Myths and Birthrights: The Archive

Myths and Birthrights

By Tundara

Part Two: Tremors in the East

Chapter Thirteen: The Valley of the Eternal Foal

A brisk easterly wind swept across the sea and the Bellerophon’s deck. The ship stood under an impressive spread of canvas, every sail she possessed having been thrown up in an effort to make up for lost time while the blessed trades blew. She fairly skipped over a mottled grey sea, a sea broken by a growing number of whitecaps. As the waters grew more contemptuous, the ship began to take on a more uncertain motion, and in due time the sails were trimmed —topgallants struck to the deck, the number of staysails reduced, and reefs put in the main and foresails— keeping the crew in brisk activity and the ship running at eight knots when the log was heaved.

There had been a fear of the doldrums, the island sitting close to the heart of the dreaded expanse of sea where hardly a breath of wind could be felt. Captain Hardy hadn’t left the quarterdeck all through the long watches, his gaze barely shifting from some point on the horizon. He only broke his vigil twice, once to ask Princess Twilight to have the stars behave themselves long enough for him to get a reliable reading and the other time to check his charts.

He hardly had to ask Twilight to contain the stars. Since the return of the missing three, only a few displayed any exuberance. Sirius was still missing, but as she wasn’t crucial to navigation her absence was hardly felt. The key stars were in their traditional places: Arcturas, Polaris, and such. That was all that mattered to the nautical mind. Captains across Ioka’s oceans all breathed easier that evening.

Assured that the Bellerophon was on the proper course, Hardy finally turned in as the ship struck five bells in the middle watch, a deep, resonating snore filtering through his cabin walls within moments of his head touching his pillow.

Since the funeral the ship had grown quiet and sullen. The loss of the Seaweed sisters in particular hit the crew hard. Both had been well liked by the lower decks and had survived bursting guns, fierce boarding actions, and hoof-rot. The sisters’ luck and tenacity had become something of a minor legend among the crew, and to have it end so decidedly had a swift, sobering effect upon the spirits of their mates.

There were no comments or prayers, but Twilight could feel the shift in the crew’s mood like a weight upon her back and chest. There were not even looks, certainly none directed at her, but in the enclosed world of a ship, the miasma that had descended could not fail to be noticed by even the most cloistered and unobservant. She barely had time herself to mourn for her cousin, even if he wasn’t really related to her any more than anyone on the ship, aside from one exception.

Faust, however, kept mostly to herself. After the funeral she had taken to the sky with no more than a few words that she would return before teleporting away in a flash of ruby magic. At first Twilight had suspected Faust was traveling to Canterlot to visit her long-lost daughters, but the tingle and direction of her magic was wrong. Twilight’s aunt had gone somewhere to the north, and from the amount of magic left lingering in the air like a cinnamon cloud, it had been a considerable distance.

Several hours later, Faust returned.

“Where’d you go?” Twilight asked, not looking up from the sheets of parchment before her. The scrolls contained the information on Zebrica; mostly historical accounts of gryphon oppression during the second empire —the collapse of the empire following the loss of Northrock Towers, the slave rebellions that followed, and the griffons’ slow withdrawal to the heart of their shattered empire featured prominently—  or dry notes on trade deals. Very little information existed on the current leaders, or even their system of government, since the nation had been in a state of social and political unrest for the past several years. It had been this unrest that caused Zecora to cross the oceans and live in the Everfree. The not-quite xenophobic nature of the Zebras didn’t help.

Letting out a little grunt and stretching as she moved the latest parchment aside, Twilight looked to her aunt, waiting for an answer.

Faust placed a simple black box before Twilight on the desk, and said, “I visited my old home, collected a few things left hidden, and dealt with something I’d put off too long.”

“What is it?” Twilight asked, flipping the box open to reveal a long bone needle and pair of scissors.

“One of my needles,” Faust said as she moved to the galley windows.

Inspecting the needle, Twilight could feel ancient magic rippling from the seemingly plain construct. There were no markings or signs that the needle was anything more than it appeared and, if not for the aura, Twilight would have assumed it to be nothing more than a relic of a lost time; bone needles having fallen out of fashion long before ponies had crossed the seas and settled in Equestria.

“What does it do?” Twilight asked as she set it back in the box and gently snapped the lid shut.

“It’s used for sewing of course.” Faust gave the words a playful bounce, and Twilight could feel her aunt grinning like a wolf.

Twilight groaned as she massaged her temples. “I’m going to assume you mean the tapestry, shawl, or something of Fate,” Twilight said, resting her chin on a hoof.

“Tapestry or Weave, both work. The words used to be the same, ‘lanya’, actually, and are interchangeable in this case.” Faust moved away from the window and sat down across from Twilight. “Your cousins used such a needle recently on Tyr.”

“You know of Tyr?” Twilight asked, her head shooting up. Bonking herself over her brow, she added, “Of course you do. Duh, you’re the Namegiver.”

“Well, yes and no. It’s not particularly important in any regards,” Faust said, twirling the box around so it faced her. “What is important is what we are going to do with Athena.”

As one, both looked over towards the corner of the room, where, propped up against the bottom of Fleur’s cot, rested Athena’s sword. To Fleur’s credit, she hadn’t tried to cover-up or argue why she had lied to Twilight. She simply stated her reasons, then asked for forgiveness before asking to be led below by the master-at-arms. Fleur wasn’t under arrest, and given her position as an Ambassador, even if she had been she would still be given comfortable cabins and dined as a guest of the Captain and Princess on occasion until she could be ransomed back to Prance. The simple fact that Athena had saved the lives of the marines and sailors was enough reason to allow her amnesty. The list of names read at the funeral would have been much longer without her.

The worst that could be said was that she had lied to Twilight. Albeit, keeping quiet about Athena’s growing power could have proved disastrous. But it hadn’t. No harm had come because of the lie. Lives may even have been saved because of it; Twilight doubted she would have let Fleur join the expedition to the island if she had known that the spirit inhabiting Fleur hadn’t passed on.

Twilight also put a lot of the blame on herself.

She had been so consumed by her stars and the attack on the ship that she hadn’t properly questioned Fleur. Thinking back to the conversation they had shared, Twilight wanted to thump her face onto her desk.

“What do you think we should do?”

“Honestly,” Faust tapped her chin, deep in thought, “first, we shall have some of those wonderful pastries the current bearer of Laughter makes—”

“Cupcakes,” Twilight muttered, Faust continuing as if not hearing the correction.

“—And a pot of tea. Oh, it has been too long since I had real tea...” Faust’s eyes drifted off into a glazed stupor, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips. Snapping back to reality, she finished, “Then, I propose we ask Fleur up here, force this Athena to show herself, and then bind her to the Weave. Once that is done I can get a clearer look at things.”

In short order the tea appeared, along with some small cakes, as they continued to discuss their options. Through most of it, Twilight remained in a terse silence, lost in her own thoughts.

Tapping her hooves together, Twilight contemplated over the incident in the throneroom. “I’m not sure getting this Athena to show herself is such a good idea,” Twilight said, before explaining the little she knew about the spirit.

“How else would you propose we bind her to Ioka’s Weave, then?” Faust tilted her head as she waited for Twilight’s response.

“Honestly, I don’t believe it is a good idea at all,” Twilight grumbled. “Not after what I saw it do to Tyr.” She then indicated the ship around them, saying, “and not aboard this ship if she got violent.”

“Hmm,” Faust hummed as she peered past Twilight and out onto the Bellerophon’s wake, her eyes taking on a glazed hue. “It’ll be awhile before we make landfall,” she said, more to herself than Twilight. “That is a bit too long to postpone this encounter. No, we should do this soon. Right now in fact. Better to bind the wound then let it fester.”

“Wait,” Twilight said, lifting a pleading hoof, but too late.

In a swirl of magic, Faust lifted a small bell and gave it a hearty ring. To the guard that opened the door, she said, “Bring Fleur de Lis here.”

Hesitating, and looking to Twilight for confirmation, which she gave with an exasperated sigh, the guard saluted before heading down towards the gunroom. He returned minutes later with not only Fleur, but Pinkie and Rainbow as well. The latter came in holding a plate of lime pudding on her wing, the former was actually trotting, her poofy mane pulled back into a long naval braid, loose hairs springing from every knot, and her eye-patch firmly affixed.

Twilight couldn’t help but wince as the light cast through the windows highlighted the long scar that covered the left half of Pinkie’s face. Pinkie, however, smiled cheerily. From somewhere she’d gotten an old feathered hat and laced, double-breasted black and gold jacket. The ensemble managed to make her smile. In turn, Pinkie’s smile grew wider, her entire face seeming to glow.

Plopping down on cushions, Twilight’s friends remained conspicuously quiet while Fleur approached

“Your majesties,” she began, her voice holding the faintest of tremors.

“Fleur,” Twilight interrupted, tapping her hooves together gently. “Before we start, I’d like to say that I’m not mad, but I am disappointed.” Gently pushing away from the desk —It made her feel a bit too much like Celestia— Twilight walked around to stand in front of Fleur. “What I want to know is why you felt you had to lie to me about this. I thought you trusted me to help you?’

“I do. It’s just, she doesn’t.”

“She? As in...” Twilight made a slight gesture towards her head.

“Oui,” Fleur gave a weak, tepid nod. “She’s afraid of you, for some reason, and told me to lie. That, if I didn’t, it could be dangerous for everypony.”

“She’s concerned about becoming a Nightmare,” Faust stated, her face a mask of disinterested neutrality. Only her eyes betrayed the mask, Faust seeming to peer at and through Fleur at the same time. “Athena, I mean.”

Fleur tensed at the name, her mouth slowly working as she fought to regain her composure.

“H-how do you know that name, your majesty?”

“I heard it in the wind,” Faust said, giving her hoof a lazy wave. “How and where I know the name is unimportant. The important point here is what to do about Athena.”

“‘What to do’?” Fleur repeated the words, shifting a little as she looked between the two goddesses.

“I can’t begin to predict the effects of having the soul of an Aethyir trapped inside a mortal shell. You could burst into flames as her energy consumes you both. She could over-power your own soul, subsuming it into hers. Or perhaps kick it out, and take over your body for herself.” Faust began to walk, pacing around Fleur while she spoke. “Regardless of what happens, until she is bound she is a threat to the Weave.”

Stopping in front of Fleur, Faust gave a curt nod and said, “But my niece seems to think that attempting to bind your passenger would be a poor idea. I want to know your thoughts on the matter, however.”

“My thoughts?”

“Ugh, she wants to know if you want to do this binding thing or not,” Rainbow quipped from the side.

“I know that much,” Fleur sighed, “I’m simply confused as to why you are giving me the choice.”

“Why not? This affects you the most.” Twilight tilted her head a little as she spoke.

“Non, Princess, it does not,” Fleur slowly deflated, lifting up a hoof to look at it. “Athena and I... if we continue... I do not know where this path leads, but it will have drastic consequences for all the world. I can feel it in my heart.”

Twilight considered Fleur for a long moment, and as she did so she could feel it, a slight undercurrent in the aether. Had she not been looking for it, Twilight doubted she would have noticed it at all. The essence of an alicorn.

It was so faint and fleeting, a strand of gossamer dew in the morning breeze, but it was there. The few times Twilight had been with Tyr since the filly was fostered, she’d been able to sense the filly’s true nature with relative ease. It hadn’t been strong, but it was clear.

The feeling coming from Fleur wasn’t even a fraction the strength. Except it hadn’t been there the day before. Without intervention it would continue to grow until... What?

Twilight didn’t have the barest idea of what could happen, only baseless conjecture.

So she sat, chewing on her lip as she let her aunt take the lead.

“Can you let her out? In a controlled fashion so we may speak to her?” Twilight found herself asking, her thoughts having drifted back to the few things she’d been told about the battle with the Janus.

Fleur hesitated, then said, “Oui, I believe it may be possible, now.”

The tension in the cabin grew as Fleur settled her shoulders, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. For a few ticks of the clock nothing happened, then Twilight sensed a shift in the energy coming from Fleur. It grew, expanding to encompass the unicorn until she glowed like a star —but not a star, to Twilight’s alicorn senses. It was odd, the feeling being so familiar, yet so different as well. When Fleur opened her eyes they shone with inner light.

“I am here,” Athena said, her voice meshed with Fleur’s in such a way that it seemed to tremble.

“Good.” Faust lifted the box containing her needle from the desk, and placed it in her own hooves. “I’m going to tell you what is about to happen.”

Athena seemed neither startled nor angered at the coldly-put statement, instead she just watched, and waited.

“You will either depart this world, or Twilight and I will bind you to Ioka’s Weave. In doing so I will be able to see the effects of your presence here.”

“You can see my presence right now,” Athena barked, lifting up her stolen head as she laughed.

Grinding her teeth, Faust’s lip curled as she retorted, “You know what I meant.”

“Did I?” Athena lifted one of Fleur’s hooves to tap her chin. “I seem to have forgotten many things. What is this ‘Weave’, and why must I be bound to it?”

“Because you are a blight! A weed that I will pluck from my garden.”

Athena titled her head, glowing eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “A weed, you call me? Well, this weed has thorns. Try to remove me, and you may just get pricked.”

A hazy blue aura shrouded the blade in the cabin’s corner. It began to lift, tip dragging across the polished wood deck. As Twilight began to open her mouth to speak, Faust shot the sword a withering glare, ripping the magic away from the hilt. Before it could clatter to the deck, Faust picked the sword up in her own magic.

“If you mean to threaten me, Athena, you can hold your tongue,” Faust snapped, her wings flaring and the ship trembling as true anger rolled off her. “I am a true Aethyir, of the Far Realms, from when thought and reality were one and indistinguishable. You are as a foal next to me! Don’t try to play games. Feuyalyë ní!”

Twilight arched her brow at the unfamiliar words, though Athena seemed to understand them, the spirit bristling against insult.

“You will be bound to our world, or you will depart. If it comes to force, I will use it.”

Faust slammed the sword onto the desk.

Athena seemed to settle, the spirit frowning as she thought.

“If you do this, when I re-awaken I will be as unwelcome in my true home as you make me here,” she murmured.

“Yes, but you will be able to remain with your sister. Tyr has already been bound.”

The words made Athena shrink back, her jaw tightening.

“You would presume to steal her choice—.”

“I presumed nothing,” Faust spat. “My eldest made the choice for Tyr. Twilight has spoken on your behalf, and for that reason alone I have decided not to force this upon you. I will, however, not allow you to remain upon Ioka should you choose not to be bound. So, what is your choice.”

For a few seconds, Twilight thought Athena would attack Faust. The spirit set her shoulders, snarling as her lips pulled back to bare her teeth. Then she seemed to shrink a little, the fight draining from her as the light in her eye dimmed almost imperceptibly.

“Very well, I accept your terms.”

“Good!” Faust chirped, all signs of anger vanishing like a puff of smoke. Opening the box, Faust removed the needle. “Twilight, dear, if you’ll assist me?”

“O-of course,” Twilight hesitated, coming up beside Faust while watching Athena wearily.

She didn’t trust the spirit to surrender so easily. Athena had to be up to something, but what? The spirit stood tall and unbowed, her essence flowing around Fleur. Released from her mortal cage, the full power of Athena was... not overwhelming, not even that strong when compared to the ambient energy that Celestia or Luna would radiate. But it was different. Twilight assumed it was because the spirit was... well, a spirit.

From the tip of Faust’s horn flowed a strand of polished gold thread. It weaved and slid like a snake, threading itself through the needle’s eye. Even over the auras given off by Faust and Athena, Twilight could feel the magic filling the thread; strong and pure, like honey.

“This will be a variant on the spell my Tia used to bind Tyr to the Weave,” Faust explained as she took position opposite Twilight, Athena between them. “They were fostering the filly, and her being bound to the Weave was ancillary to their goals of making her temporarily mortal.”

One of Athena’s eyes flashed, a dark frown upon her muzzle.

“You would force an Alicorn into a mortal coil?” the spirit laughed darkly.

“Yes,” Faust hummed as she stepped forth, the needle hovering above Athena’s ethereal wings. “This is your last chance. You may still leave and attempt to return from whence you came.”

Athena shook her head.

“No, to do so I must pass through Tartarus. That would be... unwise...” Athena trembled, then shot Faust a defiant glare. “Better to remain with what little of my herd survives. Bind me to your Weave.”

Faust grimaced, her ears flicking in agitation and bowing her head as she said, “This will hurt,” while the needle darted forward.

There was little said beyond Faust issuing instructions to Twilight on how to move the needle, and when.

With each pass of the needle, with each stitch made, Athena screamed. Each time the needle approached, gold flames leapt from the spirit’s body, attempting to engulf the bone and thread, but unable to touch either. The flames coiled about the instrument, only to flow away, twining together to become a new thread itself.

The first shot across the cabin towards Twilight, fading just before touching the princess. Dozens more appeared as they worked, many heading out the west facing great windows. Some of the threads were thick and pulsed, more like rope cords, others were so small they could have been spidersilk.

Not once did the needle or thread touch Fleur herself, only ever passing through the nexus of energy clinging to her body. It felt like hours of work, the needle applied again and again in slow, monotonous motions until all Twilight knew was taking the terrible implement from her aunt before passing it back through the spirit.

At last they did finish, Fleur collapsing to the deck as all trace of Athena retreated back into the unicorn.

“Fleur, are you alright?” Twilight asked hesitantly as the ambassador raised herself onto trembling hooves.

“Oui, princess, I believe so,” she said. “I could feel that she was in pain, but I felt nothing.”

“Why would you?” Pinkie asked from where she’d been watching. Her face was a little pale, highlighting her scar in the fading afternoon light, and her mane was almost entirely flat, but she was smiling a genuine smile and her eyes had their playful twinkle. “It was the Puffy-wuffy Athena that was being all poked and jabbed.”

“I-I suppose so,” Fleur hesitantly admitted.

A lantern above Pinkie’s head blazed to life, the party pony thrusting up a hoof with a jubilant cry as her mane sproinged back to a semblance of it’s normal bounce.

“Ooo! You know what this calls for, girls?”

A simultaneous groan was issued by Twilight and Rainbow, the latter adding a face-hoof for extra measure.

“No, Pinkie, this doesn’t call for a party,” Rainbow snapped. “We just watched a dead pony’s ghost-thing get tortured! How does that justify a party?”

Twilight winced at the word ‘torture’, but she couldn’t object. What else could she call what she and Faust had done? Her heart squeezed a little at the realization.

Mane deflating a little again, Pinkie sniffed, “Well, I  thought a ‘You don’t have to leave and can live with your sister and find your missing foal’ party was a good idea.”

“Pinkie, I have to agree with Dash, this isn’t the time for a party.” Twilight gave her head a slow, sad shake. “Fleur is still... in trouble,” Twilight looked to Faust for confirmation, but her aunt was staring off into nothing. “Plus, I don’t think the Captain would be too happy if you undermined his command any more than you already have, because we both know you’d turn the entire ship into a single, massive party.”

“Well, duh!” Pinkie rolled her eyes. “The foremast jacks and the rest deserve a party too!” Pinkie relented, however, crossing her hooves as she said, “Fine, no party, for now. But I’m putting this down in my Party Planner! One Super-Duper-Funtacular Party for Fleur, Theeny, and everypony on the Bellerophon!”

As she spoke, Pinkie pulled a large blue book covered in pink and yellow balloon stickers out of her mane along with a pencil, flipped the book open, and scribbled down several lines of notations.

“This will be the Biggest! Bestest! Party! Ever!” Pinkie cried triumphantly as she began to plan.

Twilight, Rainbow, and Fleur all shared uneasy looks. None of them saw the sadness in Faust’s eyes as she slipped out of the cabin, leaving the four other mares alone.

* * *

Above northern Espanya, in the region of Trotalonia, drifted a cloud. The anvil shape to its front made it look almost like a ship, one crackling occasionally with sheet lightning. Dull, heavy grey along the bottom, the cloud was just waiting to unleash a downpour of torrential rain, yet not a single drop was felt by those it passed over.

During the day, the pegasi had tried to break up the storm-cloud, for it could be nothing else. All their efforts proved futile, the cloud resisting all the kicks and attempts to divert its journey. Eventually the pegasi had relented, giving the cloud dark glares as it continued on a northerly course, contrary to the winds and the direction the smaller, fluffier clouds were traveling.

The pegasi could not know it, but the cloud had been ordered onto the course, and it could not disobey the command.

As night fell, and Twilight woke her stars, two figures emerged from the belly of the cloud.

High above, the stars begun to dance and move. Hades had been the first to notice it on the first night and rather enjoyed the wild and frenetic displays.

“Astraea never allowed her stars to roam so freely,” Hades observed, leaning against a small tuft of cloud. “I wonder if this world has a god or goddess that allows them such freedom, or if this is because there is none to keep them controlled.”

“Sisters, brother, it was a pair of sisters who came here. Where would they find mates? Among the mortals?” Zeus gave a long peel of deep laughter from the cloud couch he had formed. After a few moments the laughter stopped abruptly, and he said, “Actually, that is an interesting idea.”

Hades’ head snapped down, his eyes narrowing. “No, brother, we are here to find our lost daughters, not for you to bed pretty mortal mares.”

“Bah, like I would do such a thing, regardless. Their beauty would have to rival Artemis and Serene for them to even catch my eye.” Zeus gave his brother a wink.

“And Hera would have your stallionhood for garters if she found out your were having dalliances without her permission, again,” Hades added with a cruel grin.

“It only happened twice,” Zeus muttered, “and I still don’t know how she found out about Hemera.” Rubbing his head, Zeus paused before adding, “my only regret is how Hera maimed her.”

Hades’ raised one of his icy eyes. “That is your only regret of the whole affair?”

“Yea, it is!” Zeus thundered, the cloud under the brothers’ hooves crackling with lightning. “I do not regret siring Demea and Clouthea. I do not regret the ensuing games. We immortals need some diversions, afterall. But Hera went too far when she blinded Hemera. I failed to protect one of my mares.” Zeus stamped a hoof, the cloud launching a bolt of brilliant pink energy into the peak of a short mountain below.

“In that, brother, we are the same at least,” Hades sighed, turning back to gazing over the cloud’s edge.

Instead of watching the stars, he looked to the land below.

Their cloud was starting to cross a mountain range. Lower peaks, like the one Zeus’ bolt had struck, guarded much higher, snow-capped giants. There were many passes through the range, each showing a road and little specks of light from inns and villages. It was a fairly beautiful land, the cypress trees framing white cliffs, with healthy soil that provided small gardens and farms near the villages. Near the top of one of the mountains shone a semi-circle of lights, a monastery, if Hades were to guess.

Such things existed back on Gaea, though they were uncommon. The mortals’ need for quiet contemplation about the wishes of the goddesses and gods was odd, most of the alicorns made their desires very plain.

Hades began to look elsewhere when a slight tingle worked its way up his spine, making his ears perk up and his eyes return to the monastery.

There was an alicorn in the monastery, or near it.

“Brother, we seem to be nearing our destination,” Hades said.

Zeus lifted his head, breaking out of the sulking brought on by his short tirade.

“The cloud worked then,” he chuckled as he joined Hades at the edge. Scanning the mountains and monastery, Zeus pointed to a small cluster of lights near the mountain’s base. “Down there, in that village,” he said as he spread his ashen wings.

Together the brothers lept from the cloud and began to glide down towards the distant village.

“The feeling is so faint,” Hades noted as they approached, skimming low over the trees.

“Indeed,” Zeus grumbled, flicking his wings a little as they emerged above a simple village.

In the light of the moon the two alicorns made note of the old stone buildings and thatched roofs. Light spilled out from between shutters, the chilly mountain air crisp with the night. Hooves touching down on a well-worn cobble street, the two surveyed their surroundings quickly before following the tendrils of alicorn magic filtering through the dark. Above, the stars ceased their dancing as a clock tower struck nine times.

Up to a plain cottage, a bed of of lilies and orchids flanking the walkway, the brothers went. At the door— a simple, round door painted a vibrant green— Hades hesitated.

“Brother, perhaps we should hide our nature,” he suggested. “We know little of this world, and it may prove prudent not to reveal ourselves too soon.”

“Nonsense!” Zeus grunted, shoving past Hades to grab the door knock and give it a hefty bang.

For a couple moments they waited, a muffled voice calling from the home’s heart, before the door was pulled open. Surrounded in the light cast by glow-stones stood a beige unicorn. Her auburn mane was pulled into a tight bun, a streak of grey showing near her ears. Large, golden eyes grew larger still as she looked upon the pair of alicorns.

“Excusez-moi, m-mais qui êtes-vous et q-que voulez-vous?” she asked, her lilting voice faltering towards the end.

Hades and Zeus shared an exasperated glance.

“Do you recognise the language?” Hades asked, to which Zeus shook his head.

“No, but I don’t need to,” Zeus said with a smile, lighting his horn with magic. Electric blue light surrounded his ears and throat for a second before fading away. After a moment’s hesitation, Hades mimicked the spell. “Can you understand me now?”

The mare nodded slowly, squeaking out a simple, “Yes.”

“Good,” Zeus replied as he pushed his way into the cottage, practiced eyes roving over the humble wooden walls and the portraits and shelves covered with knick-knacks. “We seek one of our kind.”

“One of your kind?” She looked almost confused as she then asked, “I’m not sure what you mean, my lord.”

“It’s very simple, really. An alicorn is nearby,” Hades said, looking from the small kitchen to the stairs leading to the second floor.

For a moment, the mare looked between the two intruders, then she gave a terse laugh.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken. There are no alicorns in Prance.”

Zeus and Hades both ignored her, the latter heading for the stairs and the former towards the dining room. Neither needed to have bothered, as out of the dining room stepped a unicorn filly.

Her coat was a royal blue that darkened to almost black along her back and withers. Her mane was a shimmering sheet of polished silver that draped over her curvy neck like a waterfall glowing beneath the moon, pinned by a ruby and pearl brooch. Wide, fearful, pink eyes darted from one brother to the other, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she struggled to find words. But most interesting of all, was that Hades could feel the small shard of divinity the filly contained like a second, pulsing heart.

“Mama, what’s going on?” she finally managed to ask, slowly backing away from the stallions.

“Nothing, my little blossom, go to your room,” the mare commanded, to which Hades gave a cold laugh.

“Stay, little one, we have questions for you,” Hades said, pointing to a couch. “Do not fear, we mean neither of you any harm. Sit, sit, and be at ease.”

The mare and filly did as they were told, though reluctantly. Hades had to commend the mare, there was hardly a tremor of fear in her as she positioned herself between the filly and the brothers. Zeus sat down on a threadbare cushion, grumbling a little to himself as he attempted to get comfortable. Hades just leaned against the wall, peering through a crack in the shutters out on the night. The cloud he and Zeus had used to find the filly lingered, curling about the moon like the fingers of a minotaur and shrouding the valley in shadow.

“Who is your mother, your real mother,” Hades eventually asked, turning slowly to the filly.

Unlike her guardian —whom Hades had no doubt wasn’t the mother— the filly was visibly trembling.

“Don’t talk to my daughter with that tone,” the mare interjected, snorting as she returned glare for glare. “You have no right to force your way into our home.”

“No right?” Hades gave a sour laugh. “I am Hades, that is all the right I need.”

“And I am Jardin Rêves, and this is my daughter, and my home!” Jardin shouted as she jumped to her hooves, marching across the short divide between her and the alicorn.

From his cushion Zeus laughed.

“I know that tone. Hera’s used it enough times.” Still laughing to himself, Zeus made a calming gesture as he said, “Please, madam, we mean no disrespect. We have come far searching for others of our kind. We expected to find two like us, sisters who ruled this world. Imagine our surprise when we felt the essence of an alicorn in this valley, followed it to your home, and found your daughter instead.”

“The essence of an alicorn? No, that is impossible. All the alicorns live in Equestria,” Jardin said as she slowly returned to the filly’s side. “Legends speak that during the Old Kingdoms this valley was home to the alicorns, and is still known as the Valley of the Eternal Foal.”

“‘The Valley of the Eternal Foal’,” Hades muttered, rubbing his chin. “An alicorn was raised here, then?

“So the legends say. They also say she died, killed by unicorns seeking her immortality for themselves, and with their arrogance cursed all unicorns to dreamless nights.” Jardin sent a glare of pure loathing at Hades, while to Zeus she said, “If you are satisfied, I would appreciate it if you left our home now.”

“My fair lady, I could do no such thing.” Zeus gave a short bow, giving Jardin his widest, most charming smile. Hades had to fight to hold back his groan as Zeus swaggered towards the mortal mare, took one of her hooves and placed a kiss upon it. As he laid his lips upon her, his horn flashed with magic, a slight glow reflecting beneath Jardin’s eyes. “Lying to us is futile, we know that your ward is more than meets the eyes. There are still many unanswered questions. Such as how you came to be this filly’s guardian. How did you come by this darling, little filly?”

“I found her on the Jour de la Nuit, three years ago. I was out in the woods trying to find the path to Canigó, hoping the monks would know why the sun had yet to rise. I had begun to despair that I would never find the right path when a pillar of rainbow light descended from the heavens only a short distance away. As it vanished the sun rose. When I went to investigate, I found my precious Soir sleeping before the mouth of Caverne du Poulain. She had no memory nor any idea where or who she was, it was truly a miracle.”

Hades and Zeus shared surprised looks. The description of a rainbow pillar felt familiar, though Hades was unsure where he had heard of it before. Zeus also looked thoughtful, the God of Storms slowly stroking his beard as he stood.

To the filly, he asked, “Can you tell me your name?”

“I-I, um, Abbott Vin Framboise said I have to be very careful with my real name,” she said hesitantly. “Everypony in the village calls me Soir Rêves.”

A slight glimmer catching his eye, Hades peered at Soir’s brooch. It was glowing with a soft, comforting light. Looking closer, he swore he could see an eye in the central ruby, one staring at Zeus with curiosity. The eye in the ruby noticed Hades peering at it, blinked, and was gone.

“Greetings Soir, I am Zeus, God of Storms and King of the Alicorns.”

Soir inched forward, pinching her brow together, asking, “Are you really a god? Abbott Vin Framboise says that the princesses of Equestria are really Goddesses, and that we should look to them for guidance over the parliament; that no government run by mortal ponies can compare to the guidance and prosperity that the princesses have brought to Equestria. He says the breakup of the Holy Prench Empire, and the wars that have been fought since between the countries that have taken its place, while Equestria continues to grow and thrive, is proof.”

“You are a smart filly,” Hades chortled. “And this Abbott sounds like a wise pony.”

“He’s okay.” Soir shrugged, then she surprised Zeus and Hades when she said, “Now, please remove that spell you put on mama. That’s not a nice thing to do.”

Laughing again, Zeus cancelled the spell. Hades ground his teeth. His brother’s constant mirth was starting to get tiresome. This entire conversation was tiresome. They needed to find their missing daughters. This filly, whether she was a demi-goddess or goddess in hiding, wasn’t part of either of their herds.

“You,” Jardin snarled, stroking Soir’s mane as she faced Zeus. “I want you to leave. Now. And be thankful I don’t contact the authorities for bewitching me.”

“Very well, we have little interest in either of you, really.” Zeus began to make his way towards the cottage door. “Say, which way is this Equestria you mentioned? Is it far away?”

Jardin looked absolutely flabbergasted, her mouth hanging open and eyes bulging slightly from her head. “It lies beyond the Marelantic Ocean, far to the west,” she said slowly, clearly looking to see if this was another trick.

“West you say? Across an ocean? Very good! Come, Hades! We have a long ways to go still it seems,” Zeus said as he trotted briskly from the cottage, Hades wearily trailing behind. “I can see you’re tired, but you’ll be able to rest when you’re dead.”

Taking another couple steps, Zeus stopped, perked his ears forward, then gave out the loudest laugh he had yet that day.

“‘Rest when you’re dead’! Ha-ha!”

Reaching the end of the path. they then turned onto the road, the cottage becoming hidden by a hedgerow. Zeus stopped at once. Poking his head into a small gap between the hedges, he gestured for Hades to stop.

“Brother, what are you doing?” Hades asked, letting out all his exasperation in a long sigh. “We have—.”

“Far to go, so on and so forth, cross an ocean,” Zeus muttered in a rumbling undertone. “Relax, brother, I suspect that the filly’s true mother will reveal herself shortly. You saw her watching us with that brooch, yes?”

“Of course,” Hades gave a derisive snif. “But you honestly expect her to come here, now?”

“Why, certainly! No other reason for that filly to have such an artifact in her possession. And you heard the story.” Poking his head back out of the bushes, Zeus tapped the side of his nose. “Something else is going on here. I can smell it, brother.”

“So?” Hades started to trot away, saying, “It isn’t our concern. This isn’t Gaea, brother.”

“No, it’s not,” Zeus agreed, head once more in the hedges, “But I am the King of the Alicorns, and one of my subjects is living with a mortal. I’m curious to know why.”

Not slowing Hades began to spread his wings. “What does it matter. Once we find our daughters, if they are upon this world, we will return to Gaea and whatever games the sisters have going here will continue.”

“True, but I am balefire curious now,” Zeus gave his tail an impatient flick, poking his muzzle a little deeper into the vegetation.

Zeus began to say more, but his voice trailed off as he and Hades felt the pressure of foreign magic. It was small at first, a little buzzing near the base of their hooves. In a matter of seconds it had grown, making the alicorns’ teeth jitter and their wings tingle.

Not a moment later the cottage garden was filled with light as brilliant as the sun.

Hades immediately felt a new presence, the essence of a fully awakened alicorn crashing over his senses like a wave upon the shore.

Out of the light she emerged, rust red mane flowing like a cape as she landed with a soft, almost dainty flick of her wings. Taking a deep breath, she began to take a step towards the cottage then stopped, freezing in the motion as if she’d been held by magic. Slowly she put her hoof down.

“I know you are there,” she called out into the night, small puffs of misty breath rolling from her lips.

Grumbling to himself about why Zeus had to always be right, Hades turned and followed his brother out into the open. Turning away from the cottage, the rust-maned alicorn stepped off the garden path and into the street. She watched the brothers with curious blue eyes, her white coat seeming to shine in the moonlight. She was much smaller than either brother, making Hades suspect she was one of the more esoteric alicorns; an Intangible most likely.

“I know you...” She whispered, “where do I know you from?”

“What? You don’t remember me? How we thundered out of the twisting morass of the Far Realms, fire flashing at our step, as we dove into the Quus and drove them back from whence they came?”

“No, it can’t be, all the other Aethyir were lost. Only my sister and I survived, falling and tumbling among the newly birthed worlds.”

The goddess took a step back, uncertainty warring on her fair features. Giving a rakish smile, Zeus followed.

“Ah, but we were not lost. I lead those of us that remained to one of the worlds, the one closest to the prison we built for the Quus. A few chose to migrate to other worlds, and I always believed you to be among their number.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she stated, halting her steps, her voice light and airy, and devoid of any malice.

“No need to be rude,” Zeus chortled.

“You misunderstand me,” the goddess shook her mane, “I am Faust, Goddess of Fate, and your very presence upon Ioka is wrong. You are obscuring the Tapestry and meddling with my domain with your every breath, each step you take sending ripples through the weave that I have to mend.”

Hades gave an exasperated sigh. A Fate Goddess; he hated dealing with goddesses of Fate. They were so untrustworthy, always speaking in half-truths, manipulating facts, and treating all the world as if it were an elaborate game of chess. It had been Lachesis, Goddess of Destiny, that had whispered in his ear that it was the Shepherd of the Night who would bring him true peace and happiness. And for a time it had been true, and maybe it would be so again.

“Well, we can’t leave yet. Not until we have located who we are trying to find. Or ruled out the possibility at least of them being here,” Zeus said, putting on his most genial guise. “Besides, I’m rather curious about the filly living in that quaint little cottage.”

Faust slowly shook her head, saying something too softly for either brother to hear. Speaking louder, she said, “I care not for your curiosity. You can not stay here. You must leave! You are more than just disruptions, your presence is a cancer upon my Domain. Every step you take an earthquake. Each breath a storm. You spread blackness and filth far greater than any of the others.”

Stepping past Zeus, Hades said in a voice cold as the winds of Tartarus, “Faust, we seek our children. We have no interest in this world beyond finding them, if they are here. Tell us, do the names Artemis, Demea, and Clouthea mean anything to you? Answer us, and we’ll leave you in peace. What do you say?”

There was hardly a pause before Faust replied.

“No,” the word contained absolute finality, “Those names mean nothing to me. They are not now, nor never will be, part of Ioka’s Weave.”

“We are wasting our time here, brother,” Hades snarled, giving Faust a long glare.

Faust began to pace before the brothers, and in an undertone whispered to herself, “Á carë ve vauya. Varya i umbar.”

She stopped her pacing, looking up to the night and the clouds that had gathered overhead, clinging to the one that had guided Zeus and Hades. The stars were blotted out, and even the moon could no longer be seen.

“Good,” Faust continued, a sad smile on her face, “they will be blind to this.”

There was little warning for what came next. The smile dissolved from her features, and in a swish of her horn she sent a jagged, ruby cone of magic towards the brothers. Suppressing a curse, Hades hopped to the side while conjuring a disk of golden energy. A small pang of pressure throbbed through his horn while the shield cracked under the torrent of arcane fire pressing against it. Consumed in the blast, the street turned to slag, the cobblestones cracking and popping like fireworks, sending shards of molten rock up in prismatic showers. At the heart of the display stood Zeus, a dome of protective magic creating an island in the middle of the tempest.

Grinding her teeth, Faust set her legs wider and increased the power behind her attack.

Nearby trees burst into fire like torches, lighting the village with ghostly, dancing, orange shadows. Throughout the village, ponies pressed their noses against their windows, watching the display with wonder and fear.

From the belly of the gathered storm above, a bolt of emerald lightning struck, cutting through Faust’s spell. The torrent parted, creating a chasm through which the lightning thrust itself. There was a cry of surprise and the ruby flames ended, leaving a street glowing in the night and trees burning upon the hillside beyond.

Patting down a few singed hair, Hades dismissed his battered shield and summoned his bident.

“So, it is to be battle then?” thundered Zeus, rolling his shoulders to loosen them.

“Careful, brother, she clearly means to maim or kill,” Hades cautioned.

“Indeed,” Zeus agreed. “I will deal with this,” he then added.

As they spoke, Faust took to the sky. A patch of fur on her right shoulder, just before her wing, carried a dark burn from the lightning strike. Ozone wafted over Hades as Zeus gave pursuit, the two spiralling up towards the clouds.

Lightning flashed; blue, green, yellow, and even black forks of brilliant energy sizzling from the clouds as the wind began to howl and icy rain mixed with hail fell upon the valley. In response long tongues of prismatic fire were flung through the sky, as if a half dozen dragons were in battle. At the center of the storm Zeus and Faust glowed like stars as they countered the other’s attacks, shields bursting to life before crumbling, and flashes denoting hasty teleportations.

From the cloud tops to the valley floor, they fought, spell after spell burning forest and village alike. Their minds so focused on the contest that neither noticed the collateral damage caused.

Abandoning showy evocations, Faust switched to dark, twisted magic. Spells black as a moonless night; seeking, lusting, hungering for life. Grapes withered on the vine, struck by a rolling haze of death, while flowers turned grey and brittle.

Hades winced a little at the waves of released magic that bathed the valley. His cracked horn ached just from the relatively minor shield he’d used. A frown played at his face as he thought about what would happen if he tried to unleash his magic as fully as those in the sky. Gingerly, he ran a hoof along the deep spirals, a sharp intake of breath indicating when he touched the jagged wound.

Dropping his hoof, Hades ignored the villagers rushing around him. He ignored the squeals of an old fire-engine and hurried shouts as the mortals worked to douse the flames, and instead contemplated the past few years. He had spent too much time mourning and not enough tending to his wounds. The wounds lacerating his heart and body had been allowed to fester and scar. And now he had been reduced so low that he had to rely on Zeus, of all ponies.

He had been aware this would happen. The journey had been utterly foolish, maimed as he was. Intruding into the realms of other alicorns, conflict had been inevitable.

“It is time to do something about this,” Hades growled, taking to the air as he dismissed his bident.

Across the valley Zeus and Faust continued to fight, one casting the other upon a mountainside. Hades had to admit that, for an intangible, Faust was doing well. But he also knew that her defeat was inevitable. He had fought Zeus long ago, and the power the God of Storms was displaying was far from the entirety of his power.

In a crack heard across the continent, the mountain’s peak vanished, consumed by a thousand tongues of lightning. Hades braced himself, a shockwave buffeted him, sending him tumbling towards the ground. Regaining his balance, he continued to climb, one eye watching as the clouds began to part, torn asunder by the mountain’s ruination. Landing atop a fragment, he wondered if the battle was over.

It was not long to find out the answer.

Grim and covered in blood, much his own, Zeus alighted next to his brother.

“Faust?”

“She will not bother us nor interfere again,” Zeus said, his voice tinged with weariness.

The God of Storms brushed past his brother, forming the cloud into a chariot. With a gruff instruction to take them west, Zeus laid down, unconcerned with appearances. Turning away and looking back towards the valley, fires raging throughout its length and a giant cloud of ash and stone still climbing into the night from the dead mountain’s corpse, Hades wondered about Faust’s own fate.

She was another victim, buried in an unmarked tomb of rough stone.

Hades closed his eyes, feeling the brisk wind in his mane and remembering another night not so dissimilar.

It had been darker, there being no stars in Tartarus, and rain had been caressing his face. The first rain to ever fall upon Tartarus, mixing with the crystalline tears dropping from his chin. Hecate, his first wife, laying limp in his hooves as her blood pooled upon the stone, and in the distance, the fleeting specks that were his youngest daughter and second wife, along with those that had come to wrest them from the Underworld. Hades ground his teeth together as he banished the memory and looked up to see the stars had stopped their dance and instead wept.

* * *

Thousands of miles to the south, Twilight sat, stunned, at the stern railing of the Bellerophon.

“Twi, what is it?” Rainbow asked, stepping up beside her friend.

“I-I... I think that my Aunt...” Twilight gulped unable to finish the thought as tears began to rim her eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Rainbow said, wrapping a wing around Twilight. For a couple seconds Rainbow was surprised by how much bigger Twilight was compared to her. She’d noticed Twilight was growing, but it hadn’t struck her until then. Tossing the thoughts aside, Rainbow tried to emulate Fluttershy, hushing Twilight, trying to calm her. “Come on, just say it. It can’t be that bad, right? Faust’s a tough pony.”

“Dash, I think she’s d-dead.” Twilight sobbed.

Rainbow froze, her mouth hanging open like a barn door.

Faust was thousands of years old, and sure, she was a little odd, but Rainbow couldn’t imagine she’d died. She’d just been with them, chatting at the rail and drinking tea, before teleporting off somewhere.

“C-Come on, Twi,” Rainbow said, her own voice faltering and cracking as she tried to process the news. “How can she be dead? You Alicorns live forever, right?”

Twilight gave Rainbow a pitying look and shook her head.

“We can die, Dash, just not in the same way as you and the other girls.” Twilight sighed, sinking more into Rainbow’s embrace. Talking with Rainbow was helping keep her mind a little organised, and prevented her from dwelling on what the stars had shown her. If she didn’t think about it, maybe it wasn’t true. Grasping that flimsy straw Twilight said, “Athena, she’s an alicorn that died.”

“So... um.” Rainbow faltered. She was pretty certain that this conversation was not the right one to be having at that moment, but she was at a loss as to what else she could do or say.

Twilight was about to say more, or start to lecture, when she tensed up. Her head swept across the flat sea as she shrugged Rainbow off. Leaning over the railing, she began to open her mouth to speak when there was a flash of light and Faust tumbled onto the deck.

She was covered with a few burns and dozens of cuts, the feathers on her left wing charred at the tips, her coat on that side patchy. Her mane and tail hung in ragged tufts, the ends still curling and smoking. Both legs on her right side were bent in places that should not have been bending. The worst wound was to Faust’s horn. A great crack ran down the middle from tip to base.

Sputtering, her mane twisting itself into clumped, frazzled knots, Twilight stared at her aunt for a half moment before she screamed.

At once the ship was alive with activity.

Miss Hollow, the Officer of the Watch, suspecting the flash and scream to be caused by a cannon, ordered the ship to beat to quarters. Meanwhile a pair of sturdy sailors and one of Twilight’s own guards raced aft to the princess. The beating of the drum was accompanied by the stampeding of hooves as the other watches were roused and raced to ready the ship for action. Confusion reigned, stealing precious seconds; time Rainbow knew they couldn’t spare.

Looking once at Twilight’s distraught pleading and the sputtering of magic coming from her horn as she attempted to force her disorganised mind into performing magic, Rainbow came to single conclusion.

“I’ll be right back,” was all she said before racing below, shouting at ponies to get out of her way.

Down and down she went until she reached the medical bay. Kicking open the door, she was pleased to see Timely Crown at his station, though the doctor had large bags under his eyes, and the left side of his face seemed to be twitching. Rainbow had little time to ponder the doctors haggard appearance, however.

“Doc, we need you on deck right now!” Rainbow said, her tone and face conveying that there was no time to argue.

Without comment, Timely followed Rainbow, both winding their way back towards the surface through the chaos of the ship preparing for battle. By the time they reached the deck, a gaggle of ponies, all officers, were gathering around the princess.

“Timely, there you are,” Hardy said, ordering the dumbstruck ponies to make way for the doctor and Rainbow.

“My word, what happened here?” Timely hissed, fatigue flying before the sight that greeted him. After a quick inspection he shook his head, clicking his tongue. “This is no good, I can’t treat her here. You and you, carry her below, gently,” Timely said, pointing to a pair of stout unicorns. “Do not ruffle a single feather nor have a strand in her mane disturbed, am I understood?”

Rainbow escorted Twilight after the doctor and ponies carrying Faust. The princess’ eyes had glazed over, her sight fixed on some point on the middle horizon. She offered no protest, only muttering, “The spell won’t work. Why doesn’t it work? I’m doing it the same as before. What am I doing wrong?”

Behind Rainbow came Hardy, the captain pausing to order the crew to house their guns. A harsh muttering flowed through the lower decks, word of Faust’s injuries spreading like wildfire.

“Cursed, mate, this voyage be cursed,” said one sailor to another, both watching the great-cabin door. “First those pirates happen upon us in the middle of the sea, with us pretty as you please and ripe for their grape and shot. Then our Lady of the Night is attacked and has her stars stolen, the Seaweed sisters perish on that accursed island, and now this. I tell you what, we got a Jonah aboard, we do indeed.”

“A Jonah?”

“Jonah, she angered the Sea, so the Sea turned her luck sour. Visited any ship she stepped hoof upon with unnatural misfortune, until, in the end, the Sea grew tired and swallowed the ship whole. Sucked it straight down to the bottom.” The first sailor said in a low undertone. “Twilight help us all.”

From the great-cabin came a terrible scream that sent the sailors skittering back.

Behind the door waged a fierce battle as Timely inspected his patient with cold, clinical eyes. The cause of the scream had been the setting of a broken leg. Writhing atop the great desk, Faust hissed out a long waterfall of curses; most directed towards herself, but a few choice words added in about Timely’s lineage and threats towards his future foal.

“Madam, I’m not even married, nor liable to be so for some time, so you may take your dire predictions about the name of my foal and kindly shove them where—”

Whatever Timely would have said was lost as Faust screamed again to the setting of another bone.

“You are a most vile wretch,” Faust spat once with slow, measured breaths, taking care not to aggravate her sore ribs. “I should have named you Cruel Crown.”

“I’m certain there are many who would have agreed such a name would have been most fitting,” Timely absently muttered as he reached for his medicine chest, brought up from the medbay by his loblolly filly.

The filly, a sanguine coloured unicorn, stood beside Rainbow, her young eyes scanning and taking in everything the doctor did, jumping at the briefest hint of a command. Splints were applied, cuts were sewn, burns were covered in salves, and satchels of vials were opened. From one he pulled a large bottle, and from that bottle he measured out a dosage of some liquid.

Carrying it, slowly, in his magic, Timely found Faust glaring up at the bottle with a fury, red and pure.

“I’ll be fine, doctor,” Faust protested, a few flecks of blood staining her lips. “I am not some foal to be mollycoddled. I am Aethyir. Away with your balms and knives, I have no need of them. Time is all I require; time and the prayers of my faithful.”

Timely gave a roll of his eyes as Faust attempted to push back the bottle.

“Madam, this will ease your pain,” the doctor snapped, his limited patience already pushed to its boundaries.

Taking Faust’s muzzle in his magic, he forced the weakened goddess’ mouth open, and the tincture down her throat. Sputtering with rage, Faust nevertheless swallowed the medicine.

After a moment, the rage faded, and she seemed to wilt with pleasure.

“That is rather soothing, actually,” she said, suppressing a cough. She then waved towards the door. “You are all to leave, now. All of you except my niece.”

When nopony moved, Faust gave a grim glower, growling, “Now.”

Jumping at the command, the ponies shuffled from the cabin. Timely made to protest, but was silenced by a scowl and, muttering to himself, was the last to leave.

“Niece, come closer, there are some things I need to tell you,” Faust said, the words wheezing through gritted teeth, when they were alone.

“I don’t understand,” Twilight croaked, tears threatening to trickle from her eyes. “You’re Fate, aren’t you? Didn’t you see this? Or is this some Celestia damned contrivance, like in books and plays, where you have to sacrifice yourself for some purpose only you know?”

Faust winced and seemed to wilt on the table. Whether from the accusation lacing Twilight’s voice like venom or the obvious pain she was in, Twilight could not tell.

“Fate? No and yes. Fate isn’t something that is so easy to see, Twilight, and I am not infallible. Far more so than I once believed. None of us are. If we were, would my dear Lulu have become a Nightmare? I often catch glimpses of what may come to be, but the truth is, I am nothing more than a gardener, and the Weave my garden. I tend to it, care for it, make it whole when it is torn, and pluck the weeds should they appear. This is perhaps a good thing, to be reminded that even I can’t see all the branches and threads at once.”

Taking a moment to shift her wings, Faust gave a taught smile.

“This laudanum is wonderful stuff, Twilight. I wish we had had it millenia ago.”

“Yeah, but you have to be careful with it. Laudanum is highly addictive,” Twilight grumbled.

“Perhaps,” Faust’s eye managed to twinkle as she brushed past the subject, “and it is making me a little drowsy. So, I better say what I mean to say before I can’t say it.” Faust gave a slight giggle before snapping her eyes shut and shaking her head as if she were a wet dog drying herself. “Okay,” the goddess huffed to herself, “Okay, this stuff is more potent that I had imagined.”

Grabbing Twilight’s fetlock in her own, Faust pulled her niece closer.

“Firstly, don’t go after them.”

“Them?”

“Yes, them! My daughters and granddaughter will be able to deal with Mr. Thunderbolt and his brother.”

Faust let out a little giggle like she were a filly. After a moment, a scowl darkened Faust’s features as she fought to keep her emotions controlled, eyes shifting in and out of focus.Twilight brushed her aunt’s rusty mane back and made gentle, comforting noises like she used to for Spike when he would have a bad dream and crawl into her bed. Grasping the sound, Faust peered upwards, past Twilight, through the skylight to the still gathered stars.

“I attacked them Twilight. I did it. Me. My fault. He fought back because of me.” Faust muttered through the swirling euphoria induced by the laudanum. Her eyes then went wide, a sharp intake of breath making Twilight fear for a second that her aunt was hurt worse than she had let on. The fear was brushed aside as Faust hissed, “Don’t let them see me like this, Twi-twi. I don’t want my Lulu and Celly to know I did this to myself. A mother should appear strong for her foals... Don’t let them know... Please...”

“Of course,” Twilight automatically replied, though privately she wondered how she could avoid telling her cousins. Luna, at least, had to be aware something was happening with the stars’ antics that evening, to say nothing of the Moon herself if she had taken note of the fight relayed by Polaris.

“Promise me,” Faust insisted, pleading with look and touch. “Promise me...”

Unable to fight both the effects of the drugs and the strain of using so much magic after one and a half thousand years of inactivity Faust drifted off into a deep, encompassing, sleep. Twilight would have worried if not for the slight, almost imperceptible, breaths the elder goddess took. Mulling over Faust’s pleas, Twilight created a telekinetic field beneath her sleeping aunt and, very slowly, lifted her and carried her to a swinging cot.

“I promise,” Twilight whispered, kissing Faust upon the brow before securing her in the cot.

Wrapping the blankets over Faust, Twilight used a pair of ties to prevent her from being tossed onto the deck by any sudden lurches of the ship. When done, Twilight slowly moved to the cabin door. Beyond it she found a small crowd; the officers and passengers standing at the forefront, with the crew lingering behind or up in the shrouds, all with one ear turned towards the door.

“Well, how is she?” Timely asked, stepping forward and peering at the door over the rim of his spectacles.

“She’s resting and will be fine,” Twilight replied, heading towards the captain’s steward, and, more importantly, the tray of coffee and jam scones she carried.

Hesitating, professional considerations warring with the desires of his liege and goddess, Timely eventually gave a snappish, “Impossible mare,” shook his head, and went below to get some rest before he’d have to check in on ‘his’ patient.

“So, everything is alright, or rather, as alright as to could be hoped?”

“Yes, I guess s—”

Twilight was cut off, her voice ending in a sharp intake of breath, as an enormous pressure bloomed at the base of her horn. Staggering towards the rail, Twilight gritted her teeth. It wasn’t painful, but it felt like a mountain had decided the top of her head was as good a place as any to sit.

Shroud of the Night, spoke a voice that was both immense and gentle, like mist floating at the base of the Canterfalls. Your presence is required above.

Twilight stiffened, her heart immediately racing as she knew that the voice belonged to the moon. She’d tried on several occasions, particularly during the first few weeks of her awakening, to hold a conversation with the silvery orb that cut a wake through the night, parting Twilight’s stars like water on the prow of a ship. The moon —or Selene, as Luna informed Twilight— hadn’t responded, per se. Certainly not with words. The moon had simply given a soft smile and shimmer as she sailed amongst Twilight’s stars.

At that moment, Twilight was a little thankful that the moon hadn’t replied before.

Around tense teeth, Twilight said to Hardy, “It’s the moon,” before closing her eyes and detaching her awareness from her body, flowing up into the predawn sky.

* * *

Luna stepped lightly through the palace corridors humming a light tune. Court had concluded and she found herself with a few hours of free time. As had become something of a custom, Luna would take tea in her chambers and read a chapter from a novel before heading to her office and sorting through the mountains of waiting parchment.

A part of her mind wondered how Twilight was doing. It had been almost a week since they’d spoken more than simple greetings as their awarenesses floated high above the world and they tended to their respective charges; Twilight settling her stars while Luna guided the moon to it’s own bed beneath Ioka. Dusk and Dawn had become Luna’s favourite period of the day, those few, simple moments somehow making her always feel a little bit better, no matter how terrible the rest of her day or evening had been.

And her days had often been terrible since the failed expedition to find the third foal.

The nobles were in a quiet uproar, like a hive of bees that had been poked. Rumours circulated Canterlot about Cadence, Shining, and Tyr. Daycourt had been peppered with questions and queries. Enough so that even Celestia was beginning to wonder if she’d made the right choice to foster the filly with Cadence.

But it was done, and they would just have to bear the consequences. At worst they’d last a few years. Certainly no more than a decade or two. Then things would settle down to relative normality again.

Seeing Cadence with Tyr had been so odd for Luna, that the first time she had seen them playing in the gardens she’d been struck almost senseless. A terrible ache had resonated in her heart, and she had wanted nothing more than to leap through the open window and join them.

How she wished she had.

Luna knew her daughter, however, and Cadence would have humoured her for a few minutes before finding an excuse to return with Tyr to their quarters. So, Luna had simply watched from the windows, the sun bathing the garden in golden light, before tending to her duties and heading to court.

More and more, Luna found herself watching them. But always at a distance. Always alone.

And that made the setting and rising of the moon that much more special, for in those minutes, Luna wasn’t alone. Twilight was with her, and together they shared the night.

A light snort came from the princess as she thought it over, letting her door swing shut behind her.

A thousand years ago, before she’d Fallen and become a Nightmare, Luna would have scoffed and raged at having the stars under the care of any other pony. Somepony else being there each and every dusk and dawn would have been almost unthinkable. The voice in her head would have cursed Twilight, named her a thief before whispering that Luna could take her stars back, if only Twilight was removed.

Thankfully, that voice was gone.

Luna was as close to inner peace as she’d ever been.

Her relationship with Cadence would mend, in time. And they had plenty of time.

Relaxing on her sofa, a copy of The Thuelessa in her hooves, Luna settled herself for a few hours of peace. The reports, all of them of nothing no doubt, could wait. The arbiters had been less successful than even Celestia and Luna in tracking down the final filly. Luna was more convinced than ever that, whoever she was, the remaining filly was close to finding her mark and Domain and that it somehow involved concealment, or something similar in nature. But those were concerns for later, for the moment, Luna had a book to read.

She’d barely cracked the book open, the musty warm smell of its pages wafting over her, when a dull throbbing yell struck her just behind her horn.

Light of the night, something is wrong, the moon almost shouted.

Sighing, Luna set the book aside, closed her eyes, and cast herself into the heavens. She was greeted by a wild yammering of voices. Some were angry, a few were afraid, most were inconsolable. The stars were swarming towards the center of the sky, gathering much as they had done the day Twilight had awakened to her full potential. Luna found herself jostling for room among the crowd. Passing Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka, she heard the three singing a dirge, with more and more of their sisters joining.

“Selene, what is going on?” Luna asked the moon.

I do not know. Only that something terrible has befallen southern Prance, and a mountain that once stood proud has been reduced to naught but rubble and ash, blotting out my sight of the land. I was busy watching Equestria, trying to spot the sneak-thief that has eluded us these weeks.

Luna’s awareness gave a little tremor, approximating a nod, as she found Polaris sitting at the heart of the star-swarm.

“Polaris, where is Twilight? What has happened?”

The Lodestar didn’t answer, the star concentrating on the world below. Turning to the next star, Luna repeated the question, and again she was ignored. The third star responded with a harsh shushing noise, like Luna was talking at the theatre. Leaving the obstinate stars, Luna turned to the moon.

“Selene, love?” Luna called to the moon, drifting away from the lodestar.

Yes? the moon asked, her voice both annoyed and resigned.

“Could you tell Twilight to meet me and Celestia?”

Certainly... I just want to... no, I’ve lost them. Curse it all, I had the villains, and now they are gone. The moon veritably trembled in impotent rage, her normally silken light becoming tendrils of frost in the night. I will do as you ask in a moment, beloved. Just let me... Was it that mountain over there? No, that is the Matterhorn... wrong range entirely, Selene muttered to herself before letting out a long, terrible roar. Why must they all look so alike?

“Don’t be long,” Luna sighed, returning to Canterlot and leaving the moon to search for whatever she had lost, and hopefully contact Twilight.

On returning to her body, Luna made haste through the palace to her sister’s chambers. She briefly thought about waking Cadence or Iridia as well, but neither would be able to make the journey into the sky. Besides, Cadence needed her sleep, and Iridia... was Iridia. Luna shuddered thinking what her aunt would do if anything happened to Twilight.

Without a word to the guards stationed outside Celestia’s chambers, Luna threw the thick oaken doors open.

Celestia slept peacefully, her covers rising slowly. Luna stopped just before her sister’s bed, doubt taking root and wondering if she should leave Celestia alone and meet Twilight by herself.

Then again, if something had happened, and Twilight were distressed, Celestia could calm her far better than Luna. She didn’t think anything had happened to Twilight, at least, she hoped not. Surely, the moon or stars would have mentioned something if anything had happened to Twilight. Suppressing a shudder at the idea, far fetched as it was, of something harming Twilight, Luna concluded that, yes, she should wake Celestia.

A little, wicked grin took to her muzzle as an idea lept forward. Spurred on by the slight quickening of her heart, and the desire to banish the very slight tremors of worry, Luna grabbed the comforters and hurled them aside, the ring of her shoes echoing around the room as she stomped her hooves, almost shouting, “Tia! Get up!”

Poking her bedraggled head up, Celestia gave her sister a deeply unimpressed glower that promised retribution if Luna’s reason for waking her wasn’t satisfactory.

Before Celestia could ask what was happening, Luna blurted out, “Tia, something has happened. The stars have gathered again, and Selene mentioned something about a mountain being missing and that she was watching some villains, but she lost them. I’ve told her to contact Twilight and have her meet us in the sky, should she be able. What if something’s happened to Twilight?”

A shard of ice jabbed itself into Luna’s heart as the memory of Namyra raced forth.

Trembling, Luna found her words begin to tumble a bit, one after the other, as the memory took root, ensnaring her thoughts and heart like the arms of a nebulous squid. The memory clamped down, twisting through Luna until she was on the verge of tears.

“She could be hurt. Maybe something happened to the ship? A... a storm, perhaps? Or maybe a mutiny? Have we failed her like we failed before?”

A stunned silence pervaded the room as the sisters looked into each other’s eyes. Celestia then leaned forward, wrapping her wings about Luna as the younger princess trembled, releasing the sudden rush of anxiety in hiccuping sobs. When Celestia felt her sister calm down enough she released the embrace.

“Lulu, you’re jumping to conclusions. What do you know? Not fear, but know.”

Steadying her racing heart, Luna recounted for her sister what little she’d seen and heard. When she finished the brief explanation, Celestia sat, a pensive look on her face.

“Well, you did the right thing asking the moon to contact Twilight. Now, let’s go and wait for her,” Celestia said, sending herself skyward as she spoke.

Luna hesitated, terrible images and ideas flashing through her mind before she followed her sister.

“She’s not here,” Luna stated once they were above the disc, Canterlot and Equestria no more than a mesh of twinkling lights below.

“Patience, sister,” Celestia sighed, “If something was truly wrong, Twilight would have had a star contact you.”

Grumbling a little at Celestia’s logic, Luna said under her non-existent breath, “Only if she thought to do so. She’s rather headstrong and hopelessly foolish at times. It might not have occurred to her to get her stars to contact you or I, or she doesn’t want to ‘bother us’. You especially.”

Celestia gave a little humm of agreement, but didn’t comment. Instead she fixed her sight eastward. It was a long, agonizing wait until the sisters felt Twilight’s approach, and Luna released a sigh of worry she hadn’t known she’d been withholding.

* * *

Up among the stars, Twilight felt the pressure release itself, and a tingling, comforting aura surround her in its place. Still, she couldn’t help but tremble like a filly caught with her hoof in the cookie jar and not look directly at the moon when she spoke.

“Yes, Selene, can I help you?”

My Mistress and Guide wishes to speak with you about the... events... in Trotalonia, the moon replied, her gaze already shifting back to the disc below, searching for something.

“Oh,” was all Twilight said in response, an anxious laugh tittering from her essence as she pulled the nearest star closer for support. “Buck, what do I do? What do I say?”

The star, Brachium, gave a little giggle, and said, Careful there, beloved, you don’t want the others to get jealous. The star took on a golden tone as she laughed, then whispered so only Twilight would hear, I’ve seen and found that little white lies are the best, Mistress. Brachium wiggled free of Twilight’s grasp, pausing a short distance away to flick her twinkling light and shimmy, as if she were brushing something free from her mane, if she had a mane. Go on, don’t keep them waiting. Brachium laughed again as she and the other stars of Libra returned to their portion of the heavens.

Gulping, Twilight drifted towards the west, and where she was certain Luna and Celestia waited. She did not have far to go before she felt the cool touch of Luna followed by the warm, spicy fragrance of Celestia.

“Um, you wanted to speak with me?” Twilight asked, feeling very much like she was a young mare again being called into Celestia’s office.

“Twilight, what is going on?” Luna asked without preamble, flicking a short tendril of herself towards where the stars were slowly dispersing.

“Oh, uh... that? Erm, nothing?” Twilight tried to give a reassuring smile. Her ethereal form proved uncooperative as it instead wilted a little.

“Cousin,” Celestia began, the single word, and the love with which it was spoken, filling Twilight with a tingle of happiness. It would be a long time before hearing Celestia call her that would grow old. “You are a poor liar in normal conditions, and absolutely wretched when forced to show your emotions on your peytral. We know that something has attracted the attention of all your stars, and they even gathered. They’ve only done so three times before in history. Your awakening, Luna’s fall, and your sister’s... passing.”

Twilight felt like she had been slapped in the face, mostly as she had the reflex reaction to face-hoof, but lacking the ability seemed to do little to prevent the sensation.

“We are aware something monumental happened in southern Prance,” Luna added. “Selene can see the aftermath clearly even now.”

Balking a little, Twilight decided it was best to come clean. Or as close to clean as she could manage.

“I can’t tell you,” Twilight admitted, trembling a little as she spoke.

“What do you mean that you can’t tell us?” bristled Luna. “Something clearly important has—”

“Shush Luna, Twilight isn’t somepony we can order to tell us the truth.” Celestia flowed forward, wrapping her sister in the equivalent of a hug. “We won’t force you to tell us if you can’t, Twilight. But answer us this. Are our little ponies in danger?”

“I... don’t know. Auntie said it was her fault that... Eep!” Twilight clamped her mouth shut, an action that involved constricting herself into a ball the size of a peach, too late.

“‘Auntie said?’” Luna repeated the carelessly spoken words very slowly, her form shrinking and growing darker. “Mother is with you?”

“No?”

Shrugging off her sister’s embrace, Luna began to drift out of the sky.

“Lulu, where do you think you’re going?” Celestia asked, her voice that odd combination of idle curiosity and smug confidence that preceded an argument she was destined to win. That she was about to have an argument that she’d win.

“To mother.” Luna said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Luna, sister, no.” Celestia gave Luna a stern look. “She obviously doesn’t want us to know she has reappeared. Mother rarely does things without purpose, or at least the belief of purpose.” Turning to Twilight, Celestia then said, “All I want to know is if she is alright.”

Squirming, Twilight relented a little. “She’s been in a fight with somepony,” Twilight said before giving a long list of the various injuries she was aware of, Luna gasping at the mention of Faust’s cracked horn.

“Oh mother, always thinking you’re planning ahead, when you’re really just rushing from moment to moment.” Celestia trembled a little, and it was Luna’s turn to be the comforter.

“We should go to her, Tia,” Luna whispered.

“No, Lulu, no,” Celestia said forcefully, collecting herself, seeming to glow brighter as she returned her attention to Twilight. “Did she say who she fought? Or why?”

Twilight considered the question, attempting to tap her chin in thought.

“I don’t know who, only that she called him ‘Mr. Thunderbolt’, but I got the feeling the name was conjured by the laudanum more than it being his real name. I do have an idea of why, however. She had me help her bind Athena to the Weave claiming that the spirit was obscuring her sight of the future.”

Luna gave a snort, snapping, “Mother can’t see the future, not with any clarity! She’s always overestimated the Weave, and her ability to read it. The Weave shows the past clearly, yes, but the future? It’d be like pouring a bag of feathers over a cliff and predicting where they will land. The Weave, Twilight, is the binding of life and souls, and because it is souls, she can see aspects of a ponies nature, what makes them who they are, or will be. But knowing a pony will have a talent for singing, say, isn’t the same as knowing that on the fifth of June, in the year five seventy, the filly will discover her talent as she sings to her mother beneath the moon, during a light rain. But, no, mother has always confused the two.”

Beginning to pace, Luna continued her breathless rant, her essence flashing as she spoke. Twilight was stunned into silence by the swiftness of the change in Luna. Had she a mouth, it would have been hanging open.

Without pause, Luna continued, an almost invisible storm of pent-up anger in the night.

“If she could see the future clearly, what kind of monster must she be to let your sister, her niece, fall into the hooves of cultists and have her soul torn asunder. Or to then direct and play with a group of mortal ponies to defeat her grief-mad sister? Or to watch —and I know she was watching, she is always watching— as I fell, tormented by whispers at the edge of my mind. Not once, in fifteen hundred years, has she so much as let us know she is alright. Not once!”

“Mother did the best she could, Lulu,” Celestia interrupted, trying to comfort her sister again.

“We are her daughters,” Luna snarled, flowing towards Celestia, pushing her sister back. “And she has not had the courtesy or thought to let us know she is alive, or that she misses us. Does she even miss us?”

Luna began to wilt and drift back towards the disc, her anger diminished.

“I would give anything to let my daughter know how much I love her, how much I regret the things I have done. It hurts to watch from the windows, to see her with Tyr and to know that, once, that is how I should have been with her. But at least I know that she knows I am there for her, as much as she wishes me elsewhere.” Halting in her descent, Luna turned towards the silent pair above. “I try, at least. I do the small things, the little things day after day that are truly important. I try to be there for her, to let her know she can come to me, when she is ready.

“But not our mother. She is consumed with the big, grand moments. Well, those are far between and too few. Let her stew in her isolation and loneliness, if that is her choice. I care not.”

With that, Luna threw herself from the sky and back to her body below. Several, long, moments of silence followed her departure before Twilight regained her tongue.

“I thought you both wanted to see Faust again, and even wanted me to be a sister?”

“We did,” Celestia sighed. “Family, Twilight, is complicated. And when you are immortal, it is even more so. There is a lot of time to build resentment, longing, love, anger, disappointment, and pride. All without detracting from the others. You still have the perspective of a mortal, but in time, it will change. But not too much, I hope.

“However, that conversation is for another day. Tell mother... Tell her we love her, and we respect her wishes to wait for our reunion.” Celestia gave Twilight a light hug, her touch sparking and burning pleasantly. “Now I have to deal with an unknown, and possibly angry, Awakened Alicorn as well as find a filly that seemingly vanishes into thin air. Oh, and a grumpy Luna. Thank you for that, mother.”

“Wait, aren’t you mad at whoever hurt auntie?” Twilight asked as Celestia released the hug and started to flow from the sky.

“Oh, I am, and there will be a reckoning, make no mistake.” Celestia spoke slowly as she halted just below Twilight, her form boiling like pitch. “But I must think of our little ponies first and foremost. You can see for yourself the damage that can be caused when we immortals fight. I have to be the better mare, as much as I want to find whoever hurt Mother and shove my sword up his backside.”

Twilight slowly nodded and gulped, her essence suddenly cold as she watched her cousin leave the sky. Turning, Twilight went east, looking for the valley, following the guides the stars had told her about. It wasn’t hard to find, as it alone was glowing with embers among the peaks and valleys of the Pyrenees. Too far up to see the ponies, Twilight felt for the first time truly like a goddess, all seeing, but not all-seeing, the finer details lost in the greater picture.

How many ponies had been hurt? How many lives had been turned on their heads because of the actions of two alicorns? Twilight didn’t know, but she resolved to find out. Without words, Twilight asked the stars of Orion to watch over the smoldering valley. Twilight finally left the sky and returned to the world, resolving to visit the valley when she was in Prance.

Feeling her hooves on Bellerophon’s gently swaying deck, Twilight turned to find the ship silent save for the creak of the rigging and soft slap of waves rippling along her sides. All those on the deck stood, watching her, and the faint wisp of light that hovered just before her. Recognition struck Twilight, shock warring with anger and hope in her throat.

Mistress, Sirius began, her voice like the last frost of winter clinging to blades of grass. I need your help.

“Sirius?” Twilight gaped, working her mouth slowly as half a dozen different exclamations rushed to be uttered. She settled on, “What in Celestia’s name are you doing here? I closed the pathway between the heavens and earth two days ago!”

Sirius didn’t respond, not with words. She didn’t have to for Twilight to be able to know the answer. Coiling tight, the star burned bright with shame and pride for a moment, before exhaustion took her and she drifted down to the polished wood.

I had to help her. Sirius just said, her light turning away from Twilight ever so slightly. But I can’t anymore.

“Sirius, I’ve not seen or heard from you in weeks...” Twilight said, trying to make her voice soft. She wasn’t certain of how successful she was. A twitch in the corner of an eye began to take hold as Twilight laid herself down beside the star. Sirius couldn’t muster the energy to even try to shift away from Twilight. “I’ve been so pre-occupied with other things, I didn’t even think anything of you being missing. I just assumed you were still mad at me. I’m sorry.”

The star tried to shrug, but even that was too much effort.

Pride before the fall, Mistress, and we are both proud creatures, in our own ways. Sirius laughed, her voice so quiet it was almost stolen by the wind. Can you, will you, send me back to my sisters? I’m too tired to make this journey myself.

“Of course,” Twilight said, love shining from her smile. As she picked up the star, opening up the channels between her and the heavens, Twilight continued, “Your sisters have a tale or two to tell, as I’m sure you guessed.”

Sirius said nothing, the star falling asleep as Twilight’s mane engulfed her and she was embraced by the night, and her sisters. Closing the channels again, Twilight didn’t need to look to know that Sirius was where she should be.

Silently making her way through the staring ponies, Twilight decided sleep was a good idea all around. She failed to see the smiles that dotted the crew and officers. Even Hardy, trying to remain stoic at the holy starboard quarter-deck rail, had a twinkle in his eye.

“Wosh all dish?” asked one mare to her mates in a whisper carried by the wind.

“A star, mate, a star!” responded old Jill Place, giving a smile that was more gum than teeth. “And not just any ol’ star neither, but the Firestar.”

“Oh,” the first mare said, paused, then asked, “wosh i’ min?”

“Tis a sign. The Firestar knows of the Jonah and will take care of her, mark my words. Tis a sign. Good days and better nights are ahead.”

Several of the crew bobbed their heads in agreement, while Poetic Verse gave a proud grin.

“Up, up, the cannon and thunder. Firestar above, the Great Star below. Grab the mare beside you, and d’not blunder. The Great Star, we will follow!”

Twilight heard none of this exchange, and had she, she wouldn’t have had the heart to correct the crew’s assumptions.

Sending a brief notice to Polaris to tend to her sister, Twilight went to her cot. As Twilight laid her head down upon her pillow, watching Faust’s slow breaths on the other side of the cabin, the stars, one by one, faded from the night early, until the moon was alone among the the blue velvet of the sky, pink hinting in the east as her sister began to stir.