running a fetlock across his muzzle, he drew a ragged, weary breath.

“That could have gone better,” he mused. Had he not been the subject of today’s lesson, he might have even found it funny. Somewhere in his head, the voice raged. He could read its emotions now, sense what it was feeling even if he couldn’t hear it. And right now, he didn’t want to hear it. His mind was racing, but memory latched onto the trick from the cavern. He forced the hiss into silence, and ignored the incandescent flare of indignation in response.

Then he crawled into his blankets and fell into a dreamless sleep.

As the sun crept lower in the sky — it was ever earlier, now, as autumn fell into winter — Luna descended from her tower and entered the palace proper. A short walk from the stair, through the hall leading to the servants’ quarters, and past the doors to the audience chamber brought her to the dining hall.

Like the other rooms in the palace, it was crafted with care and furnished well in dark wood, and provided enough space for a dozen ponies. The palace maintained a sterility that the private rooms did not. Objects of art were arranged just-so, nooks carved to display gifts from their ponies or dignitaries of other nations. Furnishings were placed in straight lines and allowed ready access from any direction that a servant might require.

Which is what made her sister’s presence seem even more out of place: she sat, disheveled and unfocused, staring into a bowl of cold stew.

She paused in the doorway and realized that despite being in full view, her sister had not noticed her arrival.

“Sis?” Luna crossed the threshold and furrowed her brow. “Are you okay?”

Celestia looked up from her bowl and fixed an eye on Luna, her head not quite managing a level position. “Oh. Yes, hi, Luna. Yes, I’m fine.” She made to push away from the table but caught the bowl instead, sending its contents onto the floor. “Ah… sorry…” Flustered, she shifted in her seat to start cleaning but couldn’t seem to find the motivation to move any further.

Luna focused for a moment and sent the stew and its bowl away, then turned to her sister once more. She approached, stopping at the chair beside her sister’s position. Worry hung on every word. “How long have you been here?”

Celestia had managed to slide back into her seat. “Oh, since midday, I think? I was going to get some fruit. And then my mind wandered, and here you are.”

“It’s nearly dusk, Celestia,” she replied.

“Is it?” Celestia looked towards the west, through the walls of the palace, sensing the position of the sun. “Why, you’re right. We should get started.”

Luna reached out and rested a hoof on Celestia’s shoulder. Her sister twitched at the touch. Softly, in nearly a whisper, she asked, “Are you sure you can set it, today?” She glanced at the door to the servants’ hall, and continued. “Do you need anypony’s help?”

Celestia looked at her sister’s hoof as if marveling at its presence, and then suddenly snapped to lucidity. “Luna?” She took her sister’s presence in with some alarm, and then glanced at the windows and towards the doors, attaining a sense of her surroundings. “I’m sorry. I must have dozed off. What’s going on?”

Relief crashed across Luna’s face. “I was asking you. You were in a daze, and didn’t know what time it was or even that I’d arrived. Are you okay? Truly?” She withdrew slightly, giving her sister some space.

Celestia stood from her seat and shook out her mane. “I’m not sure. If that’s how I was acting, I clearly need to be concerned, but I feel fine at the moment.” She pursed her lips, frowning, then suggested, “It’s getting late. Let’s perform our duties, and then I will seek out Calliope — and if you don’t mind, I’d like you to come along.”

Luna nodded, reassured. That was her sister: clear, concise, and with an understanding of what was important to her fellow ponies. She took up her place and focused, waiting for her sister to join the weaving, and then lifted the moon into prominence as the sun sank beyond the horizon. Then she shadowed her sister towards the court physician, trying to ignore the worry that crept alongside.

The first snow of the year shone brightly beneath a moon that ducked between wispy clouds. It had billowed this way and that, drifts falling about the land, until it obscured a familiar landscape into one of faintly glowing mystery.

Tonight, Luna had no patience for it.

With a thought, the path around the palace grounds and through the gardens rippled, a gust of wind carving away the snow and scouring the path down to the stones. She strode purposefully, half tangled in thought, in an attempt to quickly complete her rounds so she could return to what concerned her most — her sister.

The moonlight played along her iridescent mane and tail, not caring one whit for its mistress’ mood. Against the white backdrop, even the deepest purples seemed to glow and shimmer as moonbeams swept past. Her servants and guards, rare as they were at this hour, ducked out of her way or made themselves busy as she passed, avoiding her gaze. She could not see it, but her jaw was set to carve steel, and thunderclouds seemed to gather in her wake.

Her rounds soon completed, and her mood not improved, Luna retired to a reading room where she would not be disturbed. While she did not need to sleep to walk in dreams, it did make certain things easier. With a few practiced breaths, she rolled herself under and swam out into the Dream.

The Dream was at once familiar and bewildering. It rarely took the same form twice, but it always felt like home. A skilled dreamwalker could move through it swiftly and surely, finding what they sought in moments. With luck, they could return to the waking world just as quickly.

Luna was a very skilled dreamwalker indeed, but in approaching the dreams of her sister she would have to use caution. Celestia was as powerful as she — although their gifts differed — and she did not care to discover what might happen if her sister were to take offense at her appearance here. Especially in her potentially unstable state.

In the span of a breath, she found Celestia’s dreams and felt for the mood, pressing what passed as a hoof in this nothingness against the tenuous otherness of her sister’s thoughts.

“Odd,” she thought. “I don’t feel anything at all.”

Her sister clearly dreamed; a dreamless sleep would not appear here. It was as if her dreams were behind a screen, which in Luna’s experience was not something easily accomplished or maintained. She gave the barrier between them a nudge, a testing touch. Celestia’s dream recoiled — a bubble in a breeze — and then lurched forward, enveloped Luna whole as if pouncing on prey.

“...yes, indeed, Master Somber,” Celestia replied, beaming, nearly shining with joy. She turned away, walked up to the lectern and gestured with a nod towards the nearby chalkboard. “When you focus on the smallest change instead of the full effect, it’s much easier to identify a problem before it becomes unmanageable. Well done.”

Somber Dreams stared at his hooves, clearly discomfited by the fond attention of his tutor. “Thank you, Princess,” he murmured.

At large, dreams were not very subtle things. Cryptic? Yes. Puzzling? Certainly. But they tended to wield emotional cues like a cudgel. At the moment, Luna was almost in awe with the amount of love and affection pouring out of her sister, as if having been reunited with a long-lost child. She shook off the waves of feeling and tried to look for clues as to her sister’s state of mind.

“Now,” Celestia continued, settling in behind the lectern and levitating a few notes from a nearby shelf. “Knowing what we do about resonance,” she frowned briefly while she searched for a page covered in layered diagrams. “Ah. Knowing what we do, how would we counter a spell’s effect that had already taken place?” She looked up, then, and noticed the room’s other occupant.

“Oh! Luna! What a nice surprise. Somber, you’ve met my sister, haven’t you?” The dream oozed with deep affection, but not for Luna. No, Celestia seemed most enraptured when her gaze swept across her pupil.

Luna decided to alter her plans. A little risk might have better results. ”Besides”, she thought to herself, perhaps uncharitably, “she deserves it for letting herself get to this state.”

Luna nodded politely, if perhaps a little cooly. “Master Somber,” she chimed. “Sister,” she continued, nodding as well. “I apologize for the intrusion. I was having some difficulty sleeping, and on the way to the kitchens overheard this lesson. I’ll just be on my way.”

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Princess,” replied Somber with a small bow. It seemed words came easier to Celestia’s dream-version. “I apologize if our lessons were any disturbance.”

Luna smiled, as she knew dream-Somber would only be saying what Celestia thought he should. “Do let me know if I can help with your sleep in any way, Luna,” added Celestia.

At the moment her sister made eye contact, Luna gave her a look. A very specific look, from long ago. One that Celestia had taught her, when she was still new to romance, from a long list of silent expressions pegasi used when in mixed company.

As far as Luna remembered, the look implied accusations of intense, inappropriate canoodling—and what pegasi considered intense would cause most other ponies quite the shock. She knew the look had hit its mark when Celestia’s ears went up to points, her expression wrestling between indignation and embarrassment.

If Celestia’s reaction had not been clear, her dream’s response was undeniable. Gone was the classroom, the blackboard, the lectern. Gone too was Somber. What now surrounded the two alicorns was the place Celestia felt most safe: the great audience chamber of the palace. As the change took effect, a dozen guards—more than had ever served at once—took their positions around the dais that held both of their thrones. Lanterns flared on the walls and tapestries loomed, their occupants seeming to glare down at the ponies below.

Luna took it all in, sparing a glance for the heavily armored honor guard. While they could not truly hurt her here, she would still feel the pain of being struck or worse, and she preferred to avoid such entanglements. She smiled faintly, then addressed her sister, intent on keeping her off-balance. “Why do you still give lessons to Somber, sister? You told me you had sent him on his way months ago.”

“Lessons? I don’t g-.” Celestia blinked, and then her eyes narrowed. “This is a dream, isn’t it? You’re in my dreams.” Suspicion began to flow into anger. “How long have you been sp-”

Celestia winked out, and so did the room. Luna found herself back in the Dream, and forced herself awake. She selected a random book from a nearby table — the title appeared to say ‘Principia Alchemia’ — and stepped out of the reading room into the audience chamber next door. There, she settled into her throne, and flipped through the book and waited for the storm to arrive. She did not have to wait long.

The door from the servants’ hall flew open. Celestia loomed in the doorway, and despite its arch reaching twice her height, seemed to fill it. She noticed Luna immediately, who closed her book and set it on the ground. “I cannot BELIEVE you,” she nearly shouted through clenched teeth. “How dare you poke about in my dreams?”

Luna expected the question, and answered calmly. “Because you’ve been slowly losing your mind, sister, and I needed to see why.” The room darkened behind her. What good was magic if you couldn’t make your point clear? “We had a similar conversation a week ago, just before dusk,” she continued, her voice walking the edge between concern and frustration. “And then, today, you were in a similar state.” The darkness that loomed beyond seemed to quiver with intent. “You can ask Calliope if you have any doubt.”

Celestia drew herself up but, to her credit, paused before saying anything further. She pursed her lips and allowed her muzzle to drop a few degrees. “I… have no memory of that, Luna. But I have no reason to doubt you, either. How long have I been acting this way?”

Luna dismissed the looming darkness, then stepped down from her vantage point atop the dais and approached her sister. She no longer needed its height to be taken seriously. “I don’t know. I only noticed it last week, when you lingered in the dining hall when you should have been lowering the sun. But as we rarely meet during daylight hours, I can’t be certain that was the first. Why? Has something happened lately that might explain it?”

Celestia shook her head. “No, not that I’m aware,” she began, then she seemed to shrink ever so slightly, no longer sure of herself. “But…” She sighed heavily. “I have been keeping something from you.”

Luna tilted her head. Celestia strove to tell the truth at all times, as best she could. Even lies by omission seemed to upset her. So this… “What, exactly, have you not been telling me?”

“You touched upon it in the dream. Somber. I… I’m not tutoring him.” Luna’s expression darkened as she guessed where this was going. Celestia looked away, and then forced herself to look at her sister, albeit not in the eye. “Instead, he’s tutoring me.”

Silence filled the chamber. Luna could hear her heartbeat building in her ears.

“We agreed,” Luna began, each word chipped from a block of ice, “that he would be sent away, as his lessons were going nowhere.”

“Yes,” Celestia acknowledged quietly.

Luna raised a hoof and stabbed it in Celestia’s direction. “You were to tell him yourself that the lessons were going nowhere.”

“Yes,” she replied again, shrinking into herself.

“And what did you tell him?” Luna arched a brow and waited. It took a great deal of willpower not to tap her hoof.

Celestia sighed deeply, her gaze flickering over her sister’s, and then back to carefully avoiding her eye. “I told him what we agreed upon, that the lessons were to end since we were not making progress.” A pause, and the next words were nearly whispered. “And I also told him if there were other methods that I would be open to them.” A pause, then, “and he said he had some ideas.”

“And then you kept it quiet.” Her hoof began to tap of its own accord.

“Yes,” Celestia croaked.

Luna stepped to the side and examined one of the tapestries. It was as much an effort to keep her temper as to silence her impatience. “Is he still in the palace, sister? Is he expecting you tomorrow?”

“He is. And yes. I will tell him to cancel,” she offered, “and send h-”

“No,” Luna interrupted. “I am very interested in this new method you mentioned. It may be the key to why you are so fatigued. Let us plan for you to attend tomorrow, as if nothing has happened. Don’t mention me at all, much less that I will be watching. Let us see what is going on. It could simply be that you’re overworked.” Luna’s voice took on a sardonic hue. “After all, ruling during the day, managing the sun, keeping secrets from your sister, these things take a lot of energy.”

“That’s not fair,” Celestia groused.

“Is it not?” Luna turned to look at her sister directly. “I trust you with everything, sister. With the well-being of Equestria. With half of the celestial spheres. With my secrets. The least you can do is trust me in return.”

Celestia frowned, but stepped closer to her sister. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I was thinking only of myself and of an immediate benefit. I need to be more prudent with my choices. I’m sorry.”

Luna smiled and stepped to her sister’s side, brushing Celestia’s temple with her own, then stepped back. “Thank you. And you are of course forgiven. We’ve both been hasty of late, and have spent too much time doing instead of being. Let’s make sure we talk with each other more often than just breakfast or dinner.”

“Agreed,” Celestia nodded. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, yes. Now get back to bed, you. I promise there will be no peeking.” Luna grinned despite herself.

Celestia ignored the jest. Her sister was always quicksilver, and more so when the sun was down. “The lesson will begin at 10 AM, in the chamber just above the vaults. I typically work on the dais while he watches from the walls.” She turned to leave, but paused before stepping for the door, glancing over her shoulder. “That… unpleasantness, in the dream. Where I had eyes for Somber. Was that your doing?”

“No, sister,” Luna soothed. “I can’t make you want or need anything in your dreams. Your mind was probably just exploring the possibility.” She smiled despite herself. “So you’re not harboring some deep affection for that pony?”

Celestia’s ears flickered with annoyance. “I most certainly am not. I… Goodnight, Luna.” She turned her back and stepped through the doorway, channeling it closed behind her with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm.

“Goodnight, Celestia,” Luna said to the fading echo. Then she levitated the book to her side and settled back into her throne. She didn’t know when Seneschal Buckram had picked it up, but the work was captivating.

The chamber held a chill despite the braziers of glowing coals, but Celestia’s mane was already growing heavy with exertion. She had not managed to stabilize the sphere into a crystal, yet, but had only been attempting the flow for a few minutes. A dull throb had already begun to build behind her eyes. She regretted not postponing this session for another day, but squared her shoulders and continued focusing.

Somber, as was his habit, paced around her in a slow circle, keeping regular time as he made his laps. “Good,” he called out, as her new stance resulted in a flickering outline of a crystal. He kept his counsel to short words, now, as his earlier attempts to goad the Princess had ended in failure. He was beginning his fourth lap now, passing out of sight on Celestia’s left side, when a shape materialized silently in an upper balcony.

Luna stood back from the rail, cloaked in a darkness that was rarely disturbed at this depth. The lesson had just begun. Her sister’s eyes flashed in the disturbing scarlets and greens that Somber had shown them months ago, and the outline of a pitch-black crystal formed and vanished at the tip of her horn. Luna put her attention on Somber instead, and found that he, too, was using this magic—but only as he passed out of Celestia’s sight.

For ten minutes, maybe twenty, the cycle continued. Celestia walked through the steps, generated a crystalline shape, and it would linger for a moment or two. But as Luna watched, she noticed that the crystal never lasted very long when Somber paced behind his pupil. Indeed, he seemed to be doing something to disrupt it, although she could not see the flows of this strange magic he used.

At that moment, Somber slashed through the air with his horn, and the crystal Celestia had wrought dissipated. Before it did, it seemed to suffer a gash across its surface in time with Somber’s gesture. Luna watched, waiting for the next cycle. She had to be sure. As the pony stepped out of Celestia’s sight again, she was sure of it.

Somber had been pacing for nearly half an hour, knocking down Celestia’s progress, when he noticed the muzzled voice raging. Frowning, he stopped his spells and glanced about, keeping pace while the itch of paranoia built at the back of his neck. Mentally, he reached for the muzzle he kept on the voice, and as he was about to pull it free…

“A curious thing, Master Somber,” called a voice from somewhere above. There was a flash of blue light and then, suddenly, Luna stood between him and Celestia. She continued, eyes locked squarely on his.

“Every time your pupil makes progress,” she said, looming over him and stepping ever closer, “you disrupt it, sending her spell out of control and forcing her to start again. It’s a method of teaching I admit I do not understand.”

Somber recoiled, rearing back, his front hooves lifting a few inches off the ground before he could settle himself. He still paced backwards, trying to keep a distance between him and the new arrival. “Princess! What… a surprise!” His efforts to speak were hampered further by an overwhelming desire to scream in alarm. “I thought… you’d be sleeping… at this hour.”

“No, Somber,” she said, “I thought it prudent to check on you and your pupil, as it had been some time since I saw one of your lessons.” By now, Celestia had turned to them both, and approached her sister’s side.

“Luna?” Her brows raised in surprise, but quickly settled into a cold fury as she swept her gaze towards her tutor. “Did you say he was disrupting my spell?”

“He was, sister,” she replied, never taking her eyes off of him. “Perhaps you would care to explain the process, sir?”

The voice in his head felt as if it were throwing itself against his skull. Somber tore the mental gag away, only to have his mind flooded by a scream that repeated:

-er! Use her! USE her! UUUSE HERRR!

Somber blinked at the onslaught for a fraction of a second. Then he turned his attention to his weary pupil. His expression hardening, he seized control of his secret magics, and lashed out.

In which we share a cup of tea

Skyshine stood in her kitchen, fretting silently at the fresh pot of tea and the accompanying serviceware arranged just-so. She inhaled deeply — not to enjoy the aroma, but to settle her nerves — and then exhaled as slowly as was comfortable. She held a hoof to her chest, and felt her heartbeat settle into a more familiar cadence.

Feeling more herself, she scanned an eye over the room. The sink sat empty, the chairs were pushed in, and everything was tucked away in its proper bin, drawer, or cabinet save for the cooling kettle atop the stove. A small chalkboard by the front door held some scribbles pertaining to upcoming dates, as well as a smiling multi-colored sunburst in the bottom corner — likely her daughter’s work.

“All is in its place,” she thought, then checked the pinned bun atop her head with a careful hoof. It held fast. “Good.” Nodding with satisfaction, she maneuvered the tray atop a wheeled cart and strode out towards the greatroom to attend to her family’s guest. She wondered whether she’d manage to sit down before Snowdr-

“MOMMY!” shrieked a high voice with delight. A bundle of enthusiastic blue energy burst into the room through the back hallway, bouncing like a rubber ball before she screeched to a halt, four legs splayed wide to maintain her balance . “Mommy,” the tiny unicorn stage-whispered, panting slightly, “there’s a dragon in th’ house!” The whisper was abandoned for sheer, unfiltered joy. “A DRAGON!” she cried, dancing on her hooftips.

Skyshine felt a lock of hair spring free from her bun.

“Yes, dear,” she soothed. “Our guest is a dragon, but while that may be unusual for us, it’s normal for him.” She absentmindedly patted at her bun and then decided it was best left alone. “Sweetheart, please remember that many people see questions about what they are as rude. If you do have questions, see if you can ask him about who he is, instead.”

Snowdrop, to her credit, listened and nodded as her mother spoke. “Yes’m,” she attempted in a solemn tone, a grin trembling at the corners of her lips. “I ‘member. An’ I should wait for him to have his tea an’ get comfy before I ask questions.”

Skyshine smiled, visibly relieved, and tousled the filly’s mane. “Very good. I’m glad you remembered. Now let’s get that tea served, shall we?”

“Yes’m,” Snowdrop replied, embellishing with a sharp salute.

Skyshine made a mental note to have a chat with Bulwark.

The greatroom’s usual furnishings had been pushed into a corner, and a collection of rugs, pillows, and bolsters were arranged near the fireplace. A fire had recently been lit, and was still creeping up the sides of a fresh stack of lumber, but was already producing enough heat to cut through the early-morning chill. While spring was soon to fade to summer, the nights were still cold on the mountainside. Atop one pillow sat Worker — a bespectacled, average-sized yellow-coated unicorn with an unruly orange mane — who chatted amiably with his guest.

That guest reclined atop a much larger collection of pillows. He was a dragon of considerable size — perhaps twice the height of a pony at the shoulder when on all fours, and much longer in the neck and torso, not to mention the tail. His serpentine body glittered as he shifted, its purple scales catching the firelight. His fins and eyes were an emerald green, and he smiled toothily as he recounted a story from some time ago. He looked up as Skyshine and Snowdrop entered.

“...not even the same species. But,” he rumbled, glancing meaningfully at the bundle of excitable energy, “if you’ll remind me, I’ll tell you that story another time.”

Worker nodded, and turned to smile at his family. “Skyshine, thank you. Tea is a lovely idea. Snowdrop, good morning! I thought I heard you up.” He spared Skyshine a wink. Skyshine gave him a level look in return. “Ladies, this is Mr. Apex, a new friend. Mr. Apex, Skyshine and Snowdrop.”

The “new friend” ran his tongue across his teeth, murmuring to himself in a rumble that could have been clearly heard in the next room. “Apex. Yes. I suppose that fits.” He snapped back to the meeting at hand and nodded politely. “Hello, both of you. It’s a pleasure.”

Skyshine murmured something that might have been a greeting, still adjusting to the enormous person in her greatroom. Snowdrop quivered with excitement, but managed to squeak before ducking behind her mother.

“Please, both of you, sit,” Worker said. “I’ll serve.” As he stood, he levitated a few pillows and a blanket next to his own for the two newcomers.

He stepped towards the tea cart and looked it over. “Apex was just telling me about the Everfree Forest,” Worker said over his shoulder, pouring a cup for his guest. In a softer voice, he asked, “Sugar? Honey? Milk?” Apex shook his head, and Worker levitated the cup and saucer over to a waiting claw. “It seems,” he continued, “That it’s a place of wild magic. The weather factories can’t affect it, and there are all sorts of mysterious creatures that live there.”

He levitated a cup to his wife, with a dollop of honey and a small splash of milk, as she liked it, then gave Snowdrop a smile. “Wouldn’t that be an exciting place to explore, dear? Imagine all the things we could learn!” Snowdrop’s cup received mostly milk, with a splash of honeyed tea. Worker winked at her and put a sugar cube on the saucer, then floated it over to the filly.

She giggled and took the saucer carefully, then asked, “What does wild magic mean? It sounds spooky.”

Worker grinned at their guest and gestured to his daughter. “Your topic. Care to elaborate? I guarantee she’s all ears.” He picked up his tea and settled in next to his wife.

Apex was mid-sip, and so emptied his cup as politely as he could. He set it down and puffed a wisp of green flame on it, causing it to vanish in a burst of tiny sparkling motes. This brought a squeal of delight from a certain filly. Skyshine and Worker, near mirrors of one another, each recoiled slightly and drew up a hoof to their chests.

The dragon’s eyes went wide and he patted his foreclaws together in awkward discomfort. “Oh, uh. I’m sorry.” He tried to smile reassuringly. “It’s, uh, in the kitchen. I figured you’d want the dishes there, but I should have asked. Ahem. Um. Wild magic. Well.” He forced his claws to the floor, where they clutched a bolster as if it were the edge of a crumbling cliff.

He turned his attention to Snowdrop. On the edge of his vision, he saw Worker’s jaw working for a moment, but Skyshine murmured something in his ear and he fell silent.

“Right,” he said, centering his thoughts. “Wild magic.” He looked at the tiny blue filly watching him intently. “Snowdrop, right?” She nodded with enthusiasm, tea and sugar cube forgotten at her side.

“Well, then. Snowdrop. Do you know how your magic works? How to use your horn to focus on something, and then create a spell to move it?”

Snowdrop beamed, her horn flaring to life. She lifted her cup and saucer into the air, then brought it back safely to her grasp. “I’m good at tela… telly… moving things, Princess Luna says. I’m not learnin’ other spells yet, though.”

The dragon raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Well done!” His features seemed to soften, and he lowered his neck a few inches as he got comfortable with the topic. “So, think of all the things you had to learn before you could control how you did that. How to focus. How to draw in the energy. How you had to think in a certain way to make your cup and saucer move about. It might be easy now, but it wasn’t easy before, was it?”

Snowdrop shook her head. “No, it was rilly hard! An’ it didn’t work a lot.”

Apex nodded. “I understand. Figuring out my magic took a lot of work, too. And my sister took ages to perfect every spell she learned. There are rules and things we have to do to make our magic do what we want. But in the Everfree Forest, magic can just happen. Like…” As he searched for an example, several emotions flashed across his face — fear, disgust, and horror appeared to be the chief participants.

Skyshine gave Worker a look. In turn, Worker attempted to intercede, suggesting, “Why don’t we change the subject?”

Apex brightened, picking up on the words but not the context. “Yes! Change. Good. Ok, so, imagine a tree. You walk past it, and it looks like a normal tree. It has brown bark, and green leaves, and it might even have red fruit, like apples or cherries. And then, all of a sudden, it turns pink! With purple leaves and silver fruit! Nobody did it, it just happened and the tree just goes on growing.”

Snowdrop gasped in wonder. “The trees do magic?”

“Not the trees, no. Nothing ‘does’ magic — not like you or I would, at least. Magic happens, and sometimes the trees are involved. That’s why it’s called ‘wild’. It means that no-one is controlling it, and seems to happen at random. In the Everfree, the wild magic is so strong, it can prevent our magic from making any big changes.” He leaned on his left elbow and freed up his other limb. “Sure, a pegasus pony can still fly,” he said, gesturing with his right claw as if it were taking off, “and a unicorn could still use her spells.” He punctuated this by drawing a circular gesture with a talon. “But if you try to change the forest itself? It might not work.” An empty claw, palm up, followed. “Or it might work and then change right back.”

Apex could see the wheels spinning in Snowdrop’s head. The filly had whole new worlds of possibility unfolding before her. He almost felt like he was back in the Golden Oak.

“But wild magic happens here, too! All the time!” His voice had lightened now, the conversation less of a lecture and more of a chat with friends. “Like, if a new foal has a strong feeling… a need to be held, or be fed, or wanting a change of clothes, well, sometimes they can reach out and use their magic to get it, without needing to know how. Some pegasus foals have been seen to fly to their parents, and some unicorns have magicked bottles, dolls, and even friends safely into their cribs." He glanced up at Skyshine and Worker and caught them in perfectly matched expressions of revelation.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, sending a warm, rumbling wave rolling over everyone in the room. “I bet some strange events around a certain filly suddenly make a lot of sense." He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with a knuckle. Another chuckle — a rockslide after an avalanche — and he continued, raising a claw to forestall interruption. “It's a well-known phenomenon and shouldn't merit any concern," he soothed, "but still rare enough that many families never see it.”

He turned his attention back to the filly. With a warm smile and a conspiratorial tone he rumbled, “Something tells me you caused your parents quite the shock.”

Affronted, Snowdrop sat back and crossed her forelegs at her chest. "Not me," she declared, lifting her chin in defiance. "I'm not allowed to touch Daddy's 'letric stuff."

The enormous houseguest blinked in surprise, a grin slowly creeping across his features. The roar of laughter that followed rattled every window in the house.

By late afternoon the conversation had ranged through any number of topics, from agriculture to zoology. While Snowdrop, as expected, was enthralled, Worker was pleasantly surprised to find Skyshine thoroughly enjoying herself — her topics of interest were mercurial but wide-ranging, and she was taking great delight in being able to answer as many questions as she asked of their guest.

Deciding to let the ladies of the house have the opportunity to run the show, Worker busied himself with preparing a light supper — lunch had been leftovers — between trips to refill glasses or retrieve this book or that. As conversation slowed he brought back in the tea cart, laden with fresh juices, water, sandwiches for the ponies, and a small bowl of emeralds and sapphires for their larger guest.

With the arrival of the cart, discussion was limited to just-remembered points or clarifications as everyone stopped to eat. Everyone but Snowdrop, that is, who marveled as Apex contentedly crunched the gemstones into a fine powder. Worker leaned over and nudged her shoulder with his nose, reminding her to focus on her plate, at least for the short term.

Worker finished his meal first and, gathering up his dishes, stopped at the fireplace to reposition the embers and deliver a fresh log. As he nudged it back into place with a levitating poker, he chuckled ruefully, put down the poker, and levitated the log directly. “Fifteen years, and yet…” he mumbled, as he left the room.

Apex stretched and rested his chin on a stack of pillows to watch the flames creep across the new log. Although he could breathe flame, and had done so for centuries, it was still one of his favorite phenomena. He found his thoughts drifting, following the glowing tendrils as they sniffed out trails through the wood. In the corner of his vision, a little pony crept into view, positioning herself between him and the fire. Oh! She was trying to get his attention.

“-ter Apex?” She had a pensive look, absentmindedly chewing her lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Snowdrop. A meal and a fire are very relaxing, and I let my mind wander. What did you want to say?”

Worker returned to the room and began gathering the remaining dishes, pausing by Skyshine to give her a peck on the cheek. He stacked the books in the corner for sorting later, and turned to leave, tousling Snowdrop’s mane as he passed.

“Pfeh,” she said, spitting out her mane and smiling at her father. “S’okay,” she continued, “Daddy gets that way with his books. I wanted to ask what Princess Sparkle was like.”

Apex’s eyes crinkled, and a fond smile creased his features. “Twi? Oh, she’s great, like alw-”

He suddenly realized the room was very, very still. Worker had frozen in the doorway, the levitating dishes slowly descending to the floor. Skyshine’s eyebrows had risen nearly to her hairline. Snowdrop, nonplussed, waited patiently for him to continue. He thought of, and discarded, several ways to steer the conversation but ultimately sighed, and dropped every pretense.

“She’s great. Absolutely great. She’s my best friend, and I’ve been around long enough for that to mean something. I’d love for you to meet her one day. I think you’d remind her of some very happy times.” He crossed his forelimbs atop the pile of pillows, flexed his wings to let them lie more comfortably, and rested his chin atop his wrists. “Now I have a question for you. How did you know?”

Worker, still in the doorway, turned his focus on the conversation, dropping the dishes into the kitchen sink. He winced as he heard glasses clatter against each other. If had broken any he’d have Skyshine to answer to.

Snowdrop looked puzzled, and tilted her head. “Know what?”

“How did you, Miss Snowdrop, a remarkable filly of seven-and-then-some, figure out that I know Twilight Sparkle, something I’ve not told anyone directly for longer than I can remember?”

“Oh.” She thought about this for a moment, walking back to her pillow and sitting down. She looked up at Skyshine. “Mommy, did you know?”

Skyshine shook her head and smiled fondly at her daughter. “No, dear. I’d like to know as well.”

“Oh. She looked over at her father in the doorway. “Daddy?”

Worker smiled and with a glance over his shoulder, stepped fully into the room. “I knew, but I had promised to keep it a secret until he was ready to share it, if ever.”

Snowdrop took this into consideration. The gathered adults waited patiently.

“So, um, I was thinkin’ about that book, from back in Canterlot. And the sparkly ink. And how Daddy was askin’ me questions about colors and shapes. An’ there was a pony with those same colors who sold us the book, like on my toy, and in th’ window at the palace. Only his name was Tor. An’ b’sides a pony isn’t a dragon. But today, you visited, an’ had the some colors and patterns AGAIN an’ this time you were called Apex! So that’s how.”

Spike closed his eyes and shook his head. Worker ran a hoof through his mane, chuckling. Skyshine still seemed lost. “Snowdrop? Why does ‘Apex’ matter?”

“Oh. Apex an’ Tor an’ Spike all mean kinda the same thing. We’re learnin’ about cinnamons in school, an’ I’ve been readin’ Daddy’s thus-a-thingy. So if Apex means Spike, an’ he’s purple’n green, then he must know about Princess Sparkle!”

Skyshine drained the remainder of her tea and gave her husband a level stare. “No wonder both of you are so good at guessing Hearth’s Warming presents.” Worker shrugged in return, accompanying it with a sheepish grin, and returned to his wife’s side.

“Well,” said Spike, “I’ve been humbled.” A bit of green tinged smoke escaped his nostrils as he gathered himself. “Thank you, Snowdrop. That all makes sense. I’m sorry to keep the secret but it was much easier to help around Canterlot without drawing attention to myself. A helpful purple pony at the Crusaders’ museum is one thing, but a dragon would definitely be distracting.”

Snowdrop nodded. “I unnerstan. Bein’ helpful is good. But bein’ yourself is important too.”

Spike thought on this. “Skyshine. Worker. Thank you for this lovely day. And Snowdrop, thank you for teaching me important things in memorable ways.”

“Mommy wanted to be a teacher once,” she answered from atop her cushion. “Daddy says I get it from her.”

Skyshine, blushing, interrupted, “Are you going so soon, Mr… I mean Spike?”

Spike lifted the latch on the sliding door with the tip of his tail. He stood, stretching out one shoulder and then the next. “I really should,” he replied, stretching out his hips. “I told Twi I’d be visiting a friend but I didn’t say I’d be gone this long. I know she’s not worried - she’d have sent a note - but I’d rather not let it go that long.”

“Well, it’s been a delight,” she replied. “Please do feel free to visit whenever you’re free. But if you come unannounced, it might be best if you do so undercover.”

Snowdrop sat up like a bolt. “Uh. Mr. Spike? Sir?”

Spike grinned, and regarded the filly out of the corner of his eye. “Let me guess…”

“Can I… I mean,” she looked at her hooves which she was patting together nervously. “Can you. Can y’show me how…”

“Yes. I can.” He stood as tall as he could, his shoulders brushing the ceiling. “Stand back a little, as there’ll be a breeze. Worker, could you close the flue?”

“Of course,” he replied, and focused for a moment. The fire roiled as its airflow was disrupted, and then began to bank. “All set.”

“Ok, then. Ready? Set. Go.” In the next moment he was something else. There was no shifting, no gradual change, just the presence of an enormous dragon, and then a familiar purple pegasus from a shop very far away. In the absence of ‘dragon’, the air rushed in. Doors swung open throughout the house and, in the room, stacked pillows and a few potted plants found their way to the floor.

“Ah, sorry,” said the pony. “I hope that’s not too much trouble.”

“No,” breathed Skyshine, her mane now a wild tangle. “No trouble. It’ll be fine.”

“That. Was. AMAZING,” cheered Snowdrop, nearly bouncing on all fours. “Can ponies do that?”

“You know?” ‘Tor’ pursed his lips, considering. “I’m not sure. I’ll ask Twilight,” he replied, walking for the sliding door to the porch. “That reminds me. Worker?” He slid the door open and reached outside, picking up a small parcel in his teeth. “Your book.”

“Ah, thank you,” Worker replied, lifting the parcel and carefully depositing it on a nearby table. “And Skyshine is right. You’re always welcome to visit.”

“Thank you both. It’s been a wonderful day. Have a good night. You too, Snowdrop.” With that, he stepped onto the back deck, closed the door, and stepped off the edge. With a rush of wind, he was back to his dragon form, enormous wings sweeping through the darkening sky.

Worker and Skyshine stood at the door, watching him fly away. Snowdrop waved enthusiastically as he went.

“You always meet the most interesting people, Worker,” Skyshine said, resting the side of her head on his shoulder. “You should bring more of them to visit. It’s nice to have a day when all the surprises are good ones.”

Worker nuzzled her poll. “I’ll remember that, dear. And Snowdrop?” He craned his neck to look behind them as Snowdrop peered at the fireplace. “What about you? Do you like surprises?”

“Kinda,” she said, studying the lever for the flue. “Depends. Sometimes surprises are still good but they make a lot of trouble.”

“You can pull that down, dear,” he offered, stepping away from the door. “The fire will appreciate it.” Skyshine followed suit, and the two of them settled down on a nearby cushion.

Snowdrop leaned on the lever but it didn’t budge. She glared at it, then focused, yanking it down with her magic. A little ash fell from the chimney, but soon enough the fire picked back up, burning merrily in the hearth.

She watched it for a moment, then sat, rubbing her hooves together in its warmth. “Oh, yeah,” she said, looking over her shoulder to address her parents. “Where’s the baby’s room gonna be?”