Overgrow

Chapters

To Follow
To Rest
To Watch
To Fear
She Planned
She Realized
She Tried
She Persisted

To Follow

Every stretch she covered was new. The land stretched interminably on, flooded with vivid green grass like an ocean without water. Bright flowers dotted everything, not quite wilting from the heat, and every here and there a tree broke the flat surface with great leafy boughs that reached toward the sun. Nothing stirred but the breath of the wind.

It was at the edge of this meadow that Twilight Sparkle paused. She stood there, allowing the weight of her saddlebags to settle and press down on her back. Her wings shuffled, giving a tentative flap as if preparing to take off, but after a moment they folded again in reluctance. Biting her lip, she turned around and faced south, looking back at familiar territory for the last time.

Canterlot Mountain was only a pitiful pebble at this distance. She could see the glint of the palace as its spires of glass and marble reflected bright afternoon sunlight, glimmering like a star even in the daytime. Thin wisps of cloud stretched above the grand city, taunting its unseen residents with the remote possibility of rain. Closer lay a landscape of rolling hills, and a sparse scattering of deciduous trees was closer still.

From one of these trees a small winged shape flitted, darting up into the air as it headed in the direction of a rippling stream. The bird dipped and dived, vanishing into the water with only a brief disturbance of the surface.

Twilight held her breath.

There was a great splash and a smattering of wings, and then the bird lifted itself from the shallows, dripping as hard as rain. Clamped in its claws was a struggling figure, a fish. Its tail flopped violently to and fro, but the bird’s beak sliced down with a sudden peck, and the prey went still.

The bird soared back to its nest, flapping its wings awkwardly in its best efforts to stay balanced in the air with its fresh new meal. When it arrived, it shook itself heartily and scattered water droplets from its feathers like a cloud of glistening mist. Then it ate, though the details were obscured by distance.

Twilight blinked. Her mouth opened slightly, but only a grunt escaped her lips. A hoof scuffed against the grass, and her body trembled in an effort to be still. Lavender limbs tensed, but she did not bolt in the direction from which she had come. A passing rabbit paused to stare at her indecision, then continued quickly on its way as instinct trumped curiosity.

She stood that way for several seconds; then, sighing deeply, she turned sharply around again. With her back now to Canterlot Mountain, she stared ahead at the place where earth met sky, judging the distance. Her eyes watered, but she squeezed them shut and dismissed the tears. Her mane slapped against her neck as she shook her head sharply, as if dislodging her thoughts.

When her eyes opened again, they were still fixed on the horizon, but this time they were narrowed. Her jaw clenched in determination. Her hoof scuffed the grass again, but now it was an aggressive gesture, daring the world to do its worst.

She leapt into the wind, and this time she didn’t fight her wings as they snapped open to embrace the sky. Strong feathers caught the updraft, and she flapped her way to a reasonable height. Forehooves parted the air in front of her, lessening the resistance. Gradually she leveled out, and her flight path faltered briefly under her new feathered limbs, but she steadied herself with an extra flutter.

With ears pinned back, she left Equestria behind for good and soared into the endless blue.

The sun was leaning sharply towards her left when she angled towards the ground. Broad swaths of crimson and gold painted the sky, and her eyes were gradually adjusting to accommodate the change. She glanced down as she descended, noting that even at this height she could see the jagged eastward shadow of an alicorn growing slowly below.

Shaking herself from the distraction, she focused on her landing as she dipped and flared her wings. Pulling up slightly at the last minute, she stumbled a little when her hooves impacted against the grassy terrain. Automatically she glanced about with a sheepish look, before her ears drooped upon remembering that she was, in fact, alone.

With her throat clenched she surveyed her surroundings. She was standing not far from the edge of a vast forest, which stretched in either direction as far as the eye could see. The land sank into a shallow valley at the east, and the trees followed suit, creating the illusion of a rippling hollow within the forest. Bats fluttered in a loose flock from west to north — blue bats whose translucent wing membranes caught the light of the approaching sunset. She watched them go, and an aura of magic fiddled with the starburst-shaped clasp of a saddlebag, but she stopped herself before she could retrieve anything. This was not the time.

She took another glimpse over her shoulder before she could stop herself. The mountain was nowhere in sight, of course. Only fields and meadows met her gaze, seeming to multiply the distance separating her from her home with every passing second. Biting her lip, she returned her attention to the forest, tapping her chin in thought.

One of the trees, a towering oak, seemed to beckon to her with its gnarled branches. She considered this for a moment, then walked in that direction, occasionally using her aching wings to steady herself. Her eyelids drooped, but she forced herself to keep awake. The time for sleep would come soon enough.

As she approached she fluttered lightly into the air, settling upon a sturdy bough just high enough to avoid the reach of the beasts of these woods. The flaps of her saddlebags glowed gently and opened, allowing a tight bedroll to float from within. Dusting off her new sleeping spot, she unrolled the fabric so that it lay halfway propped up against the thick trunk of the tree. A lengthy rope came next, wrapping loosely around the bedroll in a lengthy spiral from end to end. She tied the rope to the foot of the bedroll, then stepped back slightly and scrutinized her work before nodding in satisfaction. This was not yet secure, but that could easily be fixed.

The saddlebags opened again, now yielding a rather flattened daisy sandwich. Twilight took an eager bite, and was instantly rewarded with a rush of gentle flavor. Her cheeks bulged, but she bit into her food again, and then again, until all of it had been crammed into her mouth. A low moan escaped her as she welcomed the nutrients her body craved, though her cheeks flushed at the thought of the sight she must be making.

While she chewed, she fished around in her bags a third time, producing a waterskin and a small mechanical contraption. The latter of these she examined critically, as if for the first time. It was a rectangular lavender machine, half of which was covered by a darkened screen. The other half was emblazoned with a peculiar symbol: a circle within a much larger circle, which was divided in half with a thick black line.

She swallowed hard and sipped at her water as she slid the machine open, revealing a larger screen that lit up at the motion. Now words met her inquisitive gaze, hinting at vast stores of information that had yet to be plumbed. A bar across the top bore her name, but otherwise the electronic encyclopedia was far from customized, displaying its contents in an orderly but unengaging fashion.

Twilight nodded and slid it shut again, returning it to the safety of her saddlebags; these she clutched with her magic as she crept into her bedroll and under the rope. A violet glow tightened the latter, and soon she was nestled snugly in a woolen embrace. She lay there on her back with wings half stretched, staring up through the leafy canopy of the old oak and into the darkening sky. To the east the moon peeked over the horizon, and here and there a star winked into view.

She sighed and closed her eyes, listening to the songs of the crickets as she drifted into a realm of slumber. Soon the regular rhythm of breathing joined the chorus of the night, and the moon traced its way through the sky overhead like an unseeing eye.

Morning dawned, and Twilight felt it. As soon as rays of golden sunlight stroked her cheek, her eyes slid open and took in the sight of the land around her. Not much had changed; a quick look at the ground confirmed that no carnivorous monsters had left their tracks the previous night. Around her, broad green leaves fluttered in the breeze. All was quiet.

Yawning, she loosened the rope and wriggled her way out of the bedroll. She stretched like a cat, spreading her wings as wide as they could go. One of her hooves nearly slipped off of the branch, but she caught herself before she could fall. Straightening herself, she fished another sandwich from her saddlebags. Her eyes wandered across the scenery while she ate.

Under the pale sky lay line upon line of trees. A light fog hung over the fields, creeping into the forest like an ill omen. In the distance, a dark shape stepped into view, paused, then slipped back into obscurity. Bird calls echoed, sending a shiver up the young alicorn’s spine. Quietly she repacked her bedroll, celebrating its return to her saddlebags with a swig of water.

The nocturnal wildlife were still settling for their rest. Here and there a squirrel scurried from branch to branch. Some of these were mundane, brown furred and beady eyed. Their tufted ears flicked at every sound. Others were larger mammals, coated in black and white and yellow; folds of furry skin connected hands and feet, allowing them to occasionally leap into the air and glide a fair distance. One of them glanced her way, and she caught an unusual glimmer of intelligence in its eyes before it ducked into a hollow in the side of a tree.

Then a giant leaf smacked her in the face.

Sputtering, she jerked to the side and wielded her half-eaten sandwich like a weapon, trying to keep her sights set on the offending greenery. Nevertheless it whipped out of sight, leaving her glancing about in bemusement. Only more leaves met her wandering eyes, which further raised her concern. Reaching out with her magic, she rustled through each bunch of leaves, ready to grab the offender if it dared reveal itself.

Fwap! Her concentration was nearly broken when something flat and green impacted with her horn. Growling, she turned her focus upward … and received a jab to the eye for her trouble. Her hooves scraped against the branch as she reeled back, hissing a curse. Whatever it was, it hadn’t actually injured her; the attack was more of a surprise than anything. Naturally, that was not about to prevent her from dealing out righteous vengeance.

Her horn lit up, but then she paused, frowning. The outline of a force field, which shimmered faintly in the morning air, dissipated back into nothingness. Instead she settled for sighing theatrically and directing a very pointed gaze into the distance, all while keeping her ears pricked.

The light whoosh of movement gave her half a second’s warning. But it was enough. A field of magic snapped around the attacker, preventing it from colliding with the back of her head. A grin spread across her face as she brought the mysterious creature around to get a good look at it for once.

The creature in question was reptilian, that much was certain. It vaguely resembled a fat snake, if that snake happened to have four stubby limbs and a pointed snout. A familiar three-pointed leaf, as large as the rest of its body, swished irritably at the end of its tail. Twilight found her faith in color association tested as she met its chilly red gaze; they stood out starkly against an otherwise mild palette of green, yellow, and white.

The plant snake didn’t struggle, but she wasn’t sure she liked the look in its eyes. She kept her own eyes fixed on the little monster while she fished around in her saddlebags, soon retrieving her little machine and pointing it in the creature’s direction. After a few seconds, the snake’s image appeared on the screen, alongside a similar image of another snake staring haughtily outward.

Snivy, read the first words underneath those pictures. The Grass Snake Pokemon. This specimen is male, and it possesses the ability Overgrow. Noted for their tendency to travel in broods, Snivy are cold-blooded reptilian Pokemon who mainly obtain their energy from photosynthesis. While they have a reputation as a haughty species, those who earn their trust can surely find themselves in a beneficial relationship, provided that …

As she read, Twilight couldn’t help but smile. She sat down to more intently scroll through the information, absorbing it greedily. When she reached the end of the entry, her eyes softened, and she returned her attention to the Pokémon with newfound interest.

The snake — the Snivy — had folded its arms and was now staring into space crossly. Upon noticing that Twilight had taken on a new expression of curiosity, it — he — rolled his eyes and scowled. When she produced something new from her saddlebags, however, his eyes widened.

It was a tiny sphere, half red and half white. On its front it bore a button, which, when pressed, caused it to expand by a considerable amount. Looking pleased at this, Twilight lifted the Poké Ball and presented it to the Snivy; he violently attempted to remove himself from her magic as the device got closer.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” she assured him.

He appeared unconvinced. She lowered him carefully, making sure not to make any sudden movements, and set him down upon the branch. Once freed, he immediately bolted up the trunk and out of sight, not giving her a second glance.

Twilight blinked. She stared after him for a moment, then looked at the Poké Ball and sighed. Turning it over several times in her magic, she examined it from every angle, as if searching its polished surface for an answer to an unspoken question. When no such answer was forthcoming, she shrunk it and returned it to her saddlebags, then finished off her sandwich, carefully rolled her bedroll into a tight bundle, and packed it and the rope away. This process was unusually slow, but despite her waiting, the Snivy did not reappear.

As she slung her saddlebags across her back, she cast another look up into the shadows where Snivy had vanished. No glint of red eyes could be seen within. Still she waited, and the sun began to creep up in the east, flooding the sky with color. Time passed, and nothing stepped forth. She shook her head, turned away reluctantly, and took off into the waiting air, leaving the towering oak behind as she sailed off into the north.

The meadows to the south soon fell out of sight as Twilight soared over the forest. Trees stretched in every direction as far as she could see, which was starting to become a considerable distance; sunlight was burning away the fog in earnest now that noon was approaching. From above, needles and leaves merged together in a vast panorama of jade-colored plant life, rolling beneath her as hills appeared, approached, and slipped quietly into the south.

The sun was almost directly overhead when she suddenly caught a glimpse of something sparkling in the distance. Squinting at the sudden glare, she averted her eyes to avoid blinding herself, though she was forced to blink rapidly in an effort to erase the afterimages that were seared into her vision. This would not do.

Her horn lit almost automatically, and she began to weave a spell that set her eyes glowing. Seconds into the endeavor, she halted, both in her spellwork and her flight, kept aloft only by a constant flutter of her wings. Eyes wide, she quickly undid the work her magic had just accomplished, leaving her eyes vulnerable to the flare of light once more. Instead she consulted her trusted saddlebags and, after some rummaging, retrieved a blocky pair of glasses. These she slid onto her face, where they were held firmly in place by tight earpieces. In the intensity of the light, she could see a faint suggestion of the enchantment already woven into the lenses, but their effect was more quickly noticeable by the way it shielded her vision.

Satisfied, she slipped its case back into her belongings and resumed her flight forward. Again the forest rolled by, rising and falling gently as if the land itself were stirring from its endless slumber.

What had blinded her before turned out to be a stream, which trickled merrily past between sunny banks as it twisted and turned and vanished into the horizon. Adjusting her flight slightly to descend a few feet, Twilight noted that it was flowing south before making a sweeping curve to the west. Following it with her gaze, she noted something sparkling in the far, far distance, presumably a more sedate body of water. The corner of her mouth tugged upwards as she focused instead on the moving water, angling her wings slightly so that she was soon flying towards the unknown source of its rapids.

The rush of the stream under her hooves, together with the rush of wind in her ears, was the only sound she could hear. Everything was perfectly still. Occasionally a bird made itself heard, but this was the only indicator that Twilight wasn’t the only creature alive for miles.

Soon the trees began to thin, and Twilight thought she could catch a glimpse every now and then of some sneaking shape below, but the afternoon shadows were too deep to tell from the air. Far to the northwest a mountain peaked into view, then another beyond that.

Twilight sniffed. Only now that it was falling behind did she realize that the scent of pine had been so strong in this area, leaving the smell of fresh water to dominate in its stead. Suddenly mischievous, she angled herself sharply downward and the wind shrieked for several seconds as she plummeted. The water rushed up to meet her, and it was only by tilting her wings at the last second that she was able to pull out of her dive. Her hooves slapped against the surface, splattering her in a sudden chill, and she giggled at the sudden wakefulness that accompanied her slight shower.

She flew like this for a while, looking down into the shallows to watch the occasional fish swim by. When she at last ascended again, the air pressed against her soaked coat in an almost arctic chill. Shivering but smiling, she continued to follow the path of the stream as its weaving body led her further north, further into the unknown.

The sun was beginning to set when Twilight landed at last, in a not entirely graceful manner. Huffing at almost tripping over her own hooves, she shook herself back to some degree of dignity and peered about in an effort to take in her surroundings. Now that she had been swallowed up by the forest, a feeling of not-entirely-unpleasant claustrophobia began to steep into her mind. She removed her glasses and was about to make camp where she stood, when something black and pointy caught her eye, pulling her attention away from the rest that her wings were crying out for.

Frowning slightly, she made her way past trees and bushes as she headed northwest to investigate. The stream met her gaze whenever she looked back, assuring her that it wasn’t about to get up and walk away. Her neurotic habit was quickly cured when her lack of focus caused her to trip again, sending her sprawling in the dirt like a downed eagle. She lay there for a moment, clearly unamused, before pointedly picking herself up and continuing on her way as if nothing had happened.

Upon drawing near the object of her interest, her gait slowed down to a series of uncertain steps. The black object had resolved itself into a crumbling pile of iron and wood, but it still took her a while to realize that this was what remained of an old train station. A look at the track leading away to the south confirmed the identity of the ruin. The rails were scattered here and there, certainly, but the ties set deep into the foundation of the track were unmistakable.

Her ears perked, but then drooped. Uncertain how to react, she compromised by walking over to the haphazard structure, though she made certain not to get too close. Even now, flakes of rust were falling gently from lampposts, settling in discolored piles on a platform that reeked of mildew. Still, life bloomed in the form of crawling vines, which had seemingly taken hold of this place for years at least.

The track leading north from the station abruptly halted just yards away, crumpled into a twisted mess that ended abruptly, as if the wood and metal had been simply torn away. It stood grim and menacing, like a wall of gnarled brambles. She stared off after the path that the track was supposed to take, and pressed her lips together grimly.

A tarnished sign stood close to the tangle of wood and metal, displaying words whose cheeriness was rather diminished by layers of grime. Weigh Station! it read. Next Stop: the Crystal Empire, 25 Miles!

Twilight burst out laughing.

She collapsed onto the ground, striking the grass with a hoof as she hooted with amusement. It wasn’t for very long; the guffaws died down into giggles soon enough. But it occurred nevertheless. Wiping a tear from her eye, she snorted and stared at the sign for a while with a look of mild disdain. The sign failed to change in any way, so she shrugged and settled down where she lay, not bothering to find a more comfortable area.

When the saddlebags came off, only the physical weight was taken off of her shoulders. She sighed, and the grin slid off her face, only to be replaced with a look of concern. Without looking she retrieved the bedroll and laid it out, forgoing the rope this time; after she had left the forest behind, she hadn’t seen a single animal, Pokémon or otherwise, of any more concern than a few twittering birds. No need to hide in a tree tonight.

The sour stench of the decaying platform nearly killed her appetite. Nearly. She had to pinch her nose while eating her sandwich, but that was a small price to pay. If it deterred predators, she was perfectly fine with its minor setbacks.

Stars were emerging in the dimming sky when she crawled into her waiting bedroll, curling up so that her hooves were tucked snugly against her chest. She stared off into space, pondering on the reach of distance, while above the lonely moon slid westward.

Eventually she drifted off, lulled by the music of chittering bats, and stillness crept across the terrain like an icy fog.

An unstoppable torrent of magic —

Twilight bolted upright, gasping. Her heart hammered painfully in her chest as she panted, staring into the dim dawn without seeing. Gradually her eyes focused and she relaxed, though she shivered; sweat beaded her coat, and her exposed wings caught the light breeze, quickly turning unpleasantly cold.

She took in her surroundings. The moonlit sky was just light enough to see the surrounding silhouettes of trees. Overhead, stars twinkled through the outstretched branches, little more than cold pinpricks of light flickering in the darkness above. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, then trailed off into silence.

Silence. She listened harder, pricking her ears. Normally the lull of insects’ song wasn’t so noticeable, but in its absence she felt a hole in the world, threatening to swallow everything simply by its lack of existence. As if to compensate, the stench of the decaying platform was worse than ever, threatening to bring tears to her eyes.

A tingling feeling alerted her to the hairs standing up on her neck. Without a word, she slipped out of her bedroll, gathered her things, and loaded up her saddlebags as quietly as possible. A swish accompanied every movement as her hooves brushed against the grass. It only took a minute, but every second she felt as if the trees were closing in on her, their comforting proximity turning into strangulation.

Her eyelids were heavy, but her tired body was no obstacle for an alicorn’s magic. When she was finally ready, she stood in place for a minute, letting herself take in the forest from within for the last time. It was a strange place, but for all that, it was still closer to Equestria than anything she would face later.

Her throat clenched. The swishing noise hadn’t stopped.

Violet eyes flitted toward the platform. Only angular blackness looked back. They stared at each other, as if daring the other to make a move, but the stillness continued. Yet the swishing continued.

Twilight shook herself. Her wings flared, her muscles tensed, and with a powerful flap she took off into the night sky.

The thinning forest looked very different in the darkness. Without the sun to light the treetops, the shadowy trees seemed like gnarled hands bursting from the earth, frozen in time by a fickle force. River water glinted to the northeast, so she flew toward that reflective landmark, trying to ignore the sharpness of the mountains in the northwest.

Not until she had put a good amount of distance behind her did she look back. Beyond her tail, the trees covered the landscape as far as she could see. No bats fluttered into the open air from below, Pokémon or otherwise. Only a light breeze blew.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, but despite her annoyance she remained steady in the air. In the far, far distance, the large body of water beckoned enticingly, a perfect picture of silvery stillness. There seemed to be nothing to do but answer that siren call, so she turned toward it once she had reached the river and continued on.

It was going to be a long night. Suppressing a grumble, she rummaged through her saddlebags for her waterskin, but she froze as her magic brushed over something unfamiliar. It was only when gravity began to take hold that she reasserted her position in the air, now reminded that her wings were not to be ignored in times like these.

Once she was certain she was not about to fall, she pulled the mysterious thing from her bags. A green ball emerged into the moonlight, tinted faintly silver there. She turned it over a few times, puzzling over how this could have ended up in her possession. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she mulled over the past few days, but nothing she’d seen in that time resembled this irregular sphere. Nothing except —

Two eyes slitted open, glaring crimson from their upside-down vantage point.

Twilight stared. The Snivy stared back. Only wingbeats prevented an uncomfortable silence from settling.

“... Sorry,” Twilight managed to say. The flap of her bags opened, and she slipped the reptile into their confines again. There was probably a better response she could have come up with, but it was too late — or too early — to do so.

She would think about these implications when the sun came up. For now, there was little to do but fly … but even as she left the trees behind, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

To Rest

Morning broke in the east, and Twilight nearly sagged as golden light splashed upon her face. She winced, blinking at the sudden brightness of the sun peeking over the horizon. Her wings faltered for a moment, and she bobbed in midair before steadying herself.

A pointed head peeked out from her saddlebags. Red eyes glared in response the turbulence, though the irritation burned less intensely than one might expect. The Snivy’s nose twitched, then pointed slightly skyward, directing the snake’s gaze toward the faded purple of the nascent morning.

The river flowed on below them, tracing a serpentine path northward to the distant body of water. The pale glint of sunlight on its surface stretched nearly from horizon to horizon, though a fair percentage was obscured by the northwest mountains. Twilight’s eyes lingered on it for a moment, then roved across the expanse of plain that separated them. Here and there a figure loped across the browning grass, but everything seemed quiet.

Her eyes crossed briefly. Then she shook her head and angled toward the ground, focusing on the approaching river. The Snivy watched from the safety of burlap as the world reached up to swallow them.

With a dull thud, the alicorn touched down beside the edge of the river. Her legs held for a moment, then buckled, sending her collapsing into an exhausted heap. It was a scratchy, uncompromising resting place, but it would have to do.

“Why didn’t I just sleep in a tree?” she mumbled, lying motionless. She let the question trail off into the air, but no reply rewarded her. A grunt rose half-formed in the back of her throat, but she could not summon the energy to follow up her own words with a pithy answer.

The world swam before her eyes, and soon the weight of her eyelids was too much to fight. Little time passed before her muscles relaxed and her breathing grew even.

The Snivy stood still, taking in the unfamiliar landscape. The trees to the south were long gone, invisible despite the perfectly flat stretch of land they had just crossed. A cool breeze blew over the water, briefly disrupting the warmth settling rapidly on everything the light touched. Twilight was fading.

The Pokémon slithered out into the open air, heedless of the stubby stalks of grass poking his underbelly. He scrutinized her for a moment; then, assured she was out cold, he relaxed into a little slump. He too had lost much energy, though fixing this was a simple matter in his case.

Climbing up and taking a position on the alicorn’s prone form, he faced the rising sun and watched, unblinking, as it inched its way higher into the sky. His tail stood tall, angled to catch the morning light. The breeze whispered for a moment, but the Snivy was not distracted, instead lifting his nose and exposing the delicate frills on his neck to the sun. Then he waited.

Over the course of several minutes, the light gathered. It landed on the Snivy like snow, accumulating ever so gradually to the point where he glowed gently, shimmering like gold. It was not so much a visible glow as it was a warm radiance, and underneath him the pony shifted, as if trying to snuggle closer to the heat source. His leafy tail was warmest of all, and its faint droop straightened as its broad surface absorbed the sun’s bright rays.

The glow quickly lessened, but a faint shine of the Snivy’s scales signaled the continuation of his morning meal. He allowed it to settle, sinking gradually into his skin, before giving a small sigh that only marginally betrayed satisfaction. He turned away from the sun thin, and his eyes swept lazily across the flat landscape.

A crunch of grass was his only warning. Pain burst to life in his tail, and its instigator dragged him off the pony and into the dirt. He landed in a puff of dust, which clouded his vision with itchy insistence, but he shook off his disorientation as the teeth in his tail reminded him of the unwanted company. Unwilling to flinch, he settled for narrowing his eyes.

In a vaguely shrug-like motion he harnessed some of his new energy, and from his back sprouted a pair of supple green vines. They impacted the attacker with two cathartic thuds, and with a croaking growl the stranger released its toothy grip, staggering back. The Snivy turned to face his foe, vines at the ready for any sudden moves.

The creature resembled a mundane crocodile. For a moment the Snivy could not tell where in the pile of tan and black stripes the Pokémon’s head could be found, but the answer soon became clear as it righted itself, taking on an aggressive stance with its tail curled slightly in the air. Shaded eyes glinted in the sunlight, and beneath them the creature’s strong jaws opened again, exposing gleaming teeth in a humorless grin. With a rasping breath, it lunged forward.

In a blur of motion, the Snivy spun out of harm’s way and reached out with a vine all at once. The crocodilian’s jaws snapped on thin air, and the vine wrapped around its now-closed muzzle like a whip. Beady eyes barely had time to bulge in surprise before the crocodilian was yanked over to the Snivy, who fixed his cool red gaze on the struggling predator. The enemy Pokémon strained to pull its mouth open, but the tight grip of the vine refused to relent.

The snake lifted his other vine, making sure it was well within view of his foe. He allowed a little smirk to lift the corner of his mouth when the crocodilian tried even harder to pull itself free.

The vine came down, striking his foe across the head. The crocodilian grunted in pain as the plant-like construct ignored the scant protection of its scaly hide, leaving a sizable bruise. Before the earthy reptile could issue a snarl in defiance, the vine came back around and whipped the sensitive spot directly between its eyes.

Another smack. And another. And a fifth. Twilight shifted in her sleep as the slaps burst into her dreams like fireworks, and she mumbled something about pineapples.

The Snivy’s expression did not change as the crocodilian sagged into unconsciousness, eyes rolling into the back of its head. He pulled back his occupied vine and, with surprising force, flung his defeated foe several yards into the distance. The limp mass of stripes bounced a few times before rolling to a halt, sprawled out ungraciously in the scratchy grass.

The snake clapped the dust off his hands, sticking his nose into the air as his vines retracted. With a flick of his injured tail, he calmly took his place in the sunlight and resumed soaking up the life-giving rays.

The day passed slowly. An occasional bird flitted across the otherwise empty sky, an expanse of blue only broken by the mountains far to the northwest. Stillness was all that existed here, as not even the breeze gave relief for weather that quickly turned stifling.

There was very little for the Snivy to do. After regaining his lost health from the short-lived fight, he began a casual circuit of strolling around the alicorn. His movement was fluid and casual, betraying none of the tension usually associated with those who are watchful. For a moment it seemed like something would happen when the crocodilian pulled itself into consciousness: the little monster took a few steps forward, and the Snivy prepared himself for another quick battle … but then his foe thought better of it, turning away with a clack of its jaws and waddling into the south. His tail flicked in mild disappointment.

Only a few visits to the nearby river interrupted the Snivy’s pacing. Glances at the sleeping pony were few and far between, but they were lengthy, ponderous things. He strolled on.

The sun fell into the west. The moon peeked up from the east. Stars twinkled into view in the depths of the darkening sky. Only then did the Snivy relent, settling down near Twilight’s unguarded flank for his rest. His eyes were lidded, but his ears were pricked for anything outside of his acquaintance’s steady breathing.

The night passed slowly. Far overhead a winged shape pushed its way through the sky with huge, powerful strokes, blotting out the stars in a jagged silhouette. Somewhere in the distance crickets sang.

Leaning against the alicorn’s side, the Snivy stared coolly out into the vastness of space. Overhead, the stars slowly revolved around the bright point of Polaris, painted on the infinite canvas of the cloudless night sky. The Snivy watched the stars burn from the safety of millions of miles away, deceptively harmless in their twinkling lights of white and yellow and blue, looking for all the world like fireflies trapped in a mass of midnight blue. The Snivy watched all this, and he wondered.

The stars began to fade. The moon fell into the west. The sun peeked up from the east, but the Snivy, despite his increasing fatigue, felt no need for nourishment. Instead he rose from his cramped position and approached the river. His tail splashed gently in the rushing water, and he hissed at the unexpected chill, pulling away sharply before pride demanded him to carefully get himself wet again and wash away the thin coat of dust over his scales.

Gradually, over a space of dreams receding like a tide, Twilight awoke.

For a moment she simply lay there, stiff and unmoving, as her sleep-addled mind slowly puzzled over where she was. She quietly took in the brownish expanse, listening to the insistent rush of water only yards away. Violet eyes assessed the sun’s early position, which quashed her vague hope that she had only been asleep for a few minutes. Her brow furrowed as memories returned, and with a grunt she shifted slightly, wincing as the feeling returned to her limbs with the prickling of grass.

When she sat up, a growl revealed that she had not eaten in over twenty-four hours. With a grumble she pulled a sandwich from her saddlebags, which had been weighing down her wings ever since arriving there. As she munched on the bread and daisies, she gazed to the north, where the body of water lay unseen beyond the horizon. She sighed when she finished and gulped down the last of her water, then trotted toward the river to refill the waterskin. A rune etched on the container’s side glowed faintly as the water rushed in.

A flash of green caught her attention as she put the waterskin back. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the Snivy, who was now drying out in the sun. “Well, hi there! I didn’t know if you’d stick around after that long period of nothing. I’m glad you did, though.” Her smile faded a little. “It’s nice to have someone around.”

The Snivy gave her an unimpressed look. He pointed in a random direction, then in another, then in a third, and finished off his gesturing with a massive shrug.

“Heh … I guess you’re right,” Twilight admitted, rubbing the back of her head. “Not a lot of places to go, are there?”

There was a moment of awkward silence. The river rushed on.

“So …” She scuffed at the ground with a restless hoof, kicking up a tiny cloud of dust. “We should be heading out. There’s a lot of ground to cover today. Some might say too much, but that’s a matter of perspective.” One of her ears flicked. “I’d be happy to drop you off whenever you’d like.”

He rolled his eyes, slithered over, and slipped into her open saddlebags. The confusion had barely crossed her face when his head poked out into sight again and jerked toward the north. When she failed to come up with an appropriate response, he gestured again, this time harder.

“That is the way we’re going, yes,” were the words she managed to come up with. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

His expression was as flat as paper.

“It was a joke.” Twilight huffed in annoyance. “We’re going to get along so well …”

Her wings flared, and with a few powerful strokes she was airborne, ascending above the dull and dreary. She glanced down briefly, but the impression she had left on the grass was already lost to view. As she adjusted her blocky glasses, she began to wonder whether or not she and her silent passenger would grow tired of each other before the day was out.

The body of water was not getting any closer.

Twilight had been flying north for hours by now, and the shining water remained as distant as ever. At first she had wondered if this was just an illusion—she’d reasoned it was possible that the water was simply huge enough that she was still dozens of miles from reaching it. But as she’d flown, the mountains to the northwest slowly drew nearer, and she’d come to the conclusion that since she was approaching the water at the same rate, it should at least look a little closer than before.

“I guess they’re serious,” she remarked as the more prominent cliffs on the nearer mountain became visible, making rising and dipping shapes against the face of rock. “Whoever ‘they’ are.”

The Snivy had no comment. He was tucked away comfortably in her saddlebags, doing absolutely nothing. He hadn’t so much as bothered to peek out since she had taken off, effectively negating any sense of companionship his presence offered. It was likely that he had been sleeping the entire time, while she worked to carry him to more habitable lands.

“Don’t think like that, Twilight,” she scolded herself. “It’s not his fault he can’t fly.”

Maybe not, her thoughts admitted, but it was his fault he had decided to join her.

She couldn’t argue with that logic.

Biting back a grumble, she eyed the approaching mountains. They were sprawling, sand-colored things, only remarkable in that they stood above the dreary plain. The closer she drew to them, the easier it was to see brownish vegetation clumped together in odd patterns. Presumably they were bushes, although the distance made it hard to tell.

The mountains slowly passed by. She could see little gray shapes carefully making their way across the unforgiving slopes, but no further details could be seen; they were like insects at this height. For a moment she considered taking out her Pokédex, but reason soon caught up with her. It was next to impossible for it to identify them at this distance.

Still, the idea of finding new and exciting information about these powerful species made a small part of her want to make a u-turn and observe the herd creatures. She shook off the urge with some difficulty. There was no time for such excursions, she told herself. She needed to fly.

The sun slid westward. Twilight felt her wings starting to ache, but she forced herself to fly on. She would reach the body of water by nightfall, she was sure of it. She just had to keep going.

More plain stretched out before her, unbroken by trees or bushes. The emptiness of the scene dwarfed her, even though it could not touch her from her lofty position. No creature could be seen, not even a bird or an insect. The silence of the scene weighed on her like a tangible burden; she was, in essence, utterly alone. It was as if she was the last of all beings to live.

She bit her lip, pushed her thoughts out of her mind, and soared on through the cloudless sky. Behind, the mountains continued their ponderous existence, sprawling in their rolling folds of earth and stone.

The body of water — most likely a lake — was suddenly quite close. She had almost missed it, so intent had she been on moving forward. She was doing her best not to think about the implications of her severe inattention.

A light had flickered near the bottom of her vision, and she’d dropped a little mid-flap in surprise to see that a fair expanse of city had appeared at the shore, responding to the dimness of the oncoming evening. It was less than a mile away, giving her a good view of its coiled confines. The ground seemed to slope slightly down toward the water, providing a shade of depth to its simple layout.

The sight of it made her frown, and she slowed as her brow furrowed in thought. The city was no gleaming metropolis, but she was sure that she should have seen some suggestion of light when she’d been flying two nights ago. Only the single light shone in the midst of the clusters of buildings, even as the sun touched the horizon. She watched the city, waiting to see if more points of brightness sparked to life as the seconds passed, but the light remained a lone sentinel in the growing dusk.

Regardless, shelter was shelter. She adjusted her course slightly, dipping toward the ground at a shallow angle. The air currents jostled her slightly, but she held firm. Even her relatively inexperienced wings brimmed with pegasus magic, with every muscle beneath her feathers making tiny movements to maintain her motion and keep her from falling out of the sky.

Sensing the change in altitude, the Snivy peered out from within the saddlebags, watching as the world rose to meet them. He considered the nearing city for a moment, then tensed. His tail flicked this way and that, jostling several items in the process, and he kept his eyes fixed on the inviting beacon.

As they drew closer, details emerged from the midst of hazy shapes. Many of the buildings, particularly those closest to the lake, were tall, blocky things clearly designed for efficiency rather than aesthetics. Skyscrapers reached up like metal hooves; their glossy windows gleamed, but that was from light without, not light within. It was not the skyscrapers themselves that caught her eye, however; rather, it was the unusual pattern they had been constructed in. A perfectly straight line of them stretched from the south to the north, with the northernmost of them practically upon the silent harbor. Perpendicular to this line was another, directed toward and away from the setting sun. From the ground, where all buildings would block a pony’s view of the sky, one might think nothing of it. From the air, however, it was a simple matter to see that the skyscrapers were arranged into the shape of a cross. And it was from the skyscraper at the cross’s intersection that the single light shown in the fading daylight.

Twilight shrugged mentally. She swooped down toward the odd formation, and before long the rooftop of a building near the southernmost skyscraper rushed up to provide refuge. Her wings flared, and in a ray of golden dusklight she slowed her descent, coming to land on the concrete construction with only a little wobbling as her hooves made contact. For a moment she simply stood there, leaning forward until her body gradually accepted that it no longer needed to hold such a position.

As she came to herself, the Snivy slipped from the saddlebags, examining his new surroundings. He eyed the small, browning garden that occupied most of the rooftop’s space, analyzing the wilting plants with some disdain. As he circled its perimeter, Twilight made as if to keep him from getting himself into trouble, but she checked herself. They were surrounded by a wall that would keep taller creatures than ponies from falling off the edge, albeit at the cost of blocking much of the city view. The Snivy seemed uninterested in exploring beyond this boundary, so Twilight let him be.

Gardening implements were scattered here and there, leaning against tables and benches that served no other purpose but to hold scattered seeds, gloves, and pottery shards. A pair of columns for ventilation poked up from either side of the top of a stairwell, which was concealed by a weathered door. On a whim, Twilight seized a rake and slid it through the handle, jamming the door firmly into place. Failure to effectively wiggle it left her satisfied, and she cast a brief look at the taller buildings surrounding them before indulging herself in a sandwich and a few gulps of water.

Night fell in an unveiling of stars. The warmth of day began to dissipate, and a mild summer chill set in, playing with Twilight’s hair in a suggestion of a breeze. She stretched, tucked her wings comfortably against her sides, retrieved her bedroll, and curled into a fuzzy ball close to the shelter of a table. The plush fabric accommodated her weight as she settled in preparation for slumber, and her heavy eyelids drifted shut. Pointed ears caught the sound of her reptile acquaintance’s movements as he continued to scuttle around, examining what this roof had to offer without bothering to take some rest.

She listened to the swishing of his tail for a while, but where the swishing ended and the sounds of dreaming began, she could not distinguish. All she knew was that at some point the city faded into slumber, leaving her hopelessly alone in her own memories.

To Watch

In her dream, her mind wandered.

“You’re right, of course,” Rarity was saying. “There really wasn’t much of a point making a scene out of it. On the other hoof, it would have been extremely difficult not to. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an arrogant blowhard in my entire life, before or since. His behavior was positively atrocious, to put it mildly. And in all honesty, would you have done any differently if the stallion of your dreams treated you to a cake to the face?” A pause. She daintily nibbled at a croissant. “That’s what I thought.”

Twilight nodded absently, sipping her tea. An ear idly swiveled as unseen ponies drew near their table, then stepped into her vision as they continued on their way.

Ponyville was quiet at this hour. Not entirely, of course, as many of its residents were at the market trying to buy and sell; their voices wafted over the rooftops like smoke. But few ponies could be seen from their spot outside the café. Here there was a moment of peace in the neverending currents all ponies were caught up in, providing a dreamlike quality in an already hazy day.

As she watched, the ponies who had just passed by were examining a small box intently, speaking in hushed voices as to its supposed contents. A pegasus colt, just old enough to be out of school, flapped by with a flower held carefully in his hooves. Farther out, she could see see Bon Bon and her unicorn sister passing Sugarcube Corner at only a block’s distance; they paused to wave to their friendly rivals, who returned the greeting with enthusiasm.

She smiled. Her coat was warm with sunlight. An itch crossed her back, and as she rolled her shoulders she felt as if a great weight had been taken from them.

“It isn’t funny, Twilight,” Rarity pouted, not entirely serious. “It was a disaster to end all disasters.”

“It was also more than two years ago,” Twilight pointed out, rolling her eyes with a grin. “You’ve told that story a dozen times since then—”

“Thirty-six times, actually.”

“—and every time you’ve made it sound even crazier than the last.”

“I don’t see how the cake to the face was an exaggeration.”

“The cake itself isn’t, but saying it was literally a demon from Tartarus wasn’t how I remember it. Applejack might take offense, too.”

“Twilight, I’m not disparaging her baking. I’m disparaging the mess her baked goods can make. There’s a considerable difference between the two.”

“Really? Because when she’s tired the line can be pretty thin.”

Rarity arched an eyebrow. “Fair point. I’ll indulge you, then, and simply drop the matter.”

“Until you decide the story sounds better if he’s a rogue agent.”

“Hmph.” She tossed her mane back, nose angled toward the sky. “I would certainly never think to go to that extreme, dear.” But a thoughtful smirk pulled the corners of her mouth upward.

Twilight’s tail swished as she set down her teacup. Her eyes misted over. “Oh, Rarity, I miss this. All of this.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Twilight. You can hardly miss something you’re experiencing at that very moment.”

“But you can,” she said. “Or, more specifically, I can. It’s my brain, trying to act like nothing ever happened. But it won’t work, because the past is in the past.” Her ears drooped. “None of this is real.”

“What an odd thing to say. I feel very much real, speaking for myself.” Rarity’s head tilted slightly to the side. It was a small movement, and Twilight was sure she would have denied it if she’d pointed it out, but it was there nonetheless as Rarity’s eyes softened. “Twilight, is something wrong? You do know you can talk to me about whatever it is, don’t you?”

Their eyes met. Twilight smiled sadly and nudged her teacup with a restless hoof. “It doesn’t matter. I guess … I guess I just miss having the five of us together.”

Rarity nodded absently, levitating her own tea … and then she paused, brow delicately furrowed. “The six of us, I’m sure you mean. As well as Spike.”

Twilight’s ears flattened as she glanced away. “No, I meant the five of us … and Spike.”

“Ah. Well ... if I did anything to offend you, I’d be happy to fix whatever it is —”

“No!” she said, a little more forcefully than she’d intended. Passersby slowed to give her strange looks, and her cheeks were tinged crimson as she shrunk a little in her seat. A moment passed, and the other ponies grew disinterested and continued on their way. “No,” she repeated, more controlled this time. “You did nothing wrong, Rarity. Nothing at all. Please, don’t take it as an insult. It slipped out, that’s all. I’d rather not talk about it.”

Rarity arched an eyebrow. “I see … I see. If you’re sure, then.” But her tone promised an extraction of details in a more private setting.

They said nothing. There was an awkward clink of a teacup against a cheap porcelain plate.

“On a lighter note,” Rarity said in a chipper voice, examining a pristine hoof, “I don’t believe I’ve ever told you about that time last week when Rainbow Dash came by the Boutique. I was busy at work as usual, designing a rather unorthodox piece for somepony in Canterlot, when all of a sudden there she was, crashing through my window. Rainbow Dash, I mean, not the Canterlot mare. Luckily I’d left my window open, as I’d remembered how much she seems to love interrupting delicate operations at the most inconvenient moment. It took us a while to get her untangled from all those mannequins — I’m not sure how she even managed to get twisted up like that — but eventually she was able to tell me that she had been wanting to ask if —”

“Rarity,” Twilight said slowly. “Stop talking.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just stop.” Her horn lit up. “Don’t move.”

Twilight tensed as slow realization dawned on Rarity. Behind the latter, long black hands reached closer still; their arms reached from an unseen source, while all the while the sun shone down, only managing to cast them in an oily sheen.

There was a flash of magic, and the hands pulled sharply back … but not before one of them had managed to gently brush against the unicorn’s shoulder. Rarity stiffened at the touch, not daring to move even as Twilight blasted the eldritch hands again. Something hissed, and one of them lunged at the alicorn this time; with a grunt she seized it in a burst of aura, slammed it into the ground with such force to produce an audible squelch.

There was a snarl, and the limp hand was dragged over the ground and out of sight. Grass shriveled and died in its wake.

She waited, but no second hand sprang into view. Only silence draped over the scene. The passersby had disappeared, though where to was a mystery.

“Twilight.” Rarity’s strained voice gently demanded attention. “I … Twilight …”

She was about to tell Rarity to relax, but soon she noted that the once-subtle muscles were contracting far more than was voluntary, twisting the forehooves into knotted mockeries of limbs. Rarity’s skin stretched tightly over her face, growing dry enough for moisture to stream away in a puff of mist. Her luxurious mane dulled and thinned into a stringy mess.

Her lips parted, barely, and her larynx vibrated visibly to produce a deathly rasp. “Twilight … help me.”

Twilight’s ears were pinned flat against her skull. “Rarity,” she breathed, eyes wide and welling. “What did it … No, you can’t be … No, no, no, no, no!” Her throat closed up, and she swallowed hard. “You can’t … I just … they’re not … no … hang in there, I’ll figure out how to —”

“Don’t touch me,” Rarity hissed, and Twilight pulled back her hoof out of reflex. “Touch … infection, it has to be ... it hurts. Celestia, it hurts.” Patches of hair fell from her coat, but she didn’t seem to notice. When she looked at Twilight, her face displayed open terror, but only sadness shone from those blue eyes. “It’s a virus. Don’t let it eat you alive.”

“I can use … no, no magic,” Twilight corrected herself. “But I’m still saving you. I’ll find the princess, just let me —”

“Twilight.” By now Rarity’s voice was no longer her own. “This is not the virus I’m speaking of.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes widened as darkness blotted the sun’s rays, entrapping them in a sudden shroud of starless night. Around them, buildings and clouds dissolved into shadow, closing in on them in a rapidly approaching bubble. “This is … what is this? Rarity! Don’t move, I’ll find help!”

But the words rang hollow as the light was snuffed out, and only Twilight’s horn could illuminate the slumped, twitching body of her friend. Her vision swam in tears as the darkness choked them, swallowed them —

She awoke.

She stared. Despite the faint presence of the light, still shining from the center skyscraper, it was nevertheless dark enough that she wondered if she had really escaped her nightmare. Above lay the moon and stars, distant watchers in the lonely night sky. She blinked as the wind brushed her face. When a hoof reached up to touch her muzzle, it came away cold and wet.

“What was that all about?” she said with a hiccup, but the sound that was drowning her out caught her attention.

She listened. Her ears rose half-heartedly at the noise drifting from below: a quiet murmur of unintelligible speech, punctuated every now and then with a burst of laughter. Uncertain, she got to her shaky hooves with a gentle huff, then walked to the edge of the skyscraper as quietly as she could manage.

The Snivy was already there, standing on the short wall and looking down the lit hundreds-foot-drop without so much as a wobble. He was staring intently at whatever was happening below, not giving a glance as Twilight approached; only a flick of his tail signaled that he was aware of her presence. Not sure that his fearlessness wasn’t mere bravado, she reached his side and peered over the edge. Her head swam at the sheer fall, and her wings flared in response to perceived danger, but she peered past the threat of nausea and down at the procession below.

For it was, in fact, a procession. Even from this height she could see dark shapes moving at a casual pace down the street, faintly lit by strange bright lights that cast warm colors on everything in their reach. The floating lights were scattered about at random points along the street, but the light was just enough to paint the surrounding buildings in yellow and orange. Farther above, where Twilight and her acquaintance watched, everything remained in shadow.

Along both sides of the street, more of the strange beings were gathered. They appeared to be watching their fellows continue along, conveying their approval in a tide of chattering and hissing and cackling. The procession continued along like a tiny stream, and the creatures themselves formed a distant, animalistic mass of predictable and mildly interesting motion. It was as if they were insects, or as if Twilight were a god.

A sickness unrelated to the drop twisted her stomach at the thought.

Music floated from the procession then, as bizarre instruments, suddenly produced by the marchers, glinted in the lights. The music echoed off walls of steel and concrete, reaching the watchers’ ears in a fleeting, muffled form. What sounds Twilight could catch were boisterous, booming things with flute-like soprano woven throughout, all patterned in an upbeat tune that nevertheless carried a somber undertone of an unpleasant past. But the bombastic blasts and tireless trills continued despite the occasional slip into a discordant flat or sharp, promising a continuous journey out of the times of trial and into a brighter, more glorious future.

She found herself tapping a hoof in time with the beat; the Snivy shot her a disparaging look, which she gladly returned. “It’s just music,” she told him, though her rhythm faltered. “Big bands aren’t that terrible.”

He sniffed and flicked his tail, returning his attention to the scene.

She rolled her eyes and let the matter be. Her nostrils flared as a faint flowery scent floated from below, and she watched as a thin pink petal rose up on the wind close enough to reach out and touch; a flock of others soon followed, culminating in a reverse snowfall of color that drifted higher and higher, until they were nothing more than translucent pieces of plants that tried and failed to blot out the stars.

In its own way, this was all very beautiful. And yet they remained there, distant from the celebration while in the lonely darkness, and the ghosts below marched on to the rhythm of brass and cheers. A melancholy joy permeated the city that even the secluded watchers could feel, separate though they were.

The moon continued on its way. Still the procession went on, and the marchers never lost their full force. And all the while Twilight thought of laughing ponies who only drew closer in the face of adversity, never caring that her vision was misted over for hours to come.

To Fear

Twilight eventually realized she was staring into space. Her gaze gravitated toward the procession, but only a deserted street met her wondering eyes. She looked to the north end of the suddenly silent street, swept her attention along its gray length to the south end, and repeated the process a few times as a frown creased her features. The floating lights had vanished, leaving a long tangle of shadows cast by the light at the center skyscraper and the moon … But wait …

She looked up. A dim orb hung in the nearly black sky, obscured by some substance; whether the haze was fog or smoke she could not tell. More immediately concerning was the fact that it was the rising sun, not the setting moon, that was casting its feeble glow across the city. She still had to look away after a few seconds, but that was hardly due to its brightness.

Something tapped her flank. The Snivy stood there, pulling at her hoof in a manner that suggested he was going far out of his way to do so. When she looked down again, she noticed the wall pressing against her chest, and she took a hasty step back as her wings flared. The Snivy darted out of the way, unimpressed with her delayed realization.

“What happened here?” she asked the empty air. She paused, as if expecting an answer, but with a reluctant shrug she turned around and gathered her things. As her saddlebags were slung over her back, she considered a sandwich before taking a bite, then looked over the city again.

The silence of the city draped over the buildings like a cosmic spiderweb. If she strained her hearing, she could hear a distant rustle of cloth or an empty clatter of aluminum in the wake of the stale breeze. The sounds echoed among the lifeless buildings without purpose, dying out gracelessly in a gentle wheeze.

Twilight swallowed the rest of her sandwich. A shiver crawled up her spine at the loneliness of the scene, with not a single breathing being to stand alongside her in the darkness … but she quickly corrected herself as the Snivy slithered over, slipping into the saddlebags as if he had grown up there. “I guess I can’t forget you, can I?” she said with a smile, which only grew when he sniffed and turned up his nose. “You really remind me of somepony, you know?”

With a push of her wings she was in the air, hovering over the surrounding buildings. The lake to the north reflected the weak sunlight, calling her to continue on, continue on … but the light at the center skyscraper still shone, and curiosity trumped duty as she flitted toward it. The Snivy took note of the lack of altitude, poking his nose out to scowl at the delay.

As they approached, Twilight took in the sight of the center skyscraper’s roof. From what she could see, nothing stood on that platform of steel, aside from the light source itself. A few minutes passed as she flew closer, and in that time the light seemed to grow softer, if no less bright; its purpose was to push away the darkness, not weary travelers.

She landed with a slight bump, and the Snivy grumbled at the disturbance. Twilight reached with a wing and patted his head absently as she made her way to the object, taking in every detail with eager eyes. It was a long, curved feather that sparkled different colors when seen from different angles, cycling through the rainbow in a series of careful transitions. Nevertheless, the light it radiated remained a pale yellow that drew the eye and soothed the mind.

“Stop.”

Twilight froze. Her hoof, which had been about to prod the feather, slowly pulled back.

When she looked up, the darkness congealed. Wisps of fog drew across the weak sun as they gathered into a single point that expanded rapidly, filling out into a tall, jagged mass of shadow that hung in the air like a tattered cloak. Limbs sprouted from its sides, drifting aimlessly on the breeze. Sharp outgrowths burst out around its neck like new teeth, the color of blood. A white flame flared to life on its head, dancing silently as the creature floated toward the unmoving. Beneath it a pair of icy eyes opened, and as they settled on Twilight she could have sworn a faint sheen of frost settled on her coat.

But she was more interested in the monster itself than in the weather it attracted. “Rarity …” she managed to say, though her voice was little more than a squeak. “Her eyes — they were that same shade of blue, in the dream. But what …?”

The monster lifted a claw, and words failed her. It was as if such words had been turned to limp, dead, slimy things in her throat, leaving her to swallow in an attempt to rid herself of the unpleasant sensation of stillborn thoughts. When she shivered, it was not merely from the cold.

The creature spoke. “You are a stranger here.”

Its voice seemed to pulse as it spoke, alternating all at once between male and female, high and low, smooth and scratchy, whispering and booming. It was the sort of sound that would have been amusing in any other circumstance, for what is less frightening than a pony trying to mimic the exaggerated warbling of the supposed supernatural? But here, emanating from a mouthless entity, the voice could dance with precision upon each of one’s instincts, urging them to flee as every single sound it made suggested forgotten things lurking in the dark, suggested crying foals stumbling across an otherwise empty continent. It was a voice that could drive heroes to madness and queens to weeping. It was a voice made from the stuff of nightmares.

All later words, however, were abruptly devoid of such a fearsome quality, though the modulation remained. “Would that I were the same.”

Twilight tried to question this desire, but it only emerged as a strained squeak.

The monster descended, and the darkness descended with it. Twilight noted distantly that the sun was now a mere suggestion of a circle, smothered by the haze. The light of the feather did not falter, however, and the monster abruptly halted several feet away; bits of its form fluttered in the face of the soothing glow. If it noticed this, it made no comment.

A strained breath made Twilight’s ear twitch. The Snivy, with visible effort, crawled out and landed gracelessly on the roof with an unpleasant smack. With trembling limbs, he forced himself to stand and fixed upon the monster a glare reminiscent a dust speck challenging the might of a mountain.

“You have a companion.” The monster stated this as immutable fact. “You are fortunate, daughter of magic. Pokémon do not always find it easy to trust what they do not know.”

Something in her mind shifted. A glint of light flashed across her eyes as she found her voice. “S-same thing goes for ponies — and people. But they can still be there for you w-when you least expect it.” Her eyes flitted to the Snivy, and her mouth bent into the ghost of a smile. “Why should P-Pokémon be any different?”

The monster considered this. In the absence of its speech, deathly silence shrouded all, save two arrhythmic sets of shallow breathing. In the chill of the air, the Snivy shuddered.

“I find your answer acceptable,” the monster said at last. It intertwined its arms in an attempt at a calming gesture. “There are matters I wish to discuss with you. For the sake of convenience, you may refer to me as Darkrai.”

Twilight swallowed again. The words came more easily now. “Who are you?”

“I will tell you that, and more. You may wish to be seated; this conversation will not be brief.” Its warped tone suggested no alternative.

She half fell onto the platform of steel. The Snivy remained standing.

“You may have noticed that those in my presence tend to be unnerved,” Darkrai said without a shred of irony. “There is a reason. I am, at my core, a being of nightmares.”

Twilight stiffened. In her mind’s ear, a madmare cackled.

“I understand that nightmares are particularly unpalatable to ponies,” the monster conceded. “I have watched the slumber of your brothers and sisters. Their composure scrambles for purchase if I should so much as think of directing my attention toward them … as you experienced mere hours ago.”

She forced herself to dismiss the long-past memory. “You cause bad dreams … Were you trying to talk to me through my nightmare? Through the dream-Rarity?”

“That is partially correct. I merely touched your dream; if you heard speech in your dream, it had little to do with me. I knew that, after watching your friend die in darkness, you would be drawn toward the light of Lunar Wing. So long as you are shielded by its influence, we may communicate normally.”

“But why go out of your way to get my attention?” She fidgeted under its icy gaze. “Do you know … do you know where I’m going?”

“I have heard rumors. Whispers on the gales of dreamers, stories told and retold. But even with eyes and ears in the minds of all, it is not a simple matter to sift truth from lies. I am not the Avatar of Knowledge.” The white fire flickered. “You will inform me of your purpose.”

There was a pause. Then, in a voice that moved on tiptoes: “Why do you want to me to tell you?”

“Because you do not wish me to take the information directly from your mind. After such an encounter, madness would be a mercy.” It remained unmoved as it watched her jaw tremble. “But even without the protection of the Lunar Wing, you will not suffer that fate. I understand that you are wise among the children of magic.”

The Snivy hissed. A shaking lavender hoof pulled him into the clutches of his owner.

Twilight’s mouth was dry. “You d-didn't answer my question.”

“Then I will be plain. I desire your information because I am curious as to the nature of the catastrophe.”

“... Curious?”

“I did not misspeak.”

“You would do … things to my brain because you’re curious?” Her voice, though wobbling, rose a little.

The monster was unperturbed. “Yes.”

She considered how to respond. No ideas came. So she stared at Darkrai’s calm stance, feeling a wave of disgust at the enormity the situation. “But what would you do with the information?” she managed to ask. Her question was halting, physically restrained.

“Whatever I wish.” The air shook with the sound of a death rattle. “But since you are unreasonably troubled, I will be generous. In addition to not obliterating your mind, I will provide knowledge in return. You will be permitted three questions regarding anything you wish.”

Her brow furrowed. “But you said you weren’t the Avatar of Knowledge.”

“I am not. But you would never forgive yourself if you refused the opportunity to learn any secret in the world. Or even beyond.”

“Fair point.”

She huffed. Then she thought. The inklings of an idea came to mind, but she allowed it no room to betray her. Instead she smoothed her expression into one of careful resignation. The idea was left to simmer, set on the path to slow but steady development.

“You have to promise me,” she said. “Make an … an oath, or something. Any three questions, and you tell only the truth.”

“I do so on the name of the Lunar Wing’s maker,” it vowed. “And that is not a name I take lightly.”

“And you can’t … I don’t know, use what I tell you to hurt ponies somehow.”

“I have no intention of causing your species harm.” Darkrai’s eyes glittered. “Tell your story.”

Twilight glanced at the Snivy. The Snivy glanced back, and there was curiosity buried under the bravado.

The sun crawled slowly across the inky sky as she took a deep breath, thought back to unpleasant memories, and began to tell her tale.

She Planned

In the past, Twilight was having a difficult day.

She had no idea where Discord was. She had no idea where Cadence was. She had no idea what had happened to the Starswirl the Bearded convention. She had no idea what the little shimmering things in the air were. Perhaps most important, though, was that she had no idea where these strange animals were coming from. It was generally shaping up to be the kind of afternoon that made her want to stick her head in the sand and wait for somepony else to fix the problem.

Unfortunately, her coronation had singled her out as the newest incarnation of that somepony else, so she forced herself to grin and bear it. But even with that resolve, she still had no idea where to start. The resident animal expert was currently out of town, so interrogating the animals seemed out of the question. She had wondered if she should have Spike send a letter to the princesses — the other princesses, she reminded herself — but Spike had apparently made himself scarce.

Without that avenue to use, she was stuck standing there in the middle of Mane Street, watching Daisy and Lily try to flee some angry meerkats. At least, they looked like meerkats. The odd swirly eyes called their exact classification into question.

“Twi!” Applejack galloped up from down the street, her fur and mane entirely blue. The alicorn squashed the desire to ask about that minor detail, knowing it would only lead to pain. “Any idea where these critters’re comin’ from? The apple orchards are full of dinosaurs growing bananas.”

“I’m sure they are,” she muttered. “It’s not like things could make any less sense than they are already. Have you seen the others?”

“I think Rarity headed off to the spa,” Applejack said, rubbing her chin. “She was blue like me, so that’s almost understandable. Pinkie went off pony knows where to chase balloons.”

“Is she blue, too?”

“She’s Pinkie. I don’ think that’s possible.”

“Silly Applejack,” Twilight laughed. “Nothing’s impossible where Pinkie’s concerned.” A strand of her mane popped out of place.

“... Eh,” Applejack conceded. “RD’s probably snoozin’ on a cloud somewhere. Fluttershy’s gone, of course. You got a plan?”

“Not yet. I need you to help me and round up the girls. I should probably triple-check to see if there’s any precedent for this kind of thing.”

“Can do, Twi. Roundin’ up is what I do best.”

Twilight watched her as she tipped her hat and galloped off. Then she shook herself and took off toward the library; a flock of ugly birds noticed the motion and followed in ravenous pursuit.

“Well,” she panted as she dodged a storm of sharp beaks, “I’m not sure how this could get any weirder.”

Twilight’s friends arrived at the library to find her surrounded by a mountain of books. She was chewing the edge of her hoof anxiously as her magic flipped deftly through the pages of one tome held aloft before her, then cast it aside when it offered nothing of value and retrieved another.

Rarity, the last of the four to hurl themselves inside, slammed the door with surprising force. “Twilight!” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath. “Do you have any idea what’s going on out there?”

One of Twilight’s ears flicked briefly, but her eyes remained glued to the texts before her. Her friends exchanged weary glances.

“Ahem,” Applejack said as delicately as possible, mimicking her Manehattanite relatives. She crossed the room and, with the tiniest of nudges, moved one of the inkpots a quarter inch out of line.

Twilight’s head snapped up. “Gah! What did you …?” She realized that she was no longer alone. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“What do you mean, Twilight?” Pinkie asked, hanging from the top of a ladder by her hind legs. She swung from side to side at angles that should have been impossible. “Tuning everything out again, or causing massive explosions in the sky?”

“Look, you all know that I can have difficulties in staying between the two extremes of focus, and sometimes that means I end up — wait, what?”

She became intensely aware that every few seconds or so, the floor beneath her hooves shook violently. Her brow furrowed, and she darted toward the window. A blinding red flash made her regret this, however, and with her eyes shut tight she struggled to keep her balance as the library vibrated again.

“Wheeeeeer … BOOM!” Pinkie mimicked the deafening noises outside as another flare of light, this time vivid blue, threw the shadows in the library into stark relief for a moment. “Wow, this is really is way more impressive than any fireworks I’ve ever done!”

“Pinkie, it’s not fireworks and you know it,” Rainbow Dash grumbled, her wings fluttering in hopes of action. “It’s dragons.”

“Dragons who do fireworks better than the ponies who do fireworks, you mean! I hope they got their pyrotechnic licenses renewed. More fiery fun for everypony!”

“What do you mean, dragons?” Twilight made as if to step back to the window, then thought better of it and summoned a pair of sunglasses with a pop. “Dragons can’t do anything like this! We’d know about it if they did!”

“We don’t know much about dragons, period,” Rarity reminded her, wincing as another quake caused her mane to wobble. “It’s not as if modern books are up to standard on many subjects.”

Twilight resisted the urge to discuss the merits of literature and how life in Equestria hinged on its existence. “There would still be at least stories about that kind of thing,” she pointed out, eyeing a soapbox in the corner. “Even with Nightmare Moon and other evil ponies, there were adaptations of the havoc they caused.” She peered out the window with shaded eyes. “Now that I think about it, this looks an awful lot like the fight between Celestia and Nightmare Moon a thousand years ago.”

Her eyes scanned the suddenly clouded sky, and she was rewarded by the sight of a huge white shape soaring in a wide arc and leaving a plume of red fire in its wake. Another flash obscured her vision, but it cleared just in time to catch a blur of black and blue streaking after its pale counterpart. A blast of redirected electricity arced downward to split a house in two.

She pulled back, wincing. “Whatever they are, they’re dangerous.”

“Find Spike anywhere?” Applejack asked, steadying her hat as a particularly angry rumble threatened to dislodge it. “If anypony knows what’s going on, it’s the princesses.”

“If only. When I got back I called for him enough times to almost hurt my throat, but apparently he’s not here.” Twilight’s eyes snapped to her pink friend automatically. “Don’t make that pun, Pinkie.”

Pinkie’s eyes and grin widened innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Ugh.” Rainbow somehow managed to pinch the bridge of her nose. Pinkie looked on with pride. “Less talking, more doing. C’mon, what have we done with every other threat that tried to conquer Equestria?”

Applejack considered it. “Throw Princess Cadence at it?”

“Ye—” Rainbow shook herself. “I mean, no. Besides that.”

“We used the Elements of Harmony, of course,” Rarity said helpfully, “but—”

“So what’re we waiting for? Let’s just get the Elements from the Tree of Harmony and blast those dragons into the next decade!”

“Slow down there, sugarcube. That’s a temptin’ idea, I ain’t denyin’ that. But even if we could risk lettin’ those plundervines loose again, we’d need Fluttershy here. And she’s still off studyin’ them Breezie creatures.”

“And the big deal is what, exactly? Twilight can just teleport over there and grab her. Problem solved.” Rainbow rolled her eyes so hard that they appeared to be in danger of falling out of her head.

“Oh, Rainbow Dash,” a disembodied voice said, making everypony jump. “I thought you were a better friend than that. You can’t really be suggesting that Twilight Sparkle kill herself, even for the sake of being reunited with dear Fluttershy.”

Above them, a lamp shuddered and exploded harmlessly into sugary confetti, revealing an ordinary-sized draconequus who posed as if expecting applause. He was no longer blue; the fact that he wasn’t really sick didn’t shock Twilight in the slightest. What alarmed her was his deadly serious expression, which clashed horribly with the settling confetti. She decided not to question the string of sushi draped across his shoulders like a boa.

“Discord!” she exclaimed. “Did you have something to do with all this?”

“Why, Twilight Sparkle,” he replied, placing a paw over his heart, “I am injured at your accusation. Absolutely injured. Me, destroy Equestria? What kind of madman do you take me for?”

The ponies’ flat expressions could have put pancakes to shame.

“Hm. Skeptics, I see. Very well. I’m not responsible for these dragons of doom decimating the domain of those dull dames … at least, not directly.” He held up a claw to stave off their cries of outrage. “The fact is, I don’t always have a flair for the dramatic. But when I do, I do it in style.”

“I expect your definition of ‘style’ is very different from ours,” Rarity said. Her voice had an edge that could cut stone.

“But of course, my magnificent madame! You ponies may have noticed that I kicked off a show-stopping number just a few hours ago. Time and space warping, dimensions fitting snugly within these walls, you know?”

“Ooh, I wondered what that was!” Pinkie beamed at the revelation, indignation forgotten. “I’d thought that you were just making a balloon factory or something, but a big song and dance works too. Even if you should’ve let me know something so fun was going on, but I guess I can let it go the first time. As long as you didn’t break anything, everything should abso-tively hunky-dory!”

To their surprise, Discord’s sigh went unaccompanied by any humorous noises. “It’s not that I broke anything. Let me explain … no, there is too much for your little heads to take in. Let me sum up.

“For the sake of this exercise, I want you all to think of our universe as a self-sustaining miniature environment held together by a thin surface. Don’t think for a moment that I mean a perfect little bubble, Twilight. I’m talking about a twisting, turning thing that only follows recognizable laws of nature from its own perspective.”

With a snap of his fingers, a floating image of a clouded landscape appeared. It was bent as various odd angles, rolling over and under and through itself in a loose tangle of matter. Twilight tried to get a better look at the things within, but it was difficult to see through the semi-translucent pink skin that formed the environment’s boundaries.

“Now, are you ready for this? Because I don’t want your minds to explode, as amusing as that would be.” He gestured to the image, which grew many more environments that slipped in and out of each other with the slightest of curves. The resulting tangle was a tight cluster that shone faintly; the room was lit with its cornucopia of colors. “Our universe isn’t the only one out there. Of course, this little model is so simplified that even I don’t find it funny, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Universes?!” Twilight stammered. “But — I don’t — what — too many — Celestia and Luna — gah — Why are there so many of them?”

“You’re taking this rather well.” He smirked at the other four, who were frozen in gaping expressions. “Much as I’d love to tell you about how this all works, we don’t have all day. Now, if someone with enough power was able to briefly slip into these universes, the ‘breach’ would look something like this.” He gestured at the nearest environment, which was bulging slightly into its neighbor. “Within the foreign boundaries, in a sense, but still with a distinct hold on home. Actual penetration is unlikely, unless—”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Rainbow hovered in front of his face with an accusatory leer. “Your song or whatever it was. You caused all of this! Now fix it before somepony gets hurt!” Her friends nodded in agreement, frowns creasing their brows.

He was unperturbed. “I would if I could, but as it happens, there are extenuating circumstances—”

“There? You see, guys? He just won’t do it, and makes some dumb excuse instead. It’s like the plundervines all over again.”

“We’ll have to come up with something on our own, then,” Twilight reasoned. “World-shattering revelations about the nature of reality aside. I’d teleport and get Fluttershy, but apparently Discord thinks that’s a bad idea. It probably has to do with the dimensional mess he caused. Any ideas on what we should do in the meantime?”

“I’d bring up the Elements of Harmony as a possibility,” Rarity said, gritting her teeth as another tremor shook her to the core, “but as Applejack said, they aren’t exactly an option right now.”

The ponies considered this. They had saved the world before, of course, but if Discord was telling the truth, there was more than one world at stake. There was no telling what rules they were playing by now. Even Pinkie seemed deep in thought, having come down from her perch to join her pensive friends.

Eventually Applejack spoke up. “What about the box?”

“Do you mean that crystalline box by the Tree?”

“I reckon I do, Rarity. It popped up as soon as we gave up the Elements. Now, I won’t say I know a lot about magic, but it seems awful coincidence-like that the box came as soon as the Elements were gone.”

“Yeah!” Rainbow’s eyes lit up. “It’s gotta have something that can really kick flank and take names!”

Twilight glanced up at her table, where rough sketches of the mysterious container sat. “That could work … although I wouldn’t know where to even start looking for the keys.”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Pinkie waved a hoof frantically. “I got this one! If it’s connected to the Elements, and the Elements need friendship, and friendship needs laughter and generosity and everything else, maybe the keys have virtue thingies just like the Elements! So I would need a key that has to do with making ponies happy!”

Everypony stared at her. She beamed back at them.

“That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Rarity remarked. “Dare I say I like it?”

Rainbow blinked. “Pinkie, I never thought I would say this, but you can be a real egghead.”

“Nah,” Pinkie conceded. “I’d rather be a Pinkie.”

“I thought of it first,” Discord muttered, flipping through a large book bearing white and blue bookmarks. The others ignored him.

Twilight, whose brain was teetering on the verge of shorting out, managed to shake herself back to reality. “It’s a bit of extrapolation on Pinkie’s part, but I could see it working. Why don’t we grab some keys and give it a shot?” She looked around at her friends and matched the determined grins they wore. “It can't hurt to try.”

She Realized

Their arrival at the Tree of Harmony was under better circumstances than their first visit had been, though not by much. No plundervines snaked across the forest floor, and no cragodiles snapped at them; nevertheless, their replacements were numerous.

Gangs of bipedal yellow lizards roved among the trees, sizing up the passing ponies with mischievous looks. Once Applejack had casually bucked one of the trees in half, however, the creatures apparently took the hint and kept their distance, though they continued to watch their progress with beady eyes. But despite the absence of plundervines or even Nightmare Moon to make their progress urgent, nerves ran high thanks to the dangers that lurked at unexpected turns. Pinkie Pie, bouncing along with eyes closed, had nearly fallen right into the gaping maw of a massive pitcher plant; only the timely intervention of Rainbow Dash saved her from an acidic death.

In other words, it was just another day of saving Equestria. Twilight hoped that they could avoid jumping through hoops this time, even with one of her friends missing. So it was with familiar relief that they noticed the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters come into view.

As they descended the stairs set into the side of the chasm, Twilight looked to her saddlebags, where everypony had put their keys for the time being. Despite Pinkie’s unusual brand of logic, the alicorn couldn’t help but feel that the little bits of metal jingling within simply didn’t have the same weight as the Elements. She forced herself not to think about it too much. They didn’t have many other options to try.

The Tree of Harmony shone as brightly and beautifully as ever, casting its gentle brilliance across every inch of its cave of residence. Behind her, Twilight could hear Rarity let out an “Ooh” of appreciation, and she felt inclined to agree: there was something pleasant about the balls of light dangling from its branches like leaves, something that lent assurance and soothed the soul.

As they approached, the five ponies converged on the mysterious box. Like before, it formed the center of the large flower sprouting from the Tree’s roots, and its thirteen faces shimmered gently as the ponies gathered.

“I ain’t gonna lie,” Applejack said as Twilight brought out the keys. “It’s pretty an’ all, but it creeps me right the hay out.”

“It’s a box, AJ.” Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Pretty unimpressive after the Elements of Harmony, dontcha think?”

“It sure seems that way, don’t it?”

Rainbow raised an eyebrow at that, but the farmpony refused to elaborate.

“Anyway,” Twilight said, “why don’t we bring up why we picked the keys we did? I think it’d be good to understand just what kind of harmonic elements we’re dealing with.”

“Kay.” Rainbow swooped in and plucked out a rather jagged key that had clearly been broken more than once. “This is the one that goes to Daring Do’s house.”

“You swiped her key?!” Rarity’s eyes bulged. “Heavens, Rainbow Dash, have you no sense of decorum?”

“Ew, no. And really, didn’t you see what the house looked like when we got there? She probably has a new one somewhere in the Amarezon Rainforest. But that’s not the point.” She cradled the key in her hooves, gazing upon it tenderly. “It was when we were there, helping Daring Do fight off Ahuizotl and Caballeron and their jerks, that I realized it isn’t enough to gush over somepony you admire. You have to get in there and actually help her, because letting her just hang by herself isn’t cool.” A grin cracked on her face. “You can be loyal to more than a hoofful of ponies, I think. Discord tried to make me think that was wrong a long time ago, but I’ve realized giving a pony a hoof doesn’t mean turning my back on everypony else.”

Saying this, she reached down to insert the key. She was forced to pause, however, when a cloud of purple magic seized it and held it in the air for a moment, warping it and twisting it … if those were even the right words to describe the process. In a moment they key’s handle had been reshaped into a puffy cloud, which seemed to be its proper shape since it slipped into the keyhole quite easily.

There was not a closed mouth in the cave.

“... I think we’re on to something,” Twilight said weakly. “Uh, good. Anypony else?”

“I got this, sugarcube,” Applejack said, taking her key this time. “Back home, we’ve got a fresh-made copy of the family history book that Goldie Delicious has. This key here goes to the box that we’ve put the book in for safekeepin’. It was thanks to that book, and all the events that led up to it, that I realized it don’t matter whether paper’s got the answers or not. I know the honest truth of it in my heart.” She wrapped a hoof around Pinkie’s shoulders. “Y’all are part of my family, even if it ain’t by blood.”

“And you’re part of my family, too!” Pinkie added, nuzzling her friend as they watched the handle of the key twist into the shape of an apple seed.

Rarity smiled, withdrawing a rather small key from the remaining quartet. “I’ll admit, not all of the memories with this key are pleasant. I got this from the hotel room in Manehattan—”

“Ha!” Rainbow crowed, getting in her face. “And you made a stink about me taking other ponies’ keys!”

“Yes, well.” Rarity bounced her curls off her hoof idly. “I didn’t mean to steal it. I contacted the managers as soon as I realized I still had it, but they told me not to worry about it. I have my doubts as to whether you extended the same courtesy to Daring Do.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes.

“It seems likely that I forgot it wasn’t mine because of the stresses of Fashion Week. Some of those stresses were my own fault, of course. How could I have not realized the very real difference between providing a competitor with a few tips, and entrusting that competitor with the fabric of my own creation? … I suppose I was still reeling from the loss of my Element. Not because of its beauty, but because of the virtue it represented. I was so obsessed with living up to the standard that had been taken from me, that it never occurred to me that everything has its time and place.” Her dainty laugh hitched slightly. “I should have been generous because it was right, not merely for generosity’s sake.”

She sniffed and avoided the others’ eyes. She did not, however, avoid Rainbow’s hoof as the pegasus awkwardly patted her withers.

“Neato!” Pinkie grinned as Rarity’s key warped to accommodate the shape of a diamond and floated into place. “And my story goes great with that, too! Check this out!” She plucked a rather rusty thing from the keys that were left. “Remember that time we all went to the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters, except we didn’t know everypony else had gone there, so you all ran around and had a great time being scared? And eventually we figured out that the organ was setting off all the traps, and that it was my fault! Except it wasn’t my fault, because there wasn’t a fault to be had! It was all in fun!”

“I ain’t sayin’ that’s a bad story, Pinkie, but what does the key have to do with this?”

“Oh, a secret compartment opened up in the organ, and when I reached in I found this instead of getting my hoof tickled! Simple stuff like that. But when I saw it, I figured out anypony can make other ponies happy, even on dark and stormy nights! It’s like a surprise party that even the party pony didn’t know about until it’s over!”

As the key, now sporting the shape of a balloon, floated over to join its fellows, Twilight decided not to point out the improbability of Pinkie’s anecdote.

“What about Fluttershy?” Rainbow asked. She gestured at the comically large key that dwarfed Twilight’s. “Does this thing go to her shed or something?”

“Actually, yes, it does. Remember the vampire fruit bat incident?”

The others winced.

“She mentioned about a week ago that since then, she’s been keeping something locked up in there. I don’t know what it is, and I wasn’t about to burst in on her personal things like that. But since she was being so kind for the bats, and since this key is involved, it doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch to think it might be connected.”

She nudged Fluttershy’s key toward the box. The key sprouted an long, many-legged shape as it clicked into place. Twilight’s confusion at this faded upon realizing it was probably meant to be a caterpillar.

“And then there’s mine.” She let her utterly average key rotate slowly in her magical grip. “This goes to the cabinet where the Element of Magic is for safekeeping … I mean, where it used to be. It was there for all of three months, sure, but it still felt like it was meant to be there. Celestia had trusted us with them in case Discord caused trouble, but since he was mostly just annoying, it didn’t seem like we would need them for a while.

“But then the plundervines happened. And when we needed to give up our Elements … the things that helped to bring us together in the first place … it was like I was sacrificing my horn. It’s strange to say, but it felt like it was part of me. I think you all felt the same way.”

The others nodded.

“Over time, though, I’ve started to realize something. They still are a part of us! We haven’t stopped being kind or generous or honest or loyal. We still laugh at our fears. Don’t you see? The magic of friendship isn’t gone!” Twilight brushed a tear aside. “Even without the Elements, we still go through challenges together. We enjoy the good times together. We even go to Pinkie’s parties together.

“So even though this key is a reminder of what we had to give up, it’s also a reminder that we don’t always need them to get through our problems. All we really need is each other!”

Twilight’s key stretched as her last words echoed through the cavern triumphantly. In a heartbeat, the handle had become the shape of a simple star, and its teeth fit neatly into the final keyhole.

There was a chorus of hushed breaths. Tentatively, the five ponies took places around the expectant box, putting their hooves to the keys with the delicacy expected of handling a strange new magic. Even Pinkie was quiet.

“It’s so strange,” Rarity murmured, glancing around at her equally motionless friends. They all stared at the box as if it were about to bite them. “This experience, I mean. It’s as if there’s something hollow being filled, if you understand me.”

“I don’t feel right, doin’ this without Fluttershy,” Applejack admitted. “But Equestria’s countin’ on us to fix this mess. Guess it’s just somethin’ we gotta do.” Noting that Fluttershy’s key sat there alone next to hers, she awkwardly shifted her weight to her hind legs so that she could rest a front hoof on the lonely caterpillar shape.

Twilight took a deep breath. “Right. We have to do this. Together.”

They agreed solemnly. Then, as if in a single motion, their hooves turned the golden keys …

… Then pulled quickly back to shield their eyes as a bright glow emanated from the box. Lights danced across the branches of the Tree of Harmony, but their beauty went unnoticed as the ponies took a few steps back from the sheer power radiating from the artifact before them.

It vanished. The light dimmed. Everypony blinked, waiting for some sudden second surge to rise up, but no such surge came. Cautiously, they leaned toward the opened box.

Bright as the Tree was, the contents of the box were cast into shadow. Its depths were beyond what might be expected of something that had sprouted from a flower, as they stretched deep, deep into the tangled roots below. Several feet below, something sparkled in a vast array of colors, tantalizingly out of reach.

“... Is that it?” Rainbow’s ears drooped in disappointment. “I thought there’d be, y’know, more explosions.”

“It’s shiny!” Pinkie observed, sticking her head into the opening. “Oh wait, now it’s not.” She pulled back. “Wait, there it is again! Darn its cunning scheme, hiding when I try to get a closer look! What a cheater.” She pouted.

“I don’t understand.” Twilight peered down into the darkness. “We brought the keys it needed. Maybe we missed a step?”

“It must be because Fluttershy’s missing.” Rarity frowned. “Remember when Rainbow was missing the first time Discord was freed?”

“Don’t remind me,” Rainbow huffed.

Twilight fell back on her haunches. Her wings quivered.

“Sugarcube, don’t be like that.” Applejack wrapped a hoof around her friend’s shoulders. “I’ll admit, I’m disappointed too, but it ain’t the end of the world.” She paused. “Uh, maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it, but you know what I mean. Now we know we need Fluttershy. Hay, I’ll bet you that she’s in Ponyville right this minute, on account of hurryin’ to help us when she knows we need her. She ain’t never let us down before.”

Twilight’s shoulders rose and fell dramatically as she took a deep breath, and then another. “You’re right, Applejack. It’s not a big deal. We just have to let her know where we are.” Her voice only trembled a little. “We can fix this ...”

Something clattered. Twilight lifted her head, confusion coloring her expression upon realizing Applejack was no longer hugging her. With a niggling sense of apprehension, she turned around to see what everypony else was staring at.

Strange creatures flooded the entrance of the cavern, trailing up the stairs outside and lining the edge of the cliff above. They formed a sea of white and gray in their uniforms, resembling an army of knights. Outside, the light of the setting sun cast their faces in a gentle glow that was entirely at odds with their stern expressions. Several grasped red-and-white spheres in armored hands.

Before them stood a tall man, held tall in the grip of a large brace set about his shoulders. On his robe a pair of massive eyes glared at the shocked ponies, and a smirk played at the corners of his lips at their confusion. A red monocle glinted on his right eye; his left arm flipped a sphere into the air, unleashing a massive black-and-purple monster in a flash of light.

“This place has power of its own, it seems. Pokémon cannot be truly free until they are freed from the lie of friendship.” He waved idly in the ponies’ direction, and his followers tensed in anticipation. “A pity that these bizarre horses are neither humans nor Pokémon. They do not fit into our mission, but perhaps they can be of use to us. Take them.”

The knights advanced.

She Tried

Twilight suppressed the urge to panic, but just barely. The last time she and her friends had faced an army, they had been overwhelmed by its sheer numbers. As her eyes flitted over the approaching bipeds, she noted that this didn’t seem to be strictly the case, as the phalanx of knights didn’t blot out the sunlight. But if they could all summon monsters the way their leader had, the ponies might be in serious trouble.

She didn’t waste any time. A broad beam of magic erupted from her horn, knocking aside an entire swath of knights before making a muffled impact against the cliffside. The rest of the knights paused, showing wariness at the unexpected display of power. A few turned toward the stairs, as if to bolt to safety, but a moment’s thought seemed to convince them to stay.

Those knights closest to the ponies plucked red-and-white spheres from their belts, unleashing unfamiliar shapes in uneven bursts of light. The small animals that emerged seemed to be of two varieties: purple cats wearing smirks and heavy-lidded expressions, and striped crocodilian monsters that snapped their jaws in anticipation.

Rainbow rose a little higher in the air at the sight of the latter species. “Hey, they’re wearing sunglasses! About time we got to fight something that actually knows how to be cool!”

The animals advanced. They were taking their time, perhaps to avoid trampling each other, but their approach was sure and steady. Out of the corners of her eyes, Twilight saw her friends tense, preparing themselves for what was to come.

There was a gust of wind as Rainbow rushed forward. “Cool or not, I’m only gonna give you one warning! Leave my friends alone!”

One of the cats leapt to meet her, claws extended. Rainbow’s outstretched hoof slammed into the furry beast, and it flailed and yowled as it arced away. A paw had made contact, however, leaving a few light scratches for her to remember it by. The cat was in no position to gloat, since when it bowled into one of the knights they both groaned pitifully.

Rainbow scowled as a drop of red swelled on her hoof. “Yeah. We’re not playing nice today.”

She dove at a cluster of crocodiles, darting in and out among their open jaws as she landed punches and kicks in a blur of blue limbs. One of the monsters leaned in hungrily, but her wing flicked upward at its approach, catching it beneath the throat hard enough to send it toppling along with a number of its peers.

More creatures surged forward, cornering the ponies even further. Their assault was met head-on by Applejack, who quickly closed the gap yet showed no signs of slowing. A smack rang out as she headbutted the nearest cat, which reeled backward in a daze. Two more closed in from the side, but she swiveled on her forelegs to buck them clear into the cavern wall. “I don’ know who you varmints are,” she grunted, “but we’re not about to go down like a bunch of pansies!”

“Applejack, please.” Pinkie bounced atop the creatures’ heads, moving from one to the next with ease. “Fluttershy likes pansies! If she were here, she’d get along with them easy peasy!”

“But she’s not here.” Rarity punched a crocodile in the face. “We shall have to make the best of the situation.”

Twilight paused, half prepared to join her friends in the fray. “Wait,” she realized. “If Fluttershy were here, we’d have everything taken care of already! Maybe she came back! She has to have realized that there’s a problem by now!”

Rainbow rolled her eyes as she casually backhoofed the crocodile behind her. “Of course she came back! Fluttershy doesn’t leave ponies hangin’!”

“Well, what’re ya waitin’ for, Twi?” Applejack lassoed a trio of critters and flung them into the ceiling, using a rope she had pulled from who knew where. “Check and see!”

A crocodile lunged at the earth pony’s exposed back. Twilight’s magic seized it in mid-jump and slammed it into the ground. “B-but … I can’t leave you girls here, though! What if—?”

“I believe we can take care of ourselves for the moment,” Rarity assured her, picking up a cat by the tail and swinging it in a circle over her head to take out the approaching creatures. “But we do need Fluttershy. You remember the last time we tried to solve a problem when we were one pony short, don’t you?”

Twilight bit her lip.

“Go on, Twilight!” Pinkie called, jumping high into the air just in time for the creatures jumping at her to crash into each other. “We got this! You can get Fluttershy! Then we’ll all be gotten and getting and getters!”

“Well …” Twilight exhaled. “Okay. I’ll blink over and bring her here. If you’re all sure you can handle this.”

“Yes!” they chorused.

She nodded. With a flash of her horn, some sticky substance had covered a hundred short legs, gluing the animals to the floor. Though they pulled and snarled, they weren’t about to break free anytime soon.

Then, in a burst of purple light, she teleported.

“You really shouldn’t have done that.”

Twilight pulled in a deep, gasping breath for the first time in what seemed like years. Her glossy eyes stared, reflecting the colorful apocalypse of Ponyville without actually seeing it. A bolt of bright blue surged out of the sky, glassing the ground just feet away, but she didn’t so much as flinch. Something reddish leaked from her eyes and mouth.

An eagle’s talon poked her forehead. In a flash, the world righted itself, and Twilight blinked. She lay still for a while, staring with clear eyes at the sky as she pondered on what she was doing on the ground. Hadn’t she been going to find Fluttershy? She wiggled her hooves uncertainly, and though her limbs felt strangely weak, they responded.

“What happened?” she rasped. The taste of vomit burned her tongue. “I can’t remember …”

“That’s because of me, naturally.” Discord’s voice floated down from above, sounding almost sympathetic. “I figured you wouldn’t want to be a gibbering vegetable for the rest of time, so I just took out the memory.”

“You … can do that?”

“Apparently. Strange how such a smart pony would go ahead and do the exact thing I warned her not to do, don’t you think?”

“You should’ve told me something bad would happen.” Twilight swallowed. “Whatever it was …”

“Just try not to do it again. It’s your good luck that you’re immortal … or, from another point of view, it would have been very bad luck indeed.” His face loomed into view, and Twilight tried to be surprised that he was snacking on sushi. “What did you do that for, anyway?”

“Fluttershy.” A choking cough. “She should be back by now from the Breezies.”

“She isn’t.”

“This is no time for games, Discord. Where is she?”

“You really think I’d kid about …? Don’t answer that.”

“Teleporting isn’t hurting you that much, apparently. Couldn’t you go over to where she is and tell her to come?”

“I already did.”

“Then where is she?”

“With the Breezies.”

Twilight’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make any sense. Even if you can’t teleport with her, wouldn’t she be heading back right away?”

“She said there was something more important to be taken care of.”

“More important than this?” Twilight’s eyes bulged, and she scrambled onto noodly hooves. The world swayed as she stood, but a few deep breaths cleared her head. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“Can I come?”

“... Sure, why not.” Her wings flared, and with a few shaky strokes she pushed herself into the air. “You can’t make things any worse.”

His serpentine form swam after her. “Is that an insult, or a challenge?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“You know, I have the strangest urge to provide our flight with mood music.”

“Don’t joke around.”

“Then I suppose I’ll settle for these angsty eighth notes. Play your sappy song, you little devils!”

Twilight groaned.

She Persisted

The nature preserve, Twilight was sure, would have been a tranquil place under normal circumstances. Strange and wonderful trees stood delicately small, bursting with a spectrum of blossoms. In the center of the sizable plot of land lay a pond, big enough for hundreds of fish to live in, and muddy tracks on its shore revealed the animals that frequented its offering.

As it was, though, large gouges had been torn out of the earth, and exotic trees lay uprooted here and there. The pond looked half empty, and its barely settled surface was broken by the sudden impact of a thrown, winded creature. Above, a huge feathered lizard hissed in triumph, only to squawk as the gothic biped in the water struck it with a bolt of electricity, sending it flailing into the water.

“What a sad creature,” Discord said idly, dismissing both creatures with a flick of his talons. “I should replace his face with something new, something preferable. Like an old boot.”

Twilight’s vision swam. She dipped down as her wings faltered, just managing to turn a fall into a haphazard glide. “Can you see Fluttershy anywhere?”

“Mmm … let’s see.” He brought his hands together, creating a functional pair of binoculars. Dark lenses expanded and contracted as he gazed across the preserve. “Not there, or there … Ooh, certainly not there … Ah! Over with the adorable vermin ponies.”

She grabbed the binoculars from him and trained her vision on the indicated spot. Her eyes widened. “They’re all over her! Fluttershy, don’t worry!”

A striped violet streak trailed after her as she shot toward a busy clearing. Purple wings flapped deeply as she dropped into a landing, and she rubbed her head with a wobbly hoof as she steadied herself. Listening, she caught the sound of squeaks and chirrups, ignoring Discord as he simpered slowly downward on butterfly wings.

“Fluttershy?” Bile threatened to rise, but Twilight swallowed it staunchly. “Are you there?”

A bush rustled. “Oh! Twilight!” A yellow muzzle poked out from the midst of the leaves, smiling. Little colored patches hung from Fluttershy’s mane, and only when she came closer did they reveal themselves as tiny, bug-like equines that clung to the strands like their lives depended on it. The Breezies swung there when she suddenly stopped, considering. “Um … what are you doing here?”

Twilight’s smile could have lit a dark cavern. “Getting you, of course! The princesses are missing, giant dragons are fighting above Ponyville, and alien knights from another universe are trying to take our friends captive!”

Fluttershy blinked.

“Eheheh … That does sound like a sentence Pinkie Pie would be proud of, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Twilight. I do believe you.” Fluttershy gestured toward where the lizard and biped were fighting; there was an almighty crash as a tree toppled. “After all our scary adventures, you know, it doesn’t seem so strange.”

“Great!” Twilight flared her wings. “Hurry, Fluttershy! We can still reach our friends in time!”

She pushed off, and the wind rushed in her feathers. High in the sky, Twilight looked down at the wreckage of the preserve, where smaller variants of the foreign creatures fled from the violence. She smiled at Fluttershy, assuring her that they could fix this, and …

Twilight frowned. “Fluttershy?” She made a u-turn, wobbling a bit in midair, and came to an uneasy landing. “Fluttershy, aren’t you coming?”

“Oh, I will.” Fluttershy made shushing sounds for a crying Breezie. “I just need to help these little guys stay safe first.”

A purple ear twitched. “Okay … Can I help?”

“That’s very nice of you, Twilight, but Breezies need a gentle touch.” She smiled apologetically as another Breezie stared at her friend in abject terror. “And I think they’re not used to ponies. It’s a wonder they opened up to me at all.”

Twilight grit her teeth as a great roar shook the trees. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

“Hmm …” Fluttershy tapped her chin, careful not to disturb the Breezies. “Probably only a couple hours.”

“A couple hours?” Twilight’s eyes bulged. “Fluttershy, we have to help our friends right now! They need us!”

Fluttershy’s ears pinned back, but she didn’t shrink away. “I’m sorry, Twilight, but our friends can take care of themselves. The Breezies can’t. I—”

“But what about Equestria? I don’t know how long everypony can deal with these creatures!”

There was a sigh. “I really am sorry. But the Breezies come first right now.”

The light faded from Twilight’s eyes. Slowly, her wings drooped. The bile in her throat threatened to rise again. “... Now I know why Loyalty didn’t choose you.”

Fluttershy stared.

“Ooh, zing.” Discord clapped tentatively; Twilight had forgotten he was there at all. “Fluttershy, dear, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but why not listen to Twilight? This when-worlds-collide debacle isn’t going to fix itself.”

“Now, Discord.” Fluttershy leveled a look at him. “You know very well that ponies in need have priority. Even …” She giggled as a Breezie nuzzled her. “Even if they’re not exactly ponies.”

Twilight snorted. “Actual ponies need you.” Her head lifted, revealing a glint of steely determination. “You’re coming, Fluttershy. Right now.”

“Oh, Twilight, you know you can’t EEEK!”

“This is for everypony’s good, Fluttershy!” Twilight huffed as she pushed off into the air, magically dragging Fluttershy behind her. Breezies fell like leaves from Fluttershy’s mane, squeaking. “You have to see the big picture!”

“Twilight …” Fluttershy grunted, struggling to free herself. “They’ll be fine! They always are!”

“No, they aren’t.” The nature preserve disappeared behind them, and the land before lay crowded with creatures. “Hold still, Fluttershy! I can’t concentrate on flying and taking care of you at the same time!”

“Then maybe you should let me go.” Fluttershy’s voice was soft, yet hard. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“I’m not thinking straight?”

“Do you think they can’t handle themselves?”

“Don’t talk like that. Whenever this level of problem has come up, have any of us ever faced it alone?”

“Let me go, Twilight.”

“Of course not! We’re strong because we’re friends. That’s what it all comes down to.” Twilight’s eyes narrowed into a distinctly unfriendly glare. “I know you’re not scared, Fluttershy. You have to help us.”

“No.”

“Fluttersh—”

All sound vanished. The world vanished in a blast of color, rapidly drowning in violent brightness. Both ponies ceased arguing, their anger trailing off as they hovered in midair, squeezing their eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out the light. The very air shuddered with power, tickling every hair on their bodies unpleasantly.

Wait, Twilight mouthed. Not even the vibrations in her throat were tangible. This isn’t like—

A split second later, her magic flickered—

somepony screamed—

and then—