Anyone interested in the sciences have dreamed of the day when they’d be able to take part in the next great breakthrough. A discovery so revolutionary that it could forever change how anyone would go about research in that particular field. Something that could change life in Equestria as they knew it.
“Come on. Come on.”
Few actually possessed the drive to follow such dreams, content with merely being ‘acceptable’ in their field of study. Fewer still, no matter how passionate, actually succeeded in turning that dream into a reality.
“What am I missing here?”
Of course, the path to such incredible revelations was paved with equally incredible frustrations.
“Why isn’t it working? Ugh!”
And as bright as she was, even Twilight wasn’t immune to such frustrations.
Perhaps it was due to lack of sleep, enduring night after sleepless night over the course of the past several weeks as she laboriously conducted and connected her research. Perhaps it was her constant checking and rechecking of her notes, keen eyes on the lookout for the slightest discrepancy only to find none. Perhaps her frustrations could’ve been attributed to something else entirely, or perhaps all of these reasons played some part. At the end of the day, the result was the same.
Twilight was frustrated. Very frustrated. And there was only one poor soul in all of Equestria who was all too familiar with that.
Spike stood at the foot of Twilight’s bed while the alicorn turned it into her personal stress reliever, burying her head into her numerous pillows as she tried to scream herself into some kind of stupor. He didn’t dare move, as nearly every inch of the bedroom floor was covered with notes, diagrams, and the like.
On numerous occasions, he offered to arrange them in a neat little pile on her nightstand, but she always refused, insisting that their placement was just as important as the notes themselves. He couldn’t help but scoff at the notion, as they certainly didn’t seem very important as she threw them about the room during her little fit.
Slight, uncommitted maneuvers from side to side were all he needed in order to avoid the numerous quills and crumpled bits of paper that came flying his way. It was a particularly useful skill of his, one that he had more than enough time to perfect throughout his career as Twilight's assistant. Another thing that he grew to learn was that getting in the way of that lavender hurricane of irate irritation was a terrible, terrible idea. More times than not, it was better for him to stand by and let nature run its course.
It wasn’t that he was unsympathetic, absolutely not. In fact, he hated seeing Twilight work herself up like this, especially if it risked leading to disappointment. However, after living with her for such a long period of time, he just grew used to things like this.
“Gee, Twilight. Don’t you think you might be overworking yourself a bit?” And yet, somehow, he still managed to say the wrong things at the wrong time.
Twilight snapped her head up, eyes threatening to burn a hole in the wall before her. “Overworking?” she repeated, voice low and disturbingly somber.
“Uh-oh.”
That gaze of hers immediately switched over to the young dragon, effectively rooting him to the ground. “Spike, if I can make this work, it could open up an entirely new chapter in magical study. This idea, this practice, it’s the kind of thing that ponies thought only existed in fairy tales, and now here we are, able to make it a reality. I have more than enough theories, but that won’t be enough. I need tangible proof of its existence, and my window to find that proof is closing with every passing second. I don’t think I’m overworking; I think I’m not working hard enough!”
No matter how impossible the notion seemed, she couldn’t allow it to slip through her hooves. She just couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not while Celestia still believed in her.
“Wait! I’ve read about this before. It was the, um… yes! The multiverse theory!”
A proud glint flashed in Celestia’s eyes as she looked at the bright mare. “Ah, so you already know of it?”
The two of them relaxed within the confines of Celestia’s chambers, each of them resting on one of the many plush cushions that the room had to offer. The bright midday sun shone its rays through the large window, reflecting off of the marble floor and giving the room an almost ethereal glow. Twilight and Celestia, basking in the sun’s warm light, held cups of tea in their respective magical auras.
Twilight had to admit, despite spending a considerably larger amount of time in Canterlot, she and Celestia rarely had the time anymore to simply relax and discuss things that didn’t involve politics or other royal duties. When Celestia had asked her if she wanted to stop by for tea and a nice chat, not only was she shocked, but she was simply ecstatic as well.
However, their chat came to a short pause when Celestia asked that particular question. Twilight could do little more than scratch one of her forelegs, a small, sheepish grin on her face. “Yes, well…” Twilight quickly took another sip of tea, more to buy herself extra time than anything else. “I remember being interested in it when I was younger, but the lack of any solid evidence proving its validity kind of pushed me away.”
“And you wouldn't be the first to have that reaction,” Celestia said. “In fact, this theory nearly met oblivion due to the lack of any tangible evidence.”
“A fate that befalls many theories that have nothing to back it up.”
Celestia nodded before taking another sip of her own tea. “Yes, that may be true, but consider this. Just because the evidence can’t be found by the public, doesn't mean that the evidence doesn’t exist.”
At this, Twilight perked up, feeling a sudden surge of energy rush through her chest. She wasn’t certain if it was her inner scholar, inner theorist, or inner mage, but her inner something had just danced a dance of utter joy. Her eyes, wide and curious, looked back up at Celestia. “You mean that there’s proof that this theory is real?”
Twilight’s textbook curiosity only made Celestia’s smile grow wider, if only slightly. “That’s exactly right. And that proof stems from the concept of time travel, another theory that nearly met an early end due to its outlandish nature.” A throaty chuckle escaped her muzzle. “Bending the laws of time as you see fit. That does sound rather silly, doesn’t it? Look at where it is now, though.”
Twilight took a moment to absorb Celestia’s words. She was right. Centuries ago, most theorists or wizards worth their salt scoffed at the idea of traveling through time. But thanks to great minds such as Starswirl the Bearded, that idea very much became a reality, despite the odds. However, Twilight couldn’t let herself lose focus on the original topic. “But what does this have to do with the multiverse theory?” she asked.
A soft chuckle left Celestia’s muzzle, the kind of chuckle that she made whenever Twilight asked an obvious question. “As I said, there exist alternate timelines where events in Equestria’s history have played out in very different ways. You have time travel to thank for that.” She glanced back at Twilight for a moment, seeing nothing more than a pair of wide, knowledge-hungry eyes. Chuckling internally, she continued. “While the likes of Starswirl and Cosmic Dust were refining the art of time magic, a new question arose. What would happen if one used this magic to alter history? Several ponies sought an answer to this question.” For a moment, Celestia’s smile dissolved into a soft, somber frown. “I am fairly certain that they found them.”
The sudden change in tone did not go unnoticed by Twilight. Like a frightened foal, her ears softly flattened against her head. “What happened to them?”
Celestia didn’t spare a glance towards the curious mare. “They were never seen again," she said, plain and simple. "Not in this reality, at least. They became trapped within the reality that they created.”
“The reality that they... created?” Twilight repeated.
Again, Celestia nodded. “Contrary to popular belief, altering history does not affect an established timeline in any way, save for the sudden absence of the pony responsible. No matter how drastic the alteration, we will not wake up one day to suddenly find Equestria overrun by hairless apes." The mere notion elicited a short, dry chuckle from Celestia before her face fell again. "No, it merely creates a new timeline instead, complete with its own unique set of events.”
Twilight herself nodded as the words finally began to connect in her mind. “I see. So this is where the multiverse theory came from.” When Celestia nodded, Twilight continued. “But I still don’t understand how you can find proof of this. I mean, how can you prove that there are other universes out there?”
Celestia’s frown finally curved back up into that warm smile of hers. It seemed that she was just as eager to explain these things as Twilight was to learn them. “I’m glad you asked. This is where things grow rather… complex, though I know how you love complex theories.”
At that joyous word, Twilight practically bounced in her seat. “Oh, yes. Absolutely!”
Her foal-like reaction elicited another soft chuckle from Celestia. In this day and age, such moments with Twilight were rare, and only grew rarer as the days passed by. It was nice to savor another.
Celestia gently placed her tea cup off to the side. Shutting her eyes, her horn went aglow with a faint, golden light. Seconds later, a thin blue line formed in front of the two. “Today, most view history as a linear timeline of events. The multiverse theory, however, expands this single line into an entire network.”
To illustrate her point, Celestia’s horn flared and the single blue line exploded into a large web of bright, wispy stands. Those strands branched off at certain points, only for those branches to branch off again, only for those to branch off even more, happening again and again until it seemed almost impossible to follow a single one. And in the middle of it all, Twilight could still make out her line, that single blue line in an impossibly thick web of others.
As Twilight sat there, staring at the display with a completely dumbfounded expression, Celestia calmly continued her explanation. “Imagine that each strand represents a different timeline, points where historical events led to drastically different outcomes. Our own timeline is still very much present, but it is far from the only one."
"I-I... I see," Twilight muttered.
"And there's more," Celestia said, something of a playful smirk coming across her face when she saw Twilight's eyes somehow grow wider. "Each of these universes, different as they may seem, are all connected by something of a spiritual energy, to put it simply. It serves almost as a bridge that connects all of these universes together. However, this energy is normally so faint that it’s impossible to detect, even for beings such as alicorns.”
The words registered in Twilight’s mind, but her body simply refused to move, to tear her eyes away from the marvel before her. The mere prospect of multiple dimensions was enough to hold a vise grip on her interest all of those years ago. To actually hear its validity confirmed by Celestia, however, was almost too much to bear. It felt like a dream.
“B-b-but…” Twilight sputtered. “But if it's undetectable, how do you know that the energy’s there at all?”
Celestia brought her gaze down to Twilight, a knowing glint in her eyes. It was a look that Twilight had long since come to recognize; Celestia was expecting such a question.
Without missing a beat, the princess’ horn lit up again. The entire web dissipated into thin air, leaving behind two wispy strands parallel to each other. “Though the spiritual connection between two universes is normally undetectable, that is only due to the vast distance between them. Place enough distance between yourself and I, and you'll find it near impossible to detect me as well.” Slowly, the two strands drifted closer towards each other. “However, very rarely, due to powerful influence from either side, two universes may grow closer to each other than most.”
“And the decrease in distance increases the strength of their connection,” Twilight finished, finally wrapping her head around it.
A proud smile graced Celestia’s face as she nodded. Just as she expected, Twilight was already starting to catch on. “Precisely. And should the connection become strong enough, that energy will become detectable. Not only is this where that tangible proof can be found, this is also when inter-dimensional interaction is thought to be possible.”
Twilight froze stiff, a small, almost maniacal smile on her face. She was positive that her inner filly was now dancing joyously about in her psyche, shouting out in pure ecstasy. “I-inter-dimensional… R-really?”
The smile on Celestia’s face only grew wider. She may as well have given her the entire memoire of Starswirl’s life on Hearths’ Warming Day. “Yes. But that proof can only come to be if a great mind makes it so. And I believe that great mind is right here in front of me.”
Celestia had placed faith in Twilight, faith that she’d be able to uncover Equestria’s next great discovery, and that faith was slowly but surely being wasted with each passing moment. All of her work, all of her effort, all of this time she poured into the research, and it all threatened to amount to nothing. But she couldn’t allow that to happen. If there was even a sliver of a chance that it could all lead to something, no matter how small, Twilight was going to find it.
With a flap of her wings, Twilight took to the air. Hovering over her notes, she scanned her eyes over all of them with unrelenting scrutiny. Maybe if she was lucky, whatever was wrong would jump out from the pages and put on a little song and dance. Needless to say, that didn’t happen.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with my notes. No inconsistencies, no miscalculations. Nothing!” With another immensely frustrated sigh, she threw herself to the ground next to her notes, burying her face into the hardwood. The wood did a surprisingly good job of muffling her exasperated groans.
With a justifiable amount of hesitation, Spike made his way towards Twilight, being careful not to let a single claw so much as scrape the corner of her notes. The last time that happened, he was kicked out of the bedroom for days.
Slowly, he put out a single hand and rested it on Twilight’s shoulder. He wasn’t exactly well-versed when it came to comforting another, especially if they were as mentally unstable as Twilight, but it was what she always did whenever he felt down. So far, it seemed to be working.
“Um… There, there?” he slowly said, borrowing from the clichéd mothering methods of children’s books. “I-I know things aren’t looking good, but if there’s anypony who can find a way out of it, it’s you.” At first, he merely stood there, unsure if his words had any effect on his panicked friend. That uncertainty was quickly washed away when he felt a warm purple wing wrap around him, pulling him in for a tight hug.
“Thanks, Spike. And sorry that I’ve been so difficult for the past few weeks.”
The hug, admittedly, caught him off guard at first, but it was only a matter of seconds before he eased into it. “Ah, you’ve been worse,” he casually said. “At least you didn’t flip the library over this time.” He couldn’t keep a smirk from cracking onto his face as he heard Twilight’s sheepish laughter. “How about I go get you a snack? I think you could use one.”
On cue, Twilight’s stomach rumbled, reminding its owner that even smart, on-the-brink-of-discovery scientists needed proper nourishment too. “Oh, my. It has been a while since I’ve eaten, hasn’t it?” After another small chuckle, she took her wing from around Spike. “Um, some food would be nice, thank you.”
“Gotcha. Just don’t have a breakdown while I’m gone.” Before Twilight could shoot him that playfully annoyed look of hers, Spike turned tail and made his way out of the bedroom. A flight of stairs later, and he was back on the library’s main floor.
Safely out of Twilight’s sight, he heaved a tired sigh. He loved Twilight to death, he truly did, but there were just times when she became truly taxing on his nerves, especially when it reached a point when basic means of sustenance took a back seat to her research.
He still couldn’t believe that she actually said ‘Food is for the weak’ once without so much as a hint of levity. He knew that long-term studying was Twilight’s thing, but there were still times when she just worked herself far, far too much.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Spike made his way towards the kitchen. He supposed that he should’ve been thankful that he finally managed to convince Twilight to take a break, but at the rate things were going, the only way she’d actually reach the end of this would be if the answers to her problems waltzed right through the front door.
Then he heard a knock at the door.
“Hey, Twilight? Spike? Any o’ y’all in there?”
Coming to a stop, Spike breathed another sigh. Yes, he figured it was only a matter of time before her friends came to stop by again. Twilight playing the recluse for weeks on end only left her friends worrying for just as long. It didn’t help that whenever they did visit, they were rarely able to get a word out edgewise before Twilight shooed them out. Only by sheer luck did they finally stop by during a down period.
Spike quickly made his way towards the door and pulled it open. Twilight’s friends all wore painfully forced smiles upon seeing the young dragon. Even Pinkie wasn’t able to hide the worry in her eyes.
Spike waved a friendly hand. “Hey, girls,” he said, failing to mask his own worry. “Here to see Twilight, right?”
Rainbow Dash, hooves crossed, just scoffed. “Yeah, if she’ll even let us.” Her little remark earned her a quick prod from Applejack.
“We have been worrying about her,” Rarity admitted. “This period of reclusion has reached an extreme, even for her.”
“You guys are lucky, then,” Spike said. “Looks like you caught her while she’s taking a break.” He stepped aside, allowing the girls passage inside. “Come on in, I’m sure she’d wanna talk to you. She’s up in her room.”
Applejack gave him a slight nod as she walked by. “Thanks, Spike.”
While Spike returned to the kitchen, the five mares made their way up the stairs. Each step brought Twilight’s room further and further into view until they could see the mare herself. Worried frowns appeared across all of their faces when they saw that she was still poring over the numerous notes covering her bedroom floor. In her concentration, it didn’t seem that she even noticed her approach.
Applejack, intending to rectify that issue, coughed into her hoof.
That small bit of noise was enough to yank Twilight’s attention away from her work. The instant she laid eyes on the five mares, it seemed that she froze stiff, her expression not shifting in the slightest. Her face, locked in a virtually unreadable state, was a mere mask hiding the wave of emotions that washed through her body. Amongst the shock of seeing her friends so suddenly, to the surprise of seeing them at all, was something far more dominant: Regret.
In the next agonizingly long seconds, her mind drifted back to the events that unfolded over the last several weeks, back to all of the times when she refused to give her friends, seemingly the only ponies who cared enough to check on her, the time of day. All of the times when she shooed them away like pests just so that she could get back to bashing her head against a brick wall. And there they were again, despite her constantly batting them away. From the looks in their eyes, it already looked like they were expecting her to do it again.
Surprisingly, Fluttershy was the first one to break the tense silence. “Um, hi, Twilight. We’re not bothering you again, are we?”
Despite the question’s gentle delivery, it managed to hit Twilight like a punch square to the chest. “Oh, no, no, no!” she blurted out. “Y-you’re not bothering me this time. I mean… you’ve never really bothered me at all when you’ve visited. I’ve just been really, really, um… busy.” Her nerve-wracked, rapid-fire explanation earned her little more than a quintet of confused stares. Twilight quickly cleared her throat, her attempt at breaking the terribly awkward silence. “So, uh, what brings you all here?” She winced slightly as the question escaped her lips. As though she needed to ask such a thing.
“You know exactly why we’re here,” Rainbow said, voicing Twilight’s worries.
“Well… She doesn’t know exactly why we’re here,” Pinkie chimed in. “Last week, we were here to get Twilight to join our picnic. The week before that, we were here to get her to come with us to a museum in Manehattan. Now, we’re here to see if we can even get her outside!” Pinkie immediately turned that all too cheery gaze upon Twilight. “Well? Do you wanna come outside?”
Twilight turned her attention towards her bedroom window. She had to squint as the bright blue sky beyond the glass stung her eyes. It really had been a long time since she’d gone outside. “I… I suppose some fresh air wouldn’t hurt anypony.”
Pinkie’s reaction was instantaneous. The pink enigma, in a burst of excitement, leapt into the air, hovering in place for several seconds. “Woo-hoo!” she cried. “I knew I made the right call when I baked these!”
“Uh, baked what?” Applejack asked.
Pinkie gently eased herself back to solid ground, her triumphant smile plastered on her face. “Duh! My we-managed-to-get-Twilight-to-come-outside cupcakes!” Without missing a beat, Pinkie reached into some unseen space behind her and pulled out a tray of lavender cupcakes. “I was thinking about making more we-didn’t-manage-to-convince-Twilight-to-hang-out-with-us cupcakes, but I just had that feeling, y’know? And what do you know? I was right!”
Despite Pinkie’s usual, contagious bubbliness, it wasn’t enough to completely dispel Twilight’s unease. Shuffling her hooves across the floor, she brought her gaze back across her friends’ faces. “Sorry, girls. I’ve just been really busy lately.” Evidently, her not immediately pushing them out of her room this time offered some comfort. They visibly calmed down, breathing quiet, relieved sighs. That somehow only made Twilight feel worse.
“You’re tellin’ me,” Applejack said, casting an impressed gaze across the countless papers sprawled about Twilight’s room. “Spike told us you been workin’ yourself t’ death on… somethin’, but ya never told us what it was.”
Normally, Twilight would've jumped at the chance to explain her latest discoveries, even if the ones on the receiving end grew to regret their decision half an hour later. In this particular instance, however, that eagerness was replaced by an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Her eyes drifted down to the notes next to her, none of them bringing her any closer to that apparently crucial missing piece.
“It’s… It was something important,” she began. “Now, it’s not really even worth talking about.” The sheer shame behind her voice only added to the already thick tension lingering in the air. It weighed down on her friends just as heavily as it did herself.
“Oh, come on, Twi,” Rainbow said, the exasperation clear in her voice. She took to the air, hovering above the others. “You spend over a month straight on… whatever this thing is, and you’ve got nothing to tell us? Nothing?” Before she could grow too out of control, she was promptly yanked back to the ground by Applejack.
“Simmer down there, sugarcube.” Rainbow opened her mouth to say something else, but a glare from Applejack closed it back shut. Once the pegasus was appropriately simmered down, Applejack turned her attention back towards Twilight. “But she is kinda right,” she admitted. “I mean, if somethin’s buggin’ ya, you can tell us about it, bein’ your friends an’ all.” It looked like her words got through to Twilight, the mare’s face twisting into an ashamed frown. Sensing her unease, Applejack walked up and placed a comforting hoof on her shoulder. “Look, how about we get outta here? Somethin’ tells me you could use a change o’ scenery.”
While the idea only managed to catch Twilight’s attention, it brought a smile to Rarity’s face. “Oh, that does sound lovely. Today in particular is simply perfect for another picnic.”
The prospect of a picnic already had Pinkie bouncing on her hooves. “Oh, we’re gonna have a picnic? Again? I like picnics! Picnic starts with ‘p’! Do you know what else starts with ‘p’?”
“Um, party?" Fluttershy guessed.
“Pastries!” Pinkie chirped. “Gimme time and I can whip up something that’ll knock your socks off!”
At that particular exclamation, a playful smirk came across Rainbow’s face. “Pinkie, we’re not even wearing socks.”
In the blink of an eye, Pinkie’s face fell blank, the gears in her brain cranking away as they processed what she just heard. “Oh.” Just as quickly as it disappeared, however, that jovial smile of hers exploded back onto her face as she turned her gaze towards Rarity. “Rarity! Bring some socks for everypony so that I can knock ‘em off!”
Rarity recoiled slightly from the sudden request. A light blush came across her face as the image of her friends in socks made itself apparent in her mind. And it refused to leave. “I, er… I believe I’ll just provide us with the picnic blanket, if you don’t mind.”
As her friends discussed the plans for this impromptu picnic of theirs, Twilight could only stand by with an amused smile plastered on her face. That disappointment weighing in her gut had long since disappeared, replaced by that relieving warmth that always came with her friends’ presence.
Her eyes drifted back down at the notes around her, scanning across all of the various papers before resting on the saddlebags off in the corner. Even from that distance, she could make out the orange tip poking out of the bag. Just one of the two culminations of her research. Still, looking back, she could hardly believe that she neglected her friends in favor of orange and white pieces of stone that amounted to little more than paperweights at this stage of her research.
Even then, she couldn’t help but feel that she was missing something, and that it was staring her right in the face. Something that, if she found it in time, would finally lead her to the goal that she’d been pining for.
But that would have to wait. Right now, she had a picnic to attend to.
o----o----o
Not a sound.
Twilight didn’t dare make a single sound as she pressed herself firmly, painfully, against the cold, rough bark of a wide tree trunk. The stinging pain as the bark pierced her flesh spread across her back, but it was a small price to pay. It was better than the alternative.
Slowly, she released the breath that she had been holding, careful not to exhale too loudly. Just as slowly, she inhaled, taking in as much air as she could before holding it again. Her nostrils stung, filled with the stench of decaying wood and moss-covered rocks. The cold, damp leaves beneath her hooves shifted underneath her weight as she slowly slid down the tree trunk, resting on her haunches. The slightest of pains ached in her side, but she ignored it. She couldn’t afford to lose focus, not now.
She exhaled again. Inhaled again. Held in the breath.
She couldn’t afford to make a single sound, not if she wanted to make it back home. One wrong move, a single snapped twig, or the crunching of dry leaves, would echo throughout the dark forest, attracting all manner of unwanted attention. Even her heartbeat, pounding furiously inside of her chest, felt too loud, the sound reverberating in her very skull.
Not a sound. Not a single one.
Calm down, she mentally assured herself. Just… Just calm down, Twilight. You’ve been through worse than this. She wasn’t entirely certain how true those words were, but she supposed that deluded self-reassurance was better than sane acceptance of an imminent demise. After all, it wasn’t entirely hopeless. She still drew breath, which was more than could be said for most who ventured into the forest. She simply needed to form a plan. Yes, a nice, last-minute, life-saver of a plan. She was good at that. At least, that was what she wanted to believe.
Taking another painfully quiet breath, Twilight scanned her eyes from side to side, taking in her surroundings, or as of it much as she could see. Even with the moon overhead casting its silvery light over the landscape, only slivers of that light managed to pierce the forest’s thick canopy, illuminating only patches of the ground. Twilight could, at the most, see ten feet ahead of her before everything beyond dissolved into a blurry darkness, as though the forest itself was some type of light-devouring entity.
It’d have been simple to cast an illumination spell to see more of her surroundings, but in such darkness, it would only serve to give her position away for miles. It hardly mattered anyway; she only needed to see her light at the end of that vast tunnel, the one that she used time and time again as her guide out of that death trap.
With a careful hoof, Twilight shifted her saddlebag off to one side as not to crush it. Cautiously, she poked her head from behind the safety of the tree trunk. Eyes squinted, she scanned the area beyond. It was there somewhere. It had to be.
Where is it? Where is it? Where is—? Ah-ha! There! Twilight quickly brought a hoof up to her mouth, just barely stifling a gasp as her eyes lit up with excitement, locking onto their target. A streak of light off in the distance signified her way out. Her freedom. So close, yet so far. She just needed to reach it before they found her.
Lost in her excitement, her desperation, Twilight nearly started towards her destination, throwing caution to the wind. The instant that she raised that first hoof, however, that excited, disbelieving look on her face immediately crumbled into one of gut-wrenching terror. She froze in her tracks, muscles locking, ears flattening against her head, pupils shrinking down to little more than pinpricks.
Oh, no.
She heard them.
No, no, no. Please, not now.
She snapped her attention towards the noise, eyes, wide and frantic, peering into the impenetrable darkness before her. She couldn’t see them. Of course she couldn’t. But she could hear them. Oh, could she hear them.
The crunching of twigs and leaves underhoof. That coarse, pained breathing, coupled with vicious, feral snarling. And most disturbingly, most distinctly, that all too familiar snapping of bone, muscle, and sinew as those monstrosities forced themselves to walk on legs that have long since been twisted and deformed beyond all functionality.
Twilight’s stomach churned, both out of fear and disgust. Her blood ran cold. Her brain threatened to cease function. She could only stand there, motionless, as that cacophony of noise grew louder, closer, with each passing second.
Agonizingly long seconds ticked by before she finally snapped back to her senses, ducking back behind the tree. Any second now, and they’d be on top of her, unaware, but close enough to make the slightest slip-up a fatal one.
For a single, fleeting moment, Twilight entertained the idea of making a run for it, but she quickly dismissed that death wish. Those things, those shambling creatures, were deceptively fast, far more than they had any right to be. What else did that leave her? Fight? Absolutely not. She was terribly underequipped, armed with only a dagger, and use of magic would only tire her out.
No, Twilight knew that her best option was to remain smart, cautious, and above all, quiet; all too often, she heard stories of poor souls losing their lives by ‘playing the hero’. But Twilight wasn’t foolish. She knew her limitations, and her place in the world around her. She was no hero, and she was not going to delude herself into thinking otherwise.
Twilight snapped back to attention when she heard a nearby twig snap. They were close. From the sound of it, there were at least five, no more than ten feet and closing. Every step closer that they took wreaked havoc on Twilight’s nerves. She clamped her eyes shut, placing a hoof over her mouth to stifle the breathing.
Calm. She needed to remain calm. Even in the midst of this dire situation, she could still find respite in the fact that they were unaware of her presence, and they were nowhere near intelligent enough to track her down. So long as she did nothing to attract them.
The moment of truth was upon her. Their hoofbeats were no more than a few feet away from her hiding spot. Silence was her key to survival, though that was anything but an easy feat to achieve. Even with her eyes shut, even with her hoof practically buried into her mouth, the occasional whimper still found its way out of Twilight’s muzzle. She counted no more than three as they forced their way past her lips, all completely against her will, and each one only drove the nail of dread deeper and deeper into her heart.
They were right in front of the tree, a mere trunk separating them from their next victim. The noise—the crunching, the breathing, the snarling, the snapping—had reached a pinnacle, pounding against her eardrums despite her best efforts to drown it all out. The unbearable noise! The crunching, the breathing, the snarling, the snapping! It refused to stop! She could practically hear herself screaming inside of her mind, begging, pleasing for this unbearable torture to end.
And then… it stopped.
As the first minute ticked by, Twilight cracked open an eyelid. The noise had stopped. It finally stopped. She nearly foolishly believed that her torment had ended, that she must've blacked out while those things finally left, but something in her gut, that knot of anxiety, would not allow her to rest easy. Not yet. The forest was not yet silent. There was something else.
Breathing. Breathing that wasn’t Twilight’s own. Not just normal, controlled breathing, either, but quick, shallow breaths. It almost sounded like…
The dread that Twilight thought she’d gotten rid of returned in full. Those monstrosities never went away. They simply stopped moving. Stopped right in front of Twilight’s tree. And they were sniffing. Quick, excited whiffs of the aroma lingering in the air. They smelled something that they wanted and they were going to find it.
For a moment, Twilight almost believed that they had detected something else at the very last second, that she had gotten a lucky break. But that was mere wishful thinking. Her eyes widened in quiet terror as her mind drifted back to that lingering pain in her side. Slowly, fearfully, she brought her eyes down to her side. Sheer shock was the only thing that kept her crying out right then and there.
The smallest trickles of red ran down her flank, attracting the sharks to the feeding frenzy.
Her body dissolved into a purple blur, her vision going out of focus as the dread washed over her like a numbing blanket. Such a small mistake. Such a small, careless mistake, ignoring a wound she undoubtedly received during her travels there. It was likely the only reason why they managed to find her at all. All of her planning, all of her precautions—planned routes, planned escapes, backup plans, and backups for the backup plants—rendered moot by such a small mistake.
Her ears instinctively twitched as they picked up the sound of crunching twigs and leaves again. Internally, Twilight released something of a yielding sigh. They were closing in on her.
She almost didn’t want to believe it, that this was some twisted hallucination caused by her maddening paranoia. But the pain wasn’t fake. The crunching twigs weren’t fake. That rancid odor, the stench of decayed flesh, was not fake. Nothing about this was fake. If she didn’t do something, if something didn’t happen, then she would simply become another soul swallowed up by the unforgiving darkness.
As the creatures grew closer, the thought of fighting crossed Twilight’s mind yet again. If worst came to worst, it would truly be her best option of escape, slim as the chances were. Yet, she had very little to defend herself with. Perhaps, with her dagger, she could take down one or two, but if there were more than that…
Every second that ticked by brought those things closer and closer towards her. She could hear one sniffing the other side of the trunk as it attempted to discern where the source of the smell was. It was closest. It’d have to be the first to die. Perhaps if she took it down quickly enough, she’d be able to more easily deal with the rest, maybe even get away, depending on how many more there were. It would only take one, well-aimed strike.
Twilight’s horn went aglow with a very, very faint light, channeling enough magic to grip her dagger’s handle. Chills ran down her spine as she heard that excited breathing make its way around the tree. Soon, its head would poke into her vision. It was only a matter of time, a matter of seconds, before it’d be upon her. There was no getting around it. It was now or never. All of nothing. Her or them.
“Ow! Ugh, stupid trees!”
For a brief, fleeting moment, it felt as though everything stopped. Just… stopped. Movement, noise, basic brain function, and even time itself came to an apparent standstill as though reality itself was attempting to discern what had just happened. Twilight didn’t even have time to regain her composure, to properly register what had just happened, before she heard the monsters shamble away. Away from her and towards the source of that noise.
For the first time in an agonizingly long while, Twilight breathed a quiet sigh, her muscles finally loosening. It had been far too long since she last felt relief of that caliber. Unfortunately, that relief was short-lived. Mere seconds ticked by before it gave way to the crushing weight of shock as the reality finally hit her, The source of that nose, it was another pony. From the sound of it, a young stallion no doubt loudly voicing his frustrations after becoming acquainted with a tree. And those things were coming for him.
Twilight shot up to her hooves and darted out from behind the tree. Wide eyes stared into the darkness, only just able to make out the seven darkened figures stumbling away from her. They didn’t even spare a glance back, didn’t even acknowledge her presence, their minds far too occupied with the prospect of new prey.
Part of her felt relieved that the danger had been diverted away from her, but that relief did little to quell the conflict raging inside of her conscience. As she stood there, face locked in an expression of indecision, her eyes shot back and forth between the shambling creatures and that light off in the distance. The light that led to her freedom.
The stallion didn’t stand a chance against such numbers, and Twilight could hardly balance the odds in her favor. The hesitation kept her hooves rooted in the dirt. There were simply too many unknown variables. The sound of their battle could attract more of them. Twilight could grow lost in the forest, diverging off of her usual, planned path. The stallion himself could prove to be a threat. There was simply too much that she didn't know!
Twilight’s eyes shot back to the light off in the distance. She had a close brush with death, but was given a second chance. If she threw that chance away, she’d likely not receive another one.
"Remember, Twilight. There are two kinds of ponies in this world. The ones that want to play hero, and the ones that are still alive."
Twilight clamped her eyes shut, her skull splitting down the middle with the indecision. She was no hero. She could do nothing to help. To try would only lead to an early grave, and then she’d be of no good to anypony.
She finally came to her decision.
Holding back the tears, she shakily muttered, “I’m sorry.” Turning away from the creatures, she galloped towards the forest exit.
The horrifying screams of that stallion assaulted Twilight’s ears as well as her conscience. But she didn’t stop. Even as she broke free from the darkened tangle of trees, speeding down that familiar, moonlit path, she didn’t stop. Even as the town’s fortified gate came into view, she didn’t stop. She wasn’t going to stop. Not until she was safe.
A guard atop one of the watchtowers saw her approach. “Civilian approaching,” he shouted. “Open it up!” Some unseen pony worked the contraption that lifted the gate several feet off of the ground, more than enough space for the average pony to slip under.
As Twilight sped towards town, a guard stepped in front of the gate, one that she knew all too well. Underneath his rusted bluish-gray armor was a beige coat splotched with equal parts mud, scrapes, and bruises. This was accompanied by a stringy, red mess of a mane atop his head, matted to his fur with dirt and sweat. Though his armor covered it, Twilight knew his cutie mark to be a trio of crates stacked in a triangular formation, the whole thing secured together with rope.
His age and experience showed on his face. Wrinkles were accompanied by the odd scar, things he acquired after decades of just surviving. Through that hardened, scarred exterior, however, the stallion still wore a relieved smile as Twilight approached him. “Hey, kid. Glad to see you back in one piece.”
Twilight slowed to a stop, putting on the best forced smile that she could muster. “Oh, Stockpile. Um, h-hi. How are you?”
Despite her best efforts, a knowing smirk came across Stockpile’s face as he saw right through her little mask. Granted, that wouldn't have taken much effort from anypony. “From the looks of it, I’m doing a whole lot better than you,” he jokingly said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Twilight, tired from both her recent encounter and her little façade, immediately dropped the smile, hanging her head low as a sigh passed through her lips. “Yes, well, I had a rougher time out there than I expected.”
Stockpile let out a short chuckle in agreement. “Don’t we all, kid? That’s just the law of the land around here. So what was the take this time?”
Not that she expected Stockpile to ever steal from her, but Twilight couldn’t help but instinctively secure her saddlebags more tightly around her waist whenever she heard that question. “Um, a bundle of daisies—not dead, luckily—some water from the creek, dry wood for the fireplace, and three fresh apples.”
An impressed whistle passed through Stockpile’s muzzle. “Not bad, I gotta say. Not bad at all. You can make it for another week or two with supplies like that.” His amused smile quickly fell to a frown as he laid eyes on Twilight’s side. “That’s a pretty nasty cut you got there,” he said, pointing at the wound in question.
Looking down, Twilight saw that her wound was not the small, bleeding cut that it once was. It was wider, the general area around the wound stained red. She must’ve unwittingly widened it during her mad dash out of the forest. As the adrenaline flushed out of her system, she could feel the dull, lingering burn around the cut. A small price to pay, she supposed. It was certainly better than the alternative.
“You must’ve gotten pretty lucky walking around out there with a wound like that, what, with all the Chaotic running around.”
Twilight’s gaze drifted down to the ground yet again, those screams still ringing in her mind. “Yeah… lucky.”
“Shift change in half an hour!”
Stockpile’s attention was momentarily pulled up towards the burly guard atop one of the watchtowers. Something of a relieved smile came across his face as he looked back down at Twilight. “Alright, looks like my shift’s about to end soon. If you need bandages or anything, just stop by the shop and I’ll see what I can do. A little disinfectant never hurt anypony. Well… not much, anyway.”
Twilight’s eyes, still cold and somber, looked back up at Stockpile. “Thank you,” she quietly said. “I’ll keep that it mind.” Without another word, she started past Stockpile, walking with a noticeable limp on her injured side.
Stockpile couldn’t help but frown at her dismissive tone. “I’m serious,” he called. “That kind of wound doesn’t go away on its own. You need to patch it up.”
Slowing to a stop, Twilight looked back at him, a surprisingly fierce glare in her eyes. “I know, and I’ll keep that in mind. Right now, I just want to get back home.”
Stockpile opened his mouth to speak further, but promptly decided to close it. He and any other stallion worth his salt knew to back off of a mare when she got that acidic tone in her voice. “Alright,” he softly said. “Okay, you go on home then.” Twilight’s glare barely softened when she turned and continued into the town, leaving Stockpile to return to his post.
As she continued down the worn streets, Twilight took in the familiar surroundings. House after shoddy, wooden house lined both sides of the street, some serving as homes, others as businesses, and others as both. Some ponies, feeling a bit ambitious, built two-story homes. It looked a bit nicer, yes, but it really only came with a higher chance of collapse under the slightest of breezes. Owners of the more popular establishments—such as the tavern, funnily enough—managed to get their hooves on sturdier, higher quality material while others like Twilight were stuck with weak, decaying timber.
As for the denizens themselves, they were, for the most part, as worn and decrepit as the houses they lived in. Stallions, mares, and foals alike shuffled through the crowded streets, all with their own agendas to attend to, all simply trying to get by, to survive. Virtually every minute of the average work day was filled with the sounds of physical conflict over food, or the frustrated swears of a store clerk as another young foal made off with a nearly rotten apple. Such was the law of the land, as Stockpile always liked to say.
Of course, with lack of food came malnourishment. Nearly every pony in the town was a walking sack of bones, and were it not for her consistence and diligence in maintaining a supply of food, Twilight would be among them. The unfortunate souls unable to keep themselves fed lay in the street, either waiting for the night to whisk them away or already lost in the darkness. And that was to say nothing of the constant fights over the smallest scraps of food.
To most, this town would seem like the absolute bottom of the barrel, that anypony in their right mind would try to get out of there as quickly as possible. For the most part, they were right, but to Twilight, it was more than just a shoddy town of noponies that nopony would miss. Unlike towns like Hoofington, where its denizens lived in blissful ignorance of the horror outside of their heavily fortified walls, this town opened up Twilight’s eyes and made her aware of the harsh realities that life had to offer. It taught her how to survive, how to confront the darkness when there was nopony else to do it for her.
This was more than a mere town. This was Ponyville. This was her home.
Author's Note
To avoid future confusion, scene breaks that look like this (o----o----o) indicate a change in dimensions, while these (----) indicate a scene change within the same dimension.
Also: Guess who's delving into a concept he knows absolutely nothing about?
Seriously though, this is one of the more ambitious ideas that I've had in a while, so if there's anything that you like, dislike, or would like to know/discuss, please let me know.
