A Dream of Pride and Envy

Chapters

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Epilogue

Part One

A Dream of Pride and Envy
By Tundara

First among the Great Sins is Lust. For those with a covetous heart will never see what they already possess.

-The Book of Sol, on the Seven Sins of Ponykind

Dust covered the well worn pith helm, collecting in the gouge created by an arrow until it overflowed to trickle like a grey river down to the rim. The helm had been given a place of respect and reverence, sitting atop a low shelf of books and journals that overlooked the grounds of Honigwein College in the rolling hills of Beinehaus county. From there it would be warmed by Sol most of the afternoon and be seen by the students milling about the commons during the morning.

The helm’s owner knew that her hat didn’t know any of this—it was just a piece of felt covered wood, afterall, and not one of the few eldritch artifacts that lay scattered across the disc, waiting to be uncovered in ancient, lost tombs—but it gave her some comfort to think that the helm was enjoying a good retirement.

She could not say the same for herself.

Daring Do gave an exaggerated sigh, glancing up at her old companion from the stacks of papers she was grading.

Calling it retirement would have been a stretch, she still worked, after all, as the professor of pre-classical history for the college. But she no longer delved into ancient vaults, sneaking past insidious traps, battling Prench agents seeking a tool to use in their endless war to dominate the Old World. No, Daring Do had left the adventure and romance, the danger and excitement, the wonders and mysteries behind for a desk, comfort, and a teacher’s aide.

Perched on the end of her muzzle were a pair of fine, gold rimmed glasses that almost seemed to blend into her bronze hued coat; a gift from the Bey of Mareta. Much like the rest of her body, her eyes were worn and damaged by her adventures, leaving her partially blind in the left. Without her glasses, Daring could hardly see more than four pony lengths.

While Daring wasn’t old, at least not in terms of years spent on the disc, she wasn’t young, either. Her back ached where she’d had too many crash landings, and she was lame in her hind-left leg from where she’d been tortured by her deceased nemesis, Ahuizotl, and her right wing refused to fully extend anymore. None of these injuries, old even by the time of her final adventure, would have been enough to keep Daring out of the field. No, it had been her lungs that relegated her to a teaching position.

Her breaths were slow and laboured even while resting, and she couldn’t run or fly for more than a few minutes without collapsing, gasping for air, tears streaming down her face. Old Wheezy, her students called her behind her back when they thought she couldn’t hear.

Daring’s face burned at the memory of their taunting voices.

She was about to reach for her medicine when the door to her office was flung open and Plumb Bob marched in, a stack of envelopes and letters in his telekinetic grip.

“Letters for you, Professor,” the slate-grey pony said, his bright eyes glowing like a pair of polished oranges as he shut the door. “And a package.”

“Package first,” Daring said without hesitation, giving the letters a suspicious glare.

The Equestrian Tax Revenue offices had been hounding her for months, claiming that the idol of Faust she’d discovered on her final journey had been worth ten times what she’d claimed. A constant stream of letters were flowing back and forth, Daring arguing that if the idol had been worth so much she could buy half of Canterlot out-right, the Equestrian Tax Revenue just demanded that she pay something on the order of twenty thousand bits. Their letters had started to grow rather nasty, threatening to toss her into the debtors prison.

Repeating, “The package, Plumb Bob,” Daring pushed her war with the government aside.

She gave the address written atop the box a cursory glance, ready to rip into the packaging, but stopped at the bold lettering scrawled in the corner. The address was for a border outpost beyond the south-western reaches of Equestria, where settlers continually plopped new communities down on land that most-certainly did not belong to ponies. But this was not what caught her eye, rather that, in the space between the address and the edge of the box, was an odd, noble sigil.

It was a crest, done in the old stylings, a white shield at the heart bearing the founder’s cutie mark; a trio of red poppy flowers ringed by leaves shaded in rainbow hues. A fabled halla stood to the left, raising a staff, while on the right was a rearing unicorn. Above the shield sat a royal crown, resplendent in sapphire and white, decked with jewels of sparkling red and green, the royal flourish of lost Marelantis atop the pinnacle. On scrollwork beneath the shield, in script legible only with a magnifying lens, was the phrase, ‘Túrelma ter vinirya’.

“What is it, boss?” Plumb Bob asked, hardly looking up as he sorted the remaining letters.

“I’m… not sure,” Daring admitted, reaching for the House Registry, where every noble crest in Equestria and the Old Kingdoms were kept.

The crest bugged her, poking at the back of Daring’s mind with a stick, which she’d learned long ago was a warning sign. Plumb Bob picked up on it as well, noting the slight way Daring crinkled her eyes as she glanced between the register and the crest. As Daring suspected, the crest wasn’t in the register. It bore a striking resemblance to the royal crests of Prance, Hackney, and Pondenavia. Daring knew she’d seen the crest before, once, long ago, and that memory was what jabbed at her, so she picked up the register for the lost crests belonging to those Houses and lines that were extinct.

It was the Marelantian flourish that drew Daring’s towards the back of the book, where the oldest crests were placed. And there she found it.

The crest of the Royal House of Tuilerya.

Beneath the name, where there would normally be a description of the House, their holdings, notable members and deeds, there was but a single line;

One known member: Iridia Tuilerya, also known as the Deathgiver, Black Star, Bloodmaned, and She-Not-To-Be-Named.

Daring repeated the name outloud, scanning her office for Ginger Cookie’s, The Founding of Equestria, and the End of the Long Winter. She knew the name was tied to the period, a great villain defeated by the Founders, but the details escaped her mind. When the book failed to instantly appear, Daring gave a little shrug, told Plumb Bob to find it for her, and opened the box.

Inside rested three objects; sitting atop a packing of golden thread was a scroll, an old, leather-bound book, and a dark blue pinion.

On the scroll was Daring’s mark, while the book was simply engraved with a number in the ancient Unicornian style on it’s face, ‘XIII’. Deciding to inspect the feather first, Daring lifted it out of the box.

“Careful, boss,” Plumb Bob cried, reaching out to take the feather.

“It’s just a feather,” Daring gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “From a juvenile pegasus judging the length of the vanes and down. An old feather, but just a feather.”

Daring put the pinion aside, and picked up the scroll. Breaking the seal, Daring examined the parchment. It was made of some yellow wood or grass, heavy with chalk dust, and a peculiar smell Daring couldn’t place. From the fibers, Daring could tell the paper had not been made anywhere in Equestria, furthering her suspicion towards the package.

Her curiosity fully engaged, Daring read the letter, the words written in an elegant, yet clear, red script.

To Mrs. Daring Do,

I’ll admit, I’m not sure exactly where to begin this letter. I have pondered it for some considerable time, and have come to no clear consensus. Should I appeal to your ego? Perhaps introduce myself? Or one of the other myriad little dances so often performed through letters?

So, I have decided to go straight to the point;

The tales of your adventures written by your senior wife have been a great inspiration to my daughter. You were all she could talk about when I visited her last—I being unable to care for her as she requires, she has been raised by a dear and most trusted friend. Curious about this mare she spoke of so highly, I snuck out and picked up a set of the books. I found them a most interesting read, and can see why they bring my little star such delight. Performing a little research—I felt a bit like you during the opening of Daring Do and the Windigos Well—I discovered that your critics and detractors are far off the mark.

You are a singular mare in this age, Mrs. Do.

To show a measure of my gratitude, I have enclosed a few old heirlooms as gifts for you, your wonderful wife, and your assistant. Somethings I found while sorting through the vaults beneath the old manor. When I saw them, I immediately thought of you, and knew what to do. I leave it to you to figure out whom they are meant for.

May your dreams be pleasant,

Signed with the deepest affection,

~A grateful mother

“Fan-mail,” Daring mumbled to herself, setting the scroll next to the pinion and taking up the journal. It couldn’t be anything else, with its grotesque binding and lack of title. Her suspicion was instantly confirmed as, on the very first page, was a long sequence of blocky script. The quillwork was impeccably precise, and lacked flourish or embellishment. At the top were the date the journal was penned, and the place; the Conigo monastery in the Old Kingdoms, Spring of the 285th Year of the Stars. Daring’s brows shot up into her grey-scaled mane, as her eyes took in what lay before her, quickly converting the archaic Seven Signs callender into Equestrian Reckoning.

“That can’t be right…” Daring mumbled, pulling over a sheet of parchment so she could double check her math. It came up the same, even when she triple and quadruple checked. The journal had been written in 34 E.R. It was over fifteen hundred years old.

Taking a moment to set the journal down on a folded silk cloth, Daring knew she had to make certain of the journals age and authenticity. From the drawers of her desk she withdrew a sensor gem and a vial of diamond dust. Monasteries of the era were known to use complex preservation spells while binding their books. If the journal had truly been penned at Conigo, then…

Daring held her breath as she placed the sensor gem on the journal’s cover.

Hesitating for a few moments, the gem took on a healthy reddish-pink glow, indicating that a preservation spell from the period was in effect. To make certain that it had been Conigo, Daring sprinkled the dust around the gem. The fine grains of diamond didn’t hesitate, shooting and skipping across the aged leather to form a lopsided spider-web.

“It’s authentic! Well, I’m fairly certain it is. In the upper nineties, at least.” Daring gave a loud laugh as she put the dust and gem away, and put on a set of fine, cotton mittens.

“Good on it,” Plumb Bob absently called from where he was sorting through the other mail.

He hadn’t done much sorting, and instead was staring intently at the feather that had come with the journal.

“Interesting, this is written in Upper Unicornian,” Daring said, adjusting her glasses—how she despised the things—to peer closer at the script. “Bring me my mother’s journal. The one on pre-classical Unicornia.”

“What’s ‘Upper Unicornian’?” Plumb Bob asked as he began poking through the bookshelves, pulling out various books in the search for the journal.

Daring, for only the second time that week, made a mental note to have Plumb Bob organise the shelves and label the books that had bare spines. He always spent ages, looking through every single one, when asked to bring her reference materials. Daring would have thought he’d know each book’s contents by heart, he’d read the opening pages so many times.

“It was the dialect used by the Cabals and the unicorns living in the Alpany mountains. It—the language—was descended from that used by the ancient Theulusians near modern day Zbori and Stalliongrad.” Daring couldn’t keep the impatient snap out of her tone as she tapped her hoof for Plumb Bob to hurry.

When he finally brought the requested reference, Daring flipped it open to one of the dozen placemarks and set about translating.

“It is in this, the twilight of my life that I, the only remaining member of my Order, pen with a mountain of regret my last journal. Bear respect and pay heed to these truths recorded here-in, for they are the greatest and final shame of the Solar Cabal,” Daring read, her hoof tracing down the ancient script with something akin to reverence. Pausing, she looked up at Plumb Bob, asking, “Do you know what this is?”

“Oh, please don’t say, ‘adventure’, boss,” Plumb rubbed at his temples while groaning. “Last time you said that, I got shot. Not shot at, which would have been bad enough, but proper shot.” Plumb Bob turned so the light could shine on a short scar, a slight patch of bald fur just above his cutie mark where he’d been grazed by a griffon crossbow bolt.

“No! Of course not… Well, maybe… We’ll have to see.” Daring tapped her chin a few times, glancing towards her collection of journals and reference materials. After a few moments, she gave her head a shake, and asked, “What of Yearling? Is she back yet?”

“Still on the latest book tour. She’ll be in…” Plumb Bob scrunched up his face as he thought, “Trotonto, right now.”

“Might want to prepare a telegram for her, then,” Daring muttered absently, cross-checking a translation.

Gulping, Plumb Bob’s face an ashen hue under his coat, he asked, “We don’t have to do that, do we? You know she’ll come rushing back, and when she gets here and sees you’ve only got half the book translated…”

“I’ll have more than half done,” Daring snorted, or tried to, rather. It came out more in a wheezy cough. “Besides, she’ll be more focused on if I am taking my medicine or not.”

“And good for her,” Plumb Bob said, his voice muffled as he rooted through a box. “You’ll never shake that curse otherwise.”

Attempting to glower over the growing stacks of references, Daring grumbled, “You don’t ‘shake’ ancient, eldritch curses, Plumb Bob.”

“Don’t shake being shot and riddled with steel, neither,” rejoined her assistant as he dumped a copy of Eminent Translations seminal work, The Ins and Outs of Pre-Equestrian Unicornian Dialects, and Their Uses There-Of During the Classical Age of the Greater Queendoms, on her desk.

“That was just a nick. If you want to do archeology, Plumb, you have to go out into the field.”

“Prefer it here, safe and warm,” grumbled the unicorn under his breath, just loud enough for Daring to hear. A little louder, and with more consideration, he added, “I thought you said that most of archeology was done in the library.”

“That too,” Daring rapidly nodded her head. “The points aren’t incompatible.” She tapped the desk between the journal and references a few times, signalling her impatience to continue the translation. “You have a good supply of quills and ink?”

He hardly looked up from his work as Plumb Bob intoned a low, solemn, “Of course.”

“Excellent, then write exactly as I say,” Daring said, before, in a low, more officious tone, continuing to read the journal’s contents.

“It began, as so many things do, with a cup of tea…”

Second among the Great Sins is Pride. For she who has too much Pride will see only their own actions as justified.

-The Book of Sol, on the Seven Sins of Ponykind

The Valley of the Eternal Foal, Spring, 12 B.E.

Laughter echoed through a valley nestled in southern Unicornia, rebounding from snow topped mountains that formed the kingdom’s borders. Near the top of each peak sat a squat, grey fortress, serving as the guardians between the northern lands, and those that had fallen in the south. Beyond them lay the Mareberian Peninsula, filled with griffons and monsters foul and terrible, all of them hungry to make a meal of any pony they caught. Once a half dozen queendoms had rested on the peninsula. Now only one remained, Castile, clinging onto survival. The others had been lost, one by one, the ponies ground beneath the griffon’s subjugation.

Together, the castles formed a buttress against the griffon armies, their towers topped by ballista and catapult. Soldiers stood ever vigilant, eyes turned to the south where their brothers and sisters fought and died in the mud and blood soaked fields and hills surrounding Airagos Spire. It was under the direction of the brilliant tactician, Commander Hurricane, that the griffons had been driven almost to the walls of their city.

Along the valleys serving as conduits for the army’s supplies came rumours of a deeper connection ready to form between the two age-old rivals. Pegasus legions had even moved several of their cloud citadels to the valleys’ mouths, serving as guard posts, inns, and observatories.

The laughter echoed lower, becoming a hefty rumble, before rising again into high and shrill shriek, like the war-cries of the pegasi. The nearest pegasus citadel sat just inside this particular valley. Home to a half-dozen herds from the Cloudsmasher Legion, the cloud was barely a fort, much less the grand citadel-cities along the roads. While the residents of the fort joined the unicorns in keeping a watchful eye for griffons, most of their energy was spent maintaining the valley's weather. In return for the protection and climate weather, the Earth pony villages that dotted the long valley tithed to the unicorns and pegasi a portion of their crops.

While appearing to be a mutual and harmonious exchange, such appearances were deceiving.

The earth ponies grumbled and wondered why they had to feed the unicorns, or at least why they had to haul the wagons up and down the mountain paths. They were less begrudging towards the pegasi, the symbiotic nature between the two tribes creating a buffer. Still, the earth ponies were thankful that their sons and daughters were not even being considered for conscription into the various armies. Earth ponies, according to the pagasus and unicorn generals, were too timid and weak—having neither magic nor flight—to be of any use beyond hauling supplies and maintaining the real soldiers gear.

The three tribes, however, were not alone living in this particular valley.

Nestled next to a crystal clear pool fed by glacial waterfalls was a building unlike any other on all of Ioka. The walls were tall and seemed to have been grown from the ground, with elegant windows of coloured glass spaced evenly across the building’s face. A thick growth of ivy clung to the walls, making the entire structure seem to vanish into the ancient trees and mountain side from a distance. A roof of red tiles shone out against the thatched homes of the earth pony villagers. With sprawling rooms, wide hearths, an indoor kitchen with running water, and a library; the house was a complex greater than many of the villages, and rivalling the unicorn’s castles in size, and making them seem like cold, inhospitable places in terms of comfort. This was a warm home, a lively home, filled with the scent of spices from lands most ponies could not name, with fruits and vegetables that no pony had seen or tasted before, grown special in the lush gardens.

The laughter grew, originating from an ornate flower garden surrounding the pool.

Around an old oak raced a pair of dark forms.

The first was small, her dark blue coat almost seeming to meld with the shadows cast by the towering trees. Silvery mane drifting behind like a cloak, she weaved and ducked her way towards the pool, leaping into the air and using a set of stubby wings to carry her over the ice cold water.

Hardly slowing, the second form spread great wings as dark as moonlit midnight to carry her over the pool and the first pony. Kicking up a clump of sod as she landed, the second pony spun, a grim laugh rolling from her tongue.

“We have thee now, little thief!” she proclaimed, a hoof snapping down to pin the first pony’s tail.

Namyra let out a surprised yelp and rolled along the ground, desperate to escape the elder pony’s grasp. Finally she rose to her hooves and let out a soft growl that turned into a squeak as she leapt at her captor. “That wasn’t fair! I was supposed to have two full minutes to hide. You only gave me one!”

Luna’s eyes widened at the filly’s assault, and she instinctively rolled onto her back to catch Namyra. They both broke into laughter as they fell into the tall grass. “True enough! But can thou truly blame us? It is depressing being denied the presence of our treasured cousin.”

“Why are you talking like that?” Namyra asked as she laid her head against Luna’s side.

“Tis the norm in the capitol and among Her Majesty’s court. Queen Palladium taught it to us herself.” Luna pressed a hoof to her chest as she spoke, inflecting her words with a sharp resonance.

“I don’t like it.” Namyra pouted, rolling back to her hooves.

“Tis important for us to be relatable to the common pony, is it not?” Luna smiled out of the side of her mouth, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. When Namyra didn’t respond and instead sulked towards the pool’s edge, Luna rolled to her hooves. “Come, the others will be waiting for us. We don’t want to keep your mother nor Celestia waiting, do we?”

“What’s it like?” Namyra asked as they rounded the side of the manor and entered a terraced patio overlooking a sundial that had been turned into a birdbath. Etched along the rim of the sundial were a two names. One belonged to her father, the other to Luna and Celestia’s. Both ponies had been dead almost two hundred years. They possessed no gravesite, their bodies burned in the traditional unicorn manner, and even the names lovingly etched onto the sundial were beginning to fade.

“Life among the mortals, I mean. Don’t you ever get sad or lonely seeing them grow frail and then leave you?”

Luna was quiet for several strides, her lips a pensive line.

“Sometimes we do feel alone.” Luna’s ears pressed down against her head as she spoke, her voice soft, with none of its former brash playfulness. “Especially during the long winter nights. Few ponies truly appreciate Our night, fearing the monsters that slither out beneath the cover of darkness. We are kept apart from most ponies regardless, doted upon by the priestesses and monopolised by the Queen. She fancies herself Our equal, almost.”

Arriving at the patio, Luna caught sight of Celestia sitting on a royal purple cushion at a low, oval table. With her were three other ponies; Tempered Wrath, High Priestess of Iridia; Star Swirl the Bearded, Arch-Magister of the Cabal of the Sun; and his apprentice, Clover, of no House.

A placid halla doe, Luna had never seen Tempered riled or stressed. Descended of elk and unicorn bloodlines, halla were rare outside their distant, frosty homeland across the ocean where they lived a tribal, migratory lifestyle, following ancient trails forged by forgotten ancestors.

Like all priestesses, her coat was dyed a snowy white, her mane a soft honey yellow, and she wore plain dark brown robes that draped down her sides, a series of strategic slits displaying her soul mark: a lioness on the prowl formed of black lines and sharp curves. From her small antlers hung a series of beads and green ribbons, while around her neck was the heavy pendant denoting her station within the Sisterhood of Spring.

Her ability to remain master of her emotions and disguise her inner thoughts had helped guide the young priestess rise rapidly through the sisterhood. It had been her calm nature that made her ideal as Namyra’s guardian and nanny. Under her supervision were the other two dozen halla priestesses that lived at the manor, tending to their Goddess’ needs, and those of her foal.

Across from the High Priestess, Star Swirl leaned back in an old wicker chair. His faded hat with its many bells rested on the table in front of him, while a little storm of jingles rose from his stained and filthy robes when he shifted his position to gaze at the maps laid out on the table in front of him. His once stark pink beard had become a vibrant silver reflected in his murky green eyes. Clenched tight in his teeth, a pipe sent up a furious stream of tobacco smoke as his brow wrinkled in thought.

A few strained gasps emanated from Clover, the small filly waving a soft-green hoof in an attempt to clear the smoke drifting around her head from her master. She wore the white robes of an initiate within the Solar Cabal, gold thread trimming the hood and cuffs, Celestia’s mark emblazoned across the flanks. Before Celestia, the Solar Cabal had been responsible for assisting Sol, guiding the sun to set during twilight and rise at dawn. Now, the cabal were part wizards and part priestesses, and though it had been close to two centuries since losing dominion of the sun, they still had yet to find a purpose.

Luna suspected that, if Celestia would just apply herself, the cabal would fully transform into a religious sect, one utterly devoted to the Goddess of the Sun. It continually baffled Luna why Celestia hadn’t done so already. When they’d been growing up hidden as unicorn nobility in the nearby castle, Celestia had always been the most pious and dedicated. Luna’s ears still rang with the sharp prayers Celestia had made every dusk and dawn.

She put the thoughts out of mind as she reached the table, nodding to her sister and ignoring the other ponies.

“Auntie and mother are not joining us?” Luna asked with feigned disinterest, an ear flicking towards the manor. Very faint through the thick, enchanted stone, a predictable argument could be heard. “Ah, they are at the halfway point of their little dance, I hear.”

“Yes, they started shortly after our arrival,” Celestia confirmed, not looking up from the maps.

“Still fretting, Tia?” Luna gave the maps a sideways glance, confirming they were for the northern regions of Namarra, Airagos, and Trotalonia, with Estrotcia near the bottom, and only a sliver of Castile sticking out on the edge.

“Perhaps,” Celestia said to herself, “if we move to the west and across Namarra, we’ll be able to enter the Maseta near Bitoria. By moving quickly south, I could reinforce Commander Hurricane’s forces, while Sombra continues to cut off the griffon’s supply lines in Estrotcia.”

Celestia traced a line of golden magic along the route proposed, moving west from southern Unicornia and Trotalonia to the coast, then over the easier passes and into the center of the disputed territories.

“He’s going to just stir up the local ponies, Tia, while the griffons bring their supplies in through southlands.” Luna punctuated her words with the clink of sugar cubes into the bottom of her cup.

“I trust Sombra, Luna.”

“He is a kirin. They are not be trusted.”

Celestia glanced up with a stern frown, Luna matching the look with ease as she pressed ahead.

“They know naught but greed and deceit. Treachery is their way, war their purpose. You erred in bringing him here. Where is the reptile? I’ve not seen his scaled hide since we bid you good-eve last night.”

“Gone, along with the rest of the Solar Cabal, on his way to rejoin the Solar Army. Perhaps he sensed your distrust, sister? Kirin are rather perceptive of such things.”

Contemplating the map a moment longer, Celestia gave a low groan, resting her head on her hooves. “I wish I were more like you, Lulu. How do you do it? How do you have such confidence that you don’t plan for more than a day before flinging yourself into battle?”

“What is there to plan?” Luna scoffed, pouring a cup of tea for herself and Namyra. “The Valla and I require not your armies and campaigns. We will be expunging the griffon nuisances from their island strongholds under cover of my night. All these grand battle plans and soldiers… I don’t see the point when we could destroy Airagos Spires with a thought.”

“Not all of us have a group of warrior-stars as retainers. Besides, we’ve been over this, Luna,” Celestia said in a low voice, the ghost of old guilt flickering across her face. “We can’t just destroy them all. What of the slaves? The young stolen from our very lands? We must take care and measure! If we do not… If we get ahead of ourselves again… No! We can’t...”

Celestia grew rigid, her wings clenched tight to her frame, her breaths short and haggard while her mane and tail hissed and crackled like a mid-winter fire.

“I’m sorry, Tia, my mind left me for a moment. I didn’t mean to remind you of that night.” Luna put on her most apologetic tone, reaching across the table to lay a hoof atop her sister’s. “Of course I won’t flatten the place. Not until it’s empty, that is.”

“You both seem to forget that it is not the griffons, nor their strongholds and citadels, nor even winter that we should be concerned with.” Star Swirl gave Luna and Celestia a long stare, teeth clenching the end of his pipe. “The Shadow is our greatest threat. If we could find and drive out the remaining demonic lords then the griffons must withdraw. The Shadow’s power is not to be underestimated. I caution both of you, again, against this course of action. Your mother has never directly confronted a demonic lord, and for good reason.”

“Mother fought a demon, once,” piped up Namyra between sips of her tea. “She told me all about it.” Namyra lowered her voice, making it into an odd rough squeak as she recited, “And lo, from the Highest Mount did she hurl Witiko, smiting the Duchess of Malice within the endless forest, and declaring the Disc ever free of the Windigoes’ tyranny. So Spring was returned to Ioka, Witiko’s foul daughters trapped for all time in the crystals beneath the Canterhorn.”

“The Book of Spring, chapter four, verse twelve.” Clover piped up. Realizing she’d spoken, the filly turned a dark mulberry beneath her coat and shrunk down until only her ears peeked over the table’s edge.

Shooting his apprentice a scathing look, Star Swirl gave his beard a tug. “Indeed. But—”

“My sister defeated Hetahtin,” Iridia’s imperious tone cut across the patio.

Looking up from her tea, Luna glanced over to her aunt and mother. The pair’s hooves clacked on the polished stone with an angry retort as they approached.

Iridia’s honeysuckle mane bounced down the side of her face and neck, highlighting the large gold peytral that hung atop a dark green dress. Shorter than Celestia or Luna, Iridia still stood a good hoof above even the tallest stallion. The corners of her winter blue eyes held a remaining pinch of annoyance from her ‘conversation’ with her younger sister.

Although identical in size to her sister, and sharing the same white coat with Iridia and Celestia, Faust was a touch more impressive in Luna’s eyes. Her peytral was long abandoned, left among the ruins of some ancient civilization, in it’s place an elaborate ruby red gown with a high, fanning collar speckled with pearls. Dangling from a sash cinched tight around her waist hung a trio of scrolls on her left side, while on her right were the Sheers and Needle of Fate. Her rust coloured mane danced in a tight weave across the right side of her neck, more pearls shining from pins placed throughout a bun.

As with her sister, Faust’s expression was of fading anger. The last vestiges of the argument vanished as Faust laid her sight on Namyra. For a brief moment Luna saw a pang of deep regret and sorrow fall across her mother’s features. It vanished so quickly, Luna wondered if she’d seen it at all, or simply imagined it.

“Direct conflict is not my way,” Faust said, picking up the conversation’s thread. “I have my Champions, when I need them.”

“We could use some of them now, mother,” Celestia huffed, blowing a stray strand of flowing mane out of her eye.

Laughing, the sound lilting and musical, Faust grinned at her eldest. “It is not so simple. It takes just the right ponies to wield Harmony’s might. They must be unassailable within their aspects. Absolute paragons of their particular virtue to avoid the temptation to use the Elements for their own gain.”

“Could I wield an Element of Harmony, auntie?” Namyra leaned on the table, an eager grin on her muzzle. “I bet I’d be Loyalty. No, Valour! I’d definitely be Valour.”

“Valour isn’t one of the Elements,” snickered Clover. “Laughter, Loyalty, Compassion, Generosity, and Honour are the Elements of Harmony.”

“I knew that.” Namyra crossed her hooves and huffed, glowering at the other filly. “But Valour should be an Element. Maybe that is my Domain! If it is, then I could help you kill griffons and push back the Shadow.” Namyra grinned up at Celestia and Luna.

“You are many years away from slaying demons, love,” Iridia chided, taking her place between Namyra and Luna.

“There is a sixth Element as well,” Faust’s eyes gleamed as she lifted her tea to her lips. “But it is hidden and only revealed with the other five are gathered.”

“I bet that one is Valour!” Namyra gave a high pitched laugh, jumping from her chair and running in circles around the table while singing, “Valour is great, valour is strong. To be valorous, never is wrong!”

“Tempered, would you mind giving Namyra her bath?” Iridia’s tone left little doubt the question was a command.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” With practiced skill, Tempered detached herself from the table, slipped up to Namyra’s side, and whispered something into the filly’s ear.

The pair had made it halfway to the manor, when Namyra stopped, dashed back to her mother and gave Iridia a kiss on the cheek and said, “Good-night, mother,” before zipping back to Tempered’s side.

As the door clicked shut behind the pair, Faust said, “Sister, I caution you again; The bargain with Ioka must be maintained. I can’t protect her from the tides of Fate any longer.”

“I don’t need you to protect my daughter, Namegiver,” Iridia snapped, her muzzle pinched into a dangerous line.

Luna winced at the use of her mother’s divine title and glanced towards her sister. Celestia’s head was pulled back in shock while she watched the pair of unicorns at the table. Star Swirls mouth hung open, while Clover had pulled the hood of her robes further down her face to hide her expression.

“Need I remind you that this valley is protected, and one of my centers of Power. Few can even reach the manor, not without first being invited, and even if they should; I would destroy such an intruder utterly.” Iridia finished her statement with a stamp of her hoof.

“The gravest danger is that which bears a smile and friendly hoof, your Majesty.” Star Swirl gave his head a slow shake, snorting a thick stream of smoke from his nostrils like he were a dragon.

“True.” Iridia gave the old wizard a sour glare. To Faust, she said, “I listened when you cautioned me against raising Namyra among my brave halla. But this… This… Dear sister, I draw the line at giving my daughter away to be raised within an other’s House. I have listened to your advice since the time of lost Marelantis. I watched the Lemarians descend into madness and savagery. I stayed idle as your Theulesians withered and decayed until they crumbled to dust. And even with the Unicornians I respect your desires and council. The fate of ponies are your affair, as the halla are mine.”

“She’s in great danger, sister,” Faust pressed herself against the table, as if by physical presence she could convince Iridia. “Nésa, you must—”

“What ‘great danger’? What is it that you keep cautioning me against? Tell me, sister, plainly, and I may listen. But don’t try to play your games with me. I have grown so weary of them after all these thousands of years.”

Luna watched as her mother sagged, as if a terrible weight were dragging down her heart. Downcast, Faust stood slowly.

“I can not.”

“Or will not?” The question came from Luna herself.

Faust gave her youngest a sad half-smile. She didn’t answer, though Luna hardly expected her to, and instead stood.

“It will be a long time until we all meet like this again, sadly.” Faust trotted around the table, giving first Celestia then Luna a kiss upon their brows. When she reached Iridia, Faust began to extend a wing as if to take her sister in a hug, hesitated, and then turned away. “These are dark times, and will grow darker still before the warmth of spring,” she said in parting before vanishing in a cloud of dancing aether.

“Always with the melodrama, mother,” Celestia sighed, shaking her head. “If I ever get like that, Luna, please, hit me over the head.”

“Likewise, sister, likewise.”

It was sometime later, after Sol had set, Selene had risen, and the stars were awake to play, that Star Swirl stood, downing the last of his cold tea. Celestia had retired long before, as had Iridia, leaving only the old wizard, his apprentice, and Luna on the patio playing a game of stones together.

“I’m afraid we must be off, Your Grace.”

“Oh? Can you not stand losing at stones so much, old friend?”

Smiling around his pipe, Star Swirl gave his head a shake, bells jangling at the motion. “Has nothing to do with it. Besides, Clover had us both beat a dozen moves ago. She’s just too polite not to press her advantage.”

“It didn’t seem right,” Clover muttered as she packed away the board and floated the coloured stone pieces that gave the game its name back into their containers.

“No,” Star Swirl continued as if Clover hadn’t spoken, “We must be off to the south. To Marelencia.”

“Marelencia? Why there?” Luna’s tone contained a hint of suspicion as to the answer, but she waited patiently for Star Swirl to respond.

Taking up his staff and adjusting the scabbard holding his sword, Star Swirl said, “I spoke to a hemmravn not two Solsdays ago that indicated a growing foulness settling among the villages and towns of the region. I fear that in his desire to impress and serve your sister, my successor has erred and created an opening for the Shadow to ply their wicked trade. Sombra means well, as does the rest of the Solar Cabal, but good intentions, Tartarus, and all that, Your Grace. I mean to uncover the truth of the matter before meeting up with Celestia and Sombra in Airagos.”

“Impress my sister? Hardly.” Luna gave a harsh snort, her eyes darkening with anger. “He is a kirin. Covetous and treacherous. Celestia gives him too much of a leash.”

Star Swirl gave a soft sigh, shaking his head sadly. “You do yourself a disservice, Your Grace, with such statements. What of Saint Juniper the Just? She was a kirin as well, and lived a long life of dignity and quiet contemplation.”

“As I recall, she also lived in a time of relative peace and security hundreds of years before my birth. I judge not from tales passed down through the centuries, Star Swirl, but with what I have seen with my own eyes, and those of Selene. And though there may be the odd exception, the overwhelming majority have been cruel, greedy, and prone to violence and insanity.”

“And that is why any that show such signs are drowned by their mothers before reaching majority,” Star Swirl retorted with a sharp clack of his staff on the flagstones. “A despicable practice I can not believe is retained.”

“I find it hard to fathom why kirin are still created,” Luna countered. “With my Valla and I… and Celestia as well, there isn’t the need for such abominations anymore.”

“Explain that to the Queens struggling to hold back the griffons. Or the Houses vying for power.” Star Swirl adjusted his hat and shook his beard again. “Kirin are not a necessity anymore, I will grant you, Your Grace. A kirin born of love is a very powerful being, but so many are made of deals and treaties, with daughters sold like common harlots to dragons for breeding. I can defend this practice no more than I can condon your blanket hatred for all their kind. That I am concerned is not because of Sombra’s pedigree, but because of his actions.”

“Why not warn Celestia now?” Luna tapped a pensive hoof on the flagstones. “If you are so suspicious.”

“It may be nothing, and she has greater worries already on her withers.” He shook his head a final time and began to head towards the manor gates, Clover in his shadow. “I must be certain. A wizard can not afford to be wrong.”

Luna just smiled at Star Swirl, and when he was out of earshot, whispered, “Ever her Most Faithful Student, old one. Very well, I will let you play your game, but not without taking precautions.”

Part Two

A Dream of Pride and Envy
By Tundara

Third among the Great Sins is Anger. For she whom clouds her judgement with wrathful thoughts will be easily lead astray.

-The Book of Sol, on the Seven Sins of Ponykind

The Second Battle of Airagos Forest, Summer, 12 B.E.

Celestia stood on a low hill, barely a hillock, overlooking a wide expanse of yellow, brittle grass. Dew clung to her lower legs and wings in the misty early morning. Within the hour, Sol would crest the low hills and trees to the east, burning away the faint moisture. Celestia savoured these last moments of peace, taking a deep breath of the surprisingly cool breeze before surveying her legions for the hundredth time.

Spread out across that almost barren ground were ten thousand unicorn. A dry streambed cut across the plain, forming a shallow, rocky ditch in front of her army that lead to the base of a second, taller hill. Within the streambed at the base of the hill were a contingent of three hundred dragoons, the honoured knights trained in the ancient arts of slaying dragons, hidden from the enemy beneath nets and illusions. Atop the hill behind the dragoons stood Celestia’s ballistas and a contingent of archers, while to her left, crouched down in the shadows of the forest—an equally dry cluster of thin twigs and parched leaves—were five thousand pegasus warriors.

The unicorn legion was a modern marvel of military tactics and engineering, easily the rival for the pegasi clans or the griffon cataphracts. The pegasi, impressed with the unity and solidarity showed among the unicorn infantry, had even started to refer to themselves as legions, taking such names as the Stormthunder Legion or Bladewind Legion, based on their old clan names.

Though not as well trained as their pegasus cousins in individual combat, or as heavily armoured as the griffons, the unicorns were a perfect blend of discipline and design. Their coats dyed a uniform white—this being the Solar Army—unicorn units moved and fought as a single entity. When one soldier fell, her—or rarely, his—place was immediately filled. More defensive in nature than the griffons, unicorn formations rarely charged, preferring a practice of wearing down their opponents.

At the forefront marched the pikemare cohorts, their hooves thundering in perfect synchronicity, the light of Sol glinting off shields and the heads of long hafted pikes. Across their backs and flanks they wore armour of brine-hardened cotton dyed a vibrant amber. The material was tough, lighter and more flexible than steel, and cheaper to produce than chainmail. It wasn’t perfect, unable to maintain enchantments like a metal cuirass, or the ease of repair chainmail enjoyed. The second units were comprised of bowmares, their recurve bows whittling down the enemy and keeping the griffons from diving down into the pikemares’ ranks.

Unlike the precise formations of the unicorns, the pegasi were in loose clumps and huddles, crouched down in the forest as they sharpened their ancestral weapons and meditated, gathering their magic. They glanced out from their hiding places towards the banners flying proudly on Celestia’s hill, or to the approaching griffon army.

The joint unicorn-pegasus army was the first of its kind, combining the martial might of the Pegasus Empire with the magical prowess of Unicornia. It was truly a force to be reckoned with, grinding the shocked griffon watch-posts beneath a relentless march and, for the first time in recorded history, defeating the griffons in open battle, reclaiming land thought lost.

Enraged at their losses, stinging from the raids to their supplies, and with the threat of being cut off from their empire looming, the griffons rallied, pulling together a vast force that dwarfed the Solar Legion.

In tangled, uneven lines and masses, the griffon infantry advanced, lacking any sense of cohesion or direction. Comprised mostly of zebras with minotaur and griffon commanders, the bulk of the griffons’ army was only griffon in name. Twenty thousand zebra mercenaries, their striped coats hidden beneath clay red lamellar armour, emitted war-whoops and a chorus of ringing yells, taunting the ponies. Spears strapped to their right sides, while they wore bladed greaves and tusked helmets. Towering above the zebras, each stride equally twenty of the equines, several shackled giants lumbered. Cyclops, the giants held trees as crude clubs, their bulbous, hairless hides covered by an assortment of barbed chains and heavy iron plates.

Behind the zebras, flying in tight, precise formations, were the griffons themselves, resplendent in their shining chainmail and plate cuirasses, long spears at the ready, and swords tucked beneath wings, ready to be pulled free. Trained since birth for warfare, the cataphracts were the elite among the griffons. They had managed to slip away the previous summer, sacrificing their lesser brethren rather than stand their ground and be encircled. Their favoured tactic against ponies was to fly high then dive down into the middle of the ponies ranks where they would disrupt and savage anything they encountered.

Celestia had no intention of allowing the griffon cataphracts to dive on her little ponies. The griffons had become acutely aware that such a tactic was now flawed, as the ponies had shown them the previous year on these very same fields. Archers and wizards kept one eye skyward, waiting for any griffon foolish enough to draw near, while the balistea had been fitted with what their crews referred to as ‘bird shot’, with predictable grim smiles. The skies above her army would be a decidedly deadly place for any griffon—or pony—to find themselves.

“They are advancing, just as you said they would, Commander,” Celestia commented to the pegasus at her side.

Commander Hurricane, considered by many to be the most brilliant tactician in generations, was a small, frail creature. Her stubby wings, often buzzing like those of a bee when she was directing a battle, hugged her embossed armour, a few jitters revealing Hurricane’s mounting excitement. She was also surprisingly young, not yet even reaching the age of majority within her clan. It was a testament to her ruthless intellect and drive that at fifteen Hurricane held the rank of Commander, and was already being considered as a potential High Commander.

Flicking back her cobalt and ruby mane, Hurricane glanced up at Celestia and nodded, her oversized helmet rolling on her head.

“They will attempt to use the giants to break our lines, naturally.” Hurricane gave a series of foalish giggles. “We must bring them down before they can succeed.”

“Of course,” Celestia gave the little pony a warm smile, before turning to the pony on her other side. “Your thoughts, Sombra?”

“I agree with the Commander, of course,” the slate-grey General-Prince intoned in his low, gruff voice, his hungry, red eyes sweeping over the assembled armies. “I expected them to bring more of the brutes, though. Our spies indicated they had a dozen in the aerie. For what purpose would they bring only half?”

“Perhaps they underestimate us?” Celestia shrugged her wings. “I wish Star Swirl and Clover were here. He might be able to deduce the griffons’ motives, or have learned something in Marelencia.” Nodding to a nearby banner-mare, she added, “Signal the ridge. They may proceed.”

Horns blared in the late-morning air, rolling across the fields as banners were raised.

Down in the cohorts, the pilus prior gave the orders to set pikes. In a single, resounding clash that reached Celestia’s ears a half-mile away, the pikes were set and lowered, shields raised, while on the second hill the first twang of a ballistea being released was heard. Within moments a hundred bolts, each weighing fifty kilograms, were sailing through the air towards the griffons’ ranks.

Upon reaching the apex of their flight, the enchantments placed upon the bolts activated, turning each into a lance of ruby-orange fire. Each sizzled and crackled as it fell towards the griffon ranks, only to abruptly vanish as they struck magical shields created by the griffon’s warlocks. A few, finding gaps, fell among the infantry where they detonated in plums of searing fire, burning everything with several lengths. But not nearly as many as Celestia had hoped. Not that her plan required any land a fatal blow.

Purposefully sloppy in their aim and slow to re-arm their weapons, it took what felt an eternity before the second volley was launched.

The griffons and their allies continued to advance, as predicted. Celestia grimaced as the archers began to work, storms of black feathered arrows loosed as quick as bows could be drawn and notched. Scores fell on either side in the first few minutes alone, the wizards and warlocks not able to expend precious mana in the futile effort of stemming the tide. Shields of wood and metal took the place of spells, and armour proved its worth: saving many.

A triple blast of horns from the griffons’ ranks signaled their charge, the ground trembling under thousands of hooves, a great plume of dust kicked into the crystal blue sky. On and on they charged, racing across the dry fields as arrows rained from above. Many of those that fell were trampled by their fellows, the tight press of bodies staying any attempts to maneuver.

Celestia wore a grim smile as the zebra and griffon front lines fell. She didn’t concern herself much with the common infantry, instead focusing on the giants, the lumbering brutes slow to reach the ponies despite their size.

From within the 4th cohort the first of many war-spells were cast, a pure rune five pony-lengths wide conjured within the cohort’s centre. While one solar cabalist maintained the rune, two others channelled aether into the slowly spinning golden circle. Brighter and brighter it grew until few could look upon it without being blinded. With a deafening ‘whoomph’ the rune attained its fill, a tremendous bolt of fire in imitation of Sol’s roiling surface issued from its core towards the nearest giant.

The poor beast hardly had time to realise it was in danger. Celestia closed her eyes, unable to watch the spell perform its grim task, knowing the giant, even with its natural resistance to magic, would not survive such an attack.

Each group of wizards, one per cohort, laid a giant low in the first volley. There was no time to attempt a second, the remaining giants thundering into the ponies’ lines. Not that Celestia’s plans, approved by Hurricane and Sombra, called for the wizards to cast another round of such spells. In addition to being too heavy a toll on their reserves of mana, it was unnecessary.

From the grass, the back-ranks of the cohorts hefted pikes attached to thick chains. These unicorns, each selected for the strength of the telekinesis, hurled the weapons. Barbed heads cut through exposed flesh and bone, or pierced the giant’s shoddy armour. The brutes howls of rage and pain rose above those of the ponies, griffons, and zebras locked into mortal battle around them..

“It is done,” Hurricane confirmed as the final giant was dragged to the ground where ponies drove their pikes into the brutes necks, eyes, and bellies.

“We may begin Phase Two then,” Celestia said in a mixture of relief and anticipation. “Have…”

Celestia’s voice trailed off as she noticed him, a vile blackness transversing through the griffon ranks, the equines scattering out of his path until he stood at the army’s head. The land sickened and died around him, grass withering, flowers wilting, and a low hiss of death suffocating the air.

“Amon…” Celestia hissed the demon’s name, taking a half-step forward, only to be stopped by the touch of a hoof to her withers.

“Your Grace, no,” Sombra said, giving his head a shake, fear clear in his eyes.

“I will not allow my ponies to face that… beast without me,” Celestia growled, drawing Dawn, her blade singing with the thrill of the battle to come.

“The Solar Cabal is here, we will deal with the demon,” Sombra removed his hoof, nodding to his fellow war wizards.

“I…” Celestia glanced back at the faces of the Solar Cabal, all friends and confidants. She’d known them all since they were apprentices, often helping their masters teach them, and then helping them teach their own successors. The idea of letting any one of them face a demon lord filled her with a terrible dread, her jaw tensing and wings extending.

Each looked at her with stern and grim determination. They knew what they’d face down below, and, though each was afraid, every wizard present would mirror their leader’s sentiments if asked.

“Go,” Celestia said, a terrible weight pressing down on her heart.

She knew that she would not see most of them again.

The relief in most of the wizards’ eyes did little to assuage the guilt.

Turning to the rest of the cabal, Sombra said, “Come my sisters and brothers. Glory awaits us, for today a Lord of Tartarus will be struck down by mortal hooves.”

He thrust his twin sabre’s high, rising onto his back hooves and kicking the air before charging forward. The wizards gave a singular whoop and then followed Sombra down the hill. Hurricane glanced over from where she stood, but said nothing.

Celestia began to pace, her eyes frequently darting between the wizards charging through her army’s ranks towards the demon. She stopped to give orders, her attention called away, needed to direct the right flank of her forces in the planned slow-retreat, their hooves drumming across the parched earth. Pikes clashed as they were lowered and set. The twang of four thousand bows reaching Celestia’s ears the same moment a great flash and bang reverberated from the central battle.

Dark, vile magic stung Celestia’s senses, making her draw back a step.

A hole had been blasted into the 3rd cohort of her central legion, two hundred ponies slain or maimed for life in an instant. Into the void, the zebras charged, surging around Amon as the demon cackled.

Their advance was halted almost at once, the 2nd and 4th cohorts rallying to the beleaguered 3rd’s aid. Her entire force began to swing in like the pincers of a giant crab.

Celestia stared in disbelief. “No, it’s too early!”

Her plan centered on having the entire griffon army engaged before slowly drawing them towards the hills on which she and her artillery sat. Once they’d reached the proper point, the dragoons and pegasi would charge forward and envelop the griffons, pressing on either flank. The griffons would not be in position yet, and without assistance the entire Solar Army was in threat of being ground beneath the numerically superior griffon army.

“Signal the Dragoons to strike and then withdraw, and have the 8th take the 3rds place,” Celestia ordered Hurricane. “We must lessen the griffons advance now and give time for the 3rd to recover, if it can.”

Commander Hurricane didn’t protest, relaying Celestia’s orders to the signal ponies.

At the heart of the hard-pressed 3rd cohort, the Solar Cabal had reached Amon.

He towered above the ponies, an imposing figure of evil and dire portents. His owlish head slowly traversed across the battlefield, ignoring everything, even the wizards, fixating on Celestia’s position. The muscles along the back of his lupine body tensed, and with a flick of his long serpentine tail he sent a dozen soldiers hurtling away. Angular teeth glinted in his beak when he smiled, a predatory grin filled with the deepest of loathing.

Magic flashed and sizzled, lightning, fire, and beams of pure frost launched from the wizards towards Amon. With a wave of his claws he halted the onslaught and countered. Angry green fire, black tendrils of foul, hissing aether crackling the edges, struck down one then two wizards.

“Celestia!” He bellowed across the field of trampled bodies and blood. “Face me yourself, foal! Or is the alicorn brat so afraid to face an equal that she sends mortals to fall in her stead?”

Her jaw tightened, Celestia was unable to watch idly any longer. Tightening the straps on her armour, she gathered her magic.

“Commander, I leave this to you,” she said as she launched herself skyward in a burning tempest of golden flames.

Arching back to the disc, Celestia conjured a series of solar orbs, shards of Sol’s might and flame.

Copies of Sol in miniature, Celestia clutched the orbs beneath her wings. A warcry ripped from her throat as she hurled the shards ahead of her. Celestia’s aim proved true, the solar orbs striking the ground between her friends and the demon. Each blossomed into a crimson wave of scorching embers and choking ash, flooding over Amon and the griffon army. Celestia winced as the spell cleared. Amon stood unfazed within a protective shield, while behind him hundreds of zebras and griffons lay dead, their bodies charred and blackened.

Celestia landed a moment later only a few strides from Amon.

No taunts were issued as alicorn and demon crashed into each other with a shattering report. Celestia’s blade slashed towards Amon’s exposed back, only to be slapped aside by the demon’s tail. At once, Celestia was set onto the back of her hooves, forced to give ground before Amon’s smashing tail, slashing claws and snapping beak. Seeing an opening, she ducked low and then shot forward, horn leading the way like a lance. Around herself she summoned a righteous inferno, gold-ruby fire spreading from the edges of her wings and bursting along hoof and horn.

A pleased grin died half-made on her lips, her strike inches from landing when Amon became nothing but smoke and the tangy taste of sulfur. Up he flew, rolling over Celestia to land at her back, spitting a gout of pestilent green aether before he’d fully reformed. A dome of spinning coronal energy rose around Celestia, roaring as it accepted and split Amon’s magic, forcing twin tongues into the griffons’ ranks.

“Where is Faust?” Amon screeched, his tail slamming into Celestia’s shield and shattering the dome. With a flap of her wings, Celestia put some distance between herself and the demon. “Where is your mother that I may tear her filthy, treacherous tongue from her mouth? Or does she sacrifice a daughter to spare her own hide?”

The demon lord didn’t wait for a response, kicking up great clods as he began to charge across the field, crushing any being that stood in his path. Griffon, zebra, and pony alike were hurled aside, a shrill screeching tearing the summer air. He crossed the hundred yards separating them in a final bound, leaping high as sickly magic coated his paws.

Bracing herself, Celestia brought her sword up in a precise guard. The steel blade hummed as it accepted Amon’s blow, holding for a precarious moment before pushing the demonic lord back.

Each of Celestia’s steps sent small tremors through the ground as she drew on Sol’s might to augment her own strength. Dawn sang with magic pouring into the eldritch metal through Celestia’s grip, her hooves and determination set.

Neither army comprehended the danger nestled in their midst, too intent on the other. They continued their pointless maneuvers and fighting, only to be struck dumb as a great and terrible surge of magic swept across the lands, sensed as far away as the coast and the distant mountain fortresses.

Again and again Celestia and Amon clashed, unleashing all their magic and spells, burning the land and scalding the sky. Those that stumbled too close fell instantly, slain by the wild bands of spent aether.

It was Celestia who took the fight into the sky, unable to watch as fragments of her magic struck ponies down. Amon followed, swimming through the air like a serpent through water. No more than a pair of dark specs they were so high, alicorn and demon rejoined their battle, while below the armies continued theirs.

The warhorns of the commanders and centurions became useless, unheard over the din of clashing steel, the screams of the dying, and the tremendous booming thunder overhead. Slowly, the ponies rallied even as they gave ground, falling back to their planned positions.

At Hurricane’s order, the archers hidden atop the hills began to fire, their arrows joining those of those fired from the cohorts on the field, while the ballistae crews began to fire at a feverish pace themselves. From the forest, the pegasi emerged like a giant, living spear, slamming into the griffon’s exposed flank.

Too late, the griffon general realised his predicament, his army encircled by the ponies. The field turned into a grinding mess, confusion sweeping through the griffons and zebras as the dragoons, having retreated after their earlier strike, returned to complete the trap. Like the drawing of a noose, the ponies tightened, squeezing their enemy, grinding them into the muddy earth.

Then the sky was sundered.

And Celestia fell.

Fourth among the Great Sins is Avarice. For true wealth is not found in gold or silver, but in the herd.

-The Book of Sol, on the Seven Sins of Ponykind

“The second battle of Airagos!” Daring’s voice cut through the half-filled classroom like an arrow, only to end in a gasping cough. In a calmer, less forceful voice, she started again. “The second battle of Airagos… Can anypony tell me its significance.”

There were a few confused murmurs, some of the students looking to their classmates. One brave soul lifted her hoof. “Professor, weren’t we studying the…”

The student’s voice drifted off as she wilted, lowering her head until her eyes barely peaked over her desk, pressed down by the baleful glare leveled on her by Daring.

“That was the battle that ended griffon dominion over the western old queendoms in what’s now Espanya, Professor.”

“Correct!” Daring gave the student—Lyre Heartstrong, if Daring remembered correctly—a wide smile. Leaning forward, her smile turning almost predatory, she followed up with, “And who were the generals involved?”

“Commander Hurricane and… I’m not sure who the griffon general was… I’m sorry professor.” The minty coloured unicorn frowned, her ears falling a little.

“Nevermind, Lyre,” Daring said as she nodded to Plumb Bob, her assistant lowering a map showing the middle regions of Espanya as it looked fifteen centuries previous.

Unheard by Daring, the unicorn said, “My name’s Lyra…”

“You’re only partially correct. While our texts do say this was one of Hurricane’s earliest battles, she was only fifteen at the time, they also say this battle was the site of her only defeat, losing six thousand ponies of the Solar Legions in the space of a day. Isn’t that odd?”

Daring had her pupils’ attention fully, the eager young ponies leaning forward, fully expecting their teacher to enter into one of her typical tangents and stories.

“What do you mean, professor?” The earlier student, a sky-blue coated unicorn, tilted her head curiously.

“Only that Hurricane, as a pegasus, wouldn’t have been able to command the Solar Legions, as they were a unicorn army dedicated solely to Celestia, and answering only to her.” With what was supposed to be a triumphant flourish, Daring snatched up her chalk-stick, and wrote in bold letters, ‘History is a tailored lie’, underlining the words for emphasis.

“Are you saying the Celestia was at the battle, professor?”

“Yes, she would have had to have been,” Daring nodded her head.

“Then, why isn’t it in the books?” A beige toned earth pony with scrolls for a cutie mark asked. Daring wasn’t surprised to see an open textbook on the pony’s desk. “It says here—”

“History, students, isn’t about what has been, but about what we need to know.” Daring began to slowly pace, her pronounced limp making her frame wobble and roll with each step. “Would it amaze you to learn that Celestia had a sister and a cousin?” A low murmur rippled through the class. “Or that she almost died at the second battle of Airagos?” There were a few mutinous snorts. “What about if—”

The door to Daring’s classroom opened, and there in the crooked wooden frame appeared the face of Dean Periwinkle, his round face a bright red beneath his slate coat. An elder unicorn, Periwinkle was Daring’s oldest friend. He’d been the one to introduce Daring and Yearling, and had even joined her on a few of her earlier adventures.

“Daring, a word, if you please,” Dean Periwinkle said, indicating with a twist of his head that she should follow him into the corridor.

Suppressing a groan, only barely, Daring followed the dean.

“What in Celestia’s mane is wrong with you, Daring?” Dean Periwinkle rounded on Daring the moment the door closed.

“Excuse me?” Daring narrowed her eyes into a glare that she usually reserved for ponies (or griffons) she was getting ready to kick.

“I’ve been getting complaints, Daring. Letters from students saying your teaching… blasphemous things. Celestia almost dying? And this nonsense that unicorns used to be able to dream more than once a year.”

“I have proof, Peri, if—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Daring,” Periwinkle sighed, rubbing the side of his head. “You’re a good friend, Daring, and you’ve done Tartarus knows how much for not only this school, but for Equestria. Tartarus, you saved my life twice… no, three times. I keep forgetting about Stalliongrad. But that doesn’t give you carte blanche rights to just tell your classes anything.”

“Aren’t we supposed to teach our students the truth, Peri?”

Periwinkle seemed to shrink, the bluster fading from his face. He grew very old within a few moments. Old, and tired. Wandering over to a window placed in the door to Daring’s classroom, Periwinkle stared at the students as they milled around and waited for their professor to return.

“I’m not sure, to be honest, my friend.”

Stepping up to her old friend, Daring laid a wing on Periwinkle’s wither. “Come to my office. I have something to show you.” Popping her head into the room, Daring dismissed the class.

She then lead Periwinkle to her office, closing and locking the door behind her as they entered.

“Oh, Celestia, I know that look.” Periwinkle frowned as Daring made her way to her desk and pulled the journal out of the drawer. “That look means nothing but trouble.”

Ignoring the comment, Daring placed the journal on a silk cloth. Beside it she laid down the pinion and the large roll of golden packing cloth. She then retrieved a second journal, the one containing the translation.

“These came for me a couple weeks ago.” Daring explained the packages arrival, and the initial discoveries and revelations within the journal.

Putting on his glasses, Periwinkle read first the letter that accompanied the package, and then the translated journal. His brow knitted further and further as he delved deeper into its pages, until his eyes were just skimming the words, mouth pinched into a hard line. The only sounds in the office were Daring’s troubled breaths, the rustle of a page being turned, and the ticking of a clock.

“This can’t be accurate!” He eventually exclaimed, slamming the journal shut. “If half, no, a tenth, of what this thing holds is true…” Periwinkle gave the journal a look of extreme distaste, standing sharply. “All this about Iridia being the Springbringer… The Springbringer abandoned ponykind to sleep at the worlds edge, not… not try to exterminate us! And I can’t say I blame her either! And Namyra for that matter! There were more alicorns than just… This is… This is dangerous, Daring. Very dangerous.”

“Dangerous? I thought I was supposed to be the paranoid one out of us, Peri.”

Periwinkle rounded on Daring, his expression one of mixed terror and anger.

Snarling, he said, “This is no time to be glib, Daring!” Hoof thrust at the journal, he added, “Don’t you realise what that could do? It undermines everything the sisterhood has preached for a thousand years!”

“No need for hyperbole, Peri.” Daring rolled her eyes, carefully putting the journal away, but leaving out the pinion and cloth.

Settling into Daring’s chair, Periwinkle was silent for several minutes, his gaze fixed on something beyond the horizon. Occasionally his ear would tick or twist, but otherwise there was no movement. Daring leaned against a wall, waiting for Periwinkle to process what he’d learned.

“Does Yearling know?” He eventually asked, lifting his head slowly.

“We sent her a telegram… But had to be careful what was in it.”

“Quite right, quite right.” Periwinkle stood abruptly, his movements jerky and uncertain as he hurried to the door. “I… I need time to think, old friend. Just, for the love of Celestia, stop teaching this… this… blasphemy to the students.”

Daring didn’t say anything as the door snapped shut at Periwinkle’s hooves. She just took a deep breath, went to her desk, and brushed a wing against the golden cloth. Warmth and life radiated from the cotton strands, tingling along sore muscle and sinew, and allowing Daring to stretch her wing just a little more, her breaths coming a little easier.

Fifth among the Great Sins is Gluttony. For she who consumes without regard for the morrow leaves nothing for her foals.

-The Book of Sol, on the Seven Sins of Ponykind

Valley of the Eternal Foal, Summer, 12 B.E.

Namyra poked her head into the kitchen, her ears pressed flat to her head, and body low so that her belly fur tickled across the red tiles. Seeing Sister Hawthorn busy with the evening stew—carrots, potatoes, and leeks—Namyra scooted through the door. While the smell coming from the large, black cauldron was enticing with its rare delicacies not found anywhere else in Unicornia, or any other land inhabited by ponies for that matter, it was not her goal. Zipping under the table, Namyra inched her way towards the fat pottery jar that sat on the shelf next to the jar of hard licorice and baskets of bread.

Nose sticking out between a pair of low stools, Namyra checked the cook’s position; unmoved from the bubbling stew, her antlers dancing with magic as she added spices and herbs.

Safety assured, Namyra—carefully—ignited her own magic and—very gently—lifted one of the stools and—slowly—moved it next to the shelves. Biting her tongue in concentration, she set the stool down. Namyra winced as it clattered. Sister Hawthorn raised her head from the stew, ears pricking towards the noise. Glancing over her withers to the rest of the kitchen, the cook gave a small shrug, and muttered, “Must have been the rats again.”

Breathing a relieved sigh, Namyra tip-hoofed out from her hiding spot.

She’d just mounted the stool when Sister Hawthorn added, “Yes, particularly that great, big, winged rat. Always trying to nip into the biscuits when her mother is away. A real troublemaker, that one is.”

“Am not,” Namyra countered, well away that the game had been lost, and with it the sweet prize. Returning the stool to it’s proper place, she asked, “What gave me away? It was the noise of the stool, wasn’t it.”

“No, Your Grace, it was your perfume, actually.” Sister Hawthorn replied, leaving the stew to join Namyra at the table. “The one Luna gave you for your birthday. I think it’s gone a bit… off.”

“‘Off’?” Namyra replied, turning her head to sniff at her wings. She pulled her head back at once, the sharp, pungent aroma assaulting her tender nose. “But, it’s not that old…”

Sister Hawthorn laughed as she retrieved the cookie jar and removed from it a pair of ginger snaps. “Your Grace, she gave that to you for your first centennial…”

“Oh,” Namyra’s cheeks coloured as she realised what the sister meant. “Was it that long ago?”

“Will be a hundred in a few months, if I’m not mistaken.” Sister Hawthorn tapped a cookie to her chin while she passed the other to Namyra. “Hard to imagine a little scamp like you being five times my age.”

“Perks of being a goddess,” Namyra replied, as she’d done with all the previous sisters that had lived and died in the manor. She bit into the ginger snap, savouring its sharp, spicy flavour.

She was about to bite into it again when a familiar presence struck her senses, filling the back of her mind with a turbulent glow.

“Celestia’s back!” Namyra sang, jumping from her stool. She stopped halfway to the door as Sister Merryhawk’s shrill scream rattled the manor.

Hooves stampeded above Namyra’s head, the dulled voices of the other sisters echoing throughout the building. Namyra scooted back a few paces from the door that lead up to the main floor, glancing back at Sister Hawthorn. The middle-aged cook had a look of bewildered worry on her long face, her mouth pinched into a dangerous line.

“Behind me, Your Grace, something is a-hoof,” Hawthorn commanded, her soft demeanor vanishing. From their place above the mantle, she took a short bladed sword and shield, taking a stance between the filly and the door.

Hooves thundered down the stairs leading from the main floor to the sister’s quarters and kitchens, the door bursting open a moment later to reveal an ashen faced Sister Brightwick.

“Hot water and clean towels. All of them.” Sister Brightwick’s blue eyes were wide and wild with terror, her breaths short. Namyra scooted back from the normally docile sister, her own eyes fixating on the golden stains across the front of Sister Brightwick’s robes. Stains that extended down the sister’s legs and dripped from her hooves.

Namyra trembled as Celestia’s aether flowed from the golden marks, twisting across the tiles and creeping along Sister Brightwich’s robes.

“What has happened?” Hawthorn demanded even as she set blade and shield aside to fetch the towels and water.

“It’s too… I can’t…” Brightwick leaned against the frame of the door, her entire body shaking, eyes pinched shut.

Namyra took a timid step towards the sister. She’d known Brightwick since she’d been a foal having just gained her mark. Over the years, thirty or forty by now, Namyra had never seen her be anything but reserved smiles.

Another scream, this one of pain and not fear, filled the manor. Namyra knew the voice all too well, her ears pressing flat as she whispered, “Celestia?”

She repeated the name, taking off for the stairs in a terrified dash.

“Your Grace, wait!” Hawthorn shouted after Namyra, reaching for the filly. Her attempt too slow, weighed down as it was with the towels and water pots.

Namyra took the stairs two at a time, bursting onto the main floor and making for the wide stairs that lead to the bedchambers. Along the way she encountered the other sisters, all with expressions of dread or anger on their faces, and a splattered golden trail. Following the droplets, Namyra found herself led to the closest of the guest chambers. Inside Tempered stood with Star Swirl, Clover, and Sister Tigertail. The four were in the midst of a linked spell, their magics intertwining as they formed a dozen chaotic runes together into a healing weave.

“Pexus, use Pexus!” Clover shouted above the humming bands of aether. “If we’re going to save her wing, we must use Pexus. Not Remus. This isn’t some flesh wound.”

“Of course, of course,” Star Swirl cried, eyes pressed so tight tears ran down the length of his muzzle. “Clever, Clover, very clever.”

“We don’t have time for the wing. Her life is—”

“Just do it!” Clover shrieked, sparks flying from the tip of her horn.

The motes of aether struck the bed, and the pony laying upon it. From the size and energy radiating across the room Namyra knew it was Celestia, but the figure looked nothing like her cousin. Her coat was caked in a dull, ruddy-brown mud, and her mane hung in tangled pinks locks, filled with twigs and other things Namyra couldn’t identify. Celestia’s left shoulder was a mess of torn flesh and bone, her wing pressed against the ghastly wound.

For a few moments Namyra was confused as magic coiled around the base of the wing, pink and indigo aether forming muscle and sinew-like bindings. Slowly, she realised the spell was having to regrow the tissue, that Celestia’s wing had been severed through means Namyra couldn’t guess.

Namyra trembled, falling back to hide beneath a table as Celestia renewed her screaming and thrashed upon the bed.

“Hold her down!” Tempered bellowed, a trio of sisters appearing to follow the command.

For what seemed like hours, but was perhaps just a few minutes, sisters darted in and out of the room, taking turns holding Celestia down while the healing spell was channelled. Namyra pressed her face into the floor, hooves over her ears whenever Celestia made a noise. She only lifted her head when she felt the return of her mother.

Iridia thundered into the room, her expression darkening as she took in the sight before her.

“Tigertail, I will take your place,” Iridia commanded, calling on her magic and relieving the exhausted sister.

Sister Tigertail didn’t protest. She just stumbled out of the casting circle, collapsing next to Namyra and instantly falling into a deep sleep.

Namyra jumped as a hoof touched her withers, just between the wings. Looking up she saw a sooty face framed in a black beard and tangled mane.

“Come, little one, this is no place for a filly,” Sombra said, lifting Namyra up and placing her upon his back, wrapping the edges of his scarlet cloak around her like a blanket.

She didn’t protest as he carried her out into the hallway and to the evening salon. Along the way, the sisters they passed shot him warning looks, but did not stop or even speak to either of them. When he reached the salon, Sombra set Namyra down on the navy blue cushion that matched her coat.

“Who are you?” Namyra clutched her favourite cushion, her voice shaking and wings jittering.

Sombra wore a look of cold fury, his upper lip pulled back to reveal draconian fangs. A red eye flickered to Namyra, making her shy away from the stranger, before returning to the walls dividing the salon from the bedchambers.

“Sombra, of the Royal House,” he said, his voice dull and flat, devoid of emotion.

“What… what happened? Who did that to my cousin?” Namyra demanded, watching the doorway with puffy eyes.

Before Sombra could reply, the door was pushed open, Star Swirl and Clover staggering into the room. The old wizard collapsed onto a bench, his face drawn and pale beneath his coat, while Clover made her way to a window.

“How’s…?” Namyra clamped her mouth shut, unable to fully form her question.

Starting at Namyra’s voice, Star Swirl glanced over to the filly. “We do not know, child. The Springbringer is with her still. I do not know where she finds the reserves to continue casting. I have not seen the like before.”

“Mother will heal Celestia.” Namyra swallowed a painful lump in her throat. “She has to…”

“I do not know if even her power will be enough, child.” Star Swirl stretched a little, his old bones popping and creaking. “We will know by the morrow.”

The group fell into a sullen silence. Waves of magic washed over Namyra from Celestia’s room for what seemed like an eternity, while Sol hovered low on the horizon, the sky a terrible, dull orange.

The stars woke.

Selene rose.

A clock struck midnight, and then one, and still Sol refused to set.

Somepony brought tea and sandwiches around three in the morning.

No pony touched them.

Luna arrived just before four.

Much like Celestia, Luna wore a suit of full-plate, dents and tears criss-crossing its surface. Her usually flowing mane was matted down the left side of her face, clinging to the side of her muzzle and partially hiding a shallow cut. Dried red mud flaked off her greaves and hooves whenever she moved. She walked with a slight limp, favouring her left side, and doing her best to show more irritation than pain.

With her she carried a grisly trophy; a leg dripping a black, ichorous fluid. It twitched and the talons flexed as if it were trying to crawl out of Luna’s grasp.

She marched into the room, took one look out the window, and snorted.

“Stubborn old mule,” was all she said before turning to leave.

As she did, Luna hesitated, her gaze lingering on Sombra for a few moments, a deep loathing twisting her countenance, before moving on.

“Your Grace,” Star Swirl called after Luna. “What in all that is holy, is that?”

Luna paused, looking over her withers at the group.

“Amon tried to take my sister’s wing. I took his leg.”

Then she was gone, heading towards Celestia’s room.

Star Swirl just shook his head, while Clover said, “If only we’d been faster, Master.”

“Hush, child. There is nothing more we could have done.”

His words had the effect of making Clover snap her head away from the window. “If we hadn’t dawdled so long in Marelencia. If we’d warned Celestia that it was Amon she’d be facing, and not some common soldier of Tartarus.”

“And what would that have accomplished?” Sombra snorted, stamping a hoof before marching towards the filly. She pressed her ears back and took a few steps away from Sombra. “A wave of his talons and Amon slew hundreds! The entire Solar Cabal stood before him, and he laughed as he turned aside our spells. You think the three of us amount to anything against such power?”

“Hush, Sombra—”

“We are nothing to them. Ants to be crushed beneath their hooves at a whim. They hold so much power. The ability to reshape the disc to their will. And what do they use it for? Bickering like common foals. One of them is a foal! They squander their might… It isn’t right, Star Swirl.” Sombra began to pace as he spoke, shooting dark, envious looks towards Namyra whenever he passed her cushion.

At five Iridia appeared, her eyes downcast and haunted. With her was Tempered, the priestess hiding her worries well.

“I have received word from my sister, my little dream,” Iridia said to Namyra, ignoring the other ponies as if they were no more than paintings on the wall.

“Celestia… Is she…?”

“She will recover, in time.” Iridia turned to Clover, bowing her head slightly. “Thanks to you, Clover the Clever. Your actions made all the difference this eve.”

The filly sat, stunned, her eyes huge and mouth hanging open.

“The Clever?” she repeated the words with infinite caution, as if saying them could cause them to shatter.

“I think it is a most fitting title, and one earned well.”

“Hear, hear!” Star Swirl thumped a hoof, or tried to in his weary state.

Slowly, a wide grin grew on Clover’s face, tears of joy glimmering in her eyes.

“Now, until Amon is found and sent back to Tartarus, you are to have a guardian at all times.” This was said to Namyra. “Luna is with Celestia now, and Tempered will remain by your side. You are to listen to her, Namyra. Am I understood?”

“Yes, mother.” Namyra gave a sullen grumble, ears pressed flat and not looking at Iridia.

“Good, now give your mother a kiss before I leave.”

Namyra did as told, jumping up to wrap her hooves around Iridia’s neck and hold her close for a full minute. Her heart hammered in her chest, her coat prickling where it touched her mother. Wrapping a wing around her daughter, Iridia placed three kisses on Namyra’s brow.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I have to go, little dream.” Iridia gave a tender squeez, and then forced Namyra back so they could look into each others eyes. “Amon must be made to pay, and Faust knows where he has hidden to tend his own wounds.”

Namyra was silent for a few moments as she examined her turbulent heart. Her face twitched a few times, her little wings extended, and then she said, “Make him suffer, mother.”

Iridia gave a wide smile, booped Namyra on the nose, and spoke in a playful voice that belied the gravity of the conversation. “It will be a long and painful passing, he will experience, have no doubt.”

“Your Divine Majesty,” Star Swirl took a few steps towards Iridia as she gave Namyra a last hug. “Why didn’t your sister warn us sooner? She sees the Weave of Fate… Surely…”

“I do not know, old one. In all honesty, I do not know. She wasn’t always so distant and ‘mysterious’,” Iridia used her wings to make quotation marks even as she sneered the word. “I fear she’s fallen prey to her age and needs to sleep again. I believe I may need to as well, soon. Rest for a few hundred years or more, and awaken new and refreshed in spirit, if not in form.” Iridia gave her head a shake, took a deep breath, and then marched for the door. “But this day, I have a Marquis of the Blighted Host to hunt.”

Namyra tried to maintain a stoic demeanor until she detected the pop of magic as Iridia teleported to lands unknown. She even thought she did a good job, in spite of the wobbling of her lower lip, the drooping of her wings, and the way her tail swished and flicked in time to the ticking of the clock as if jumping at the noise.

She jumped again when Tempered spoke.

“Come, little one.” Tempered waved her head towards the door. “Let’s get you to bed. Fillies need their rest.”

Namyra gave a mute nod, her wings drooping further, and followed Tempered into the hall. Instead of turning to the left and her rooms, Namyra went right, her hooves carrying her of their own accord towards Celestia’s room.

She found several of the sisters in the process of cleaning the room, buckets filled with warm soapy water, and brushes furiously scrubbing at golden stains that covered the walls and floor. The bed’s sheets had been removed, to where Namyra didn’t know, and the mattress had been leaned up next to the doorframe.

Behind her, Namyra heard Tempered calling for her to stop, but she ignored the High Priestess.

Namyra had to be certain Celestia would be alright.

She continued on to the next room, Luna’s room, and in it she found her cousins.

Bandages, spots of gold already speckling their surface, covered Celestia neck, peaking out from beneath the thick wool comforters that had been pulled up to her chin. Soft pink locks of mane had been brushed away from Celestia’s face, the strands limp and lifeless compared to the dancing aurora they were supposed to show. Her breaths were slow and shallow, hardly noticeable in the dull glow from Sol that slipped in through the open window. But more than just the appearance, it was the subtle flow of energy that usually emanated from Namyra’s family that made her hesitate. Celestia’s aura was almost indiscernible next to that given by Luna.

Luna sat at her sister’s side on a low bench, head resting on the bed next to Celestia’s hoof. She’d washed the blood from herself at some point and removed her armour. A thin smile graced Luna’s lips as she noticed Namyra standing in the doorway.

Waving a hoof for her to enter, Luna said, “Come in, there is no need to skulk about.”

“Celestia looks… like she’s dead,” Namyra whimpered as she hopped up onto the bench next to Luna. “I can’t feel her like I do you.”

“She’s just removed herself so she wont feel the pain as much.”

Namyra blinked and twisted her head to the side.

“You mean like when she helps Sol go to sleep or raise?”

“Yes, exactly so.”

“Oh.” Namyra retreated into her thoughts for a few moments, before asking, “Then why hasn’t Sol set? She’s been up all night.”

“Because Sol is a dense old mule at times,” Luna grumbled half to herself. An idea seemed to come over Luna, her eyes sparkling as she lifted her head to give Namyra a mischievous look. “Would you like to see them?”

Namyra pinched her brow together, not understanding the question. “I can see Sol right now.” She pointed through the window to the orange-yellow ball hanging just above the rim of the surrounding mountains.

“Here, lay down next to Celestia,” Luna commanded, helping her cousin onto the bed. “Now, close your eyes and steady your breath.”

Doing as she was told, Namyra waited a few moments for, presumably, something to happen. When nothing did, she began to open her mouth to ask Luna what was going on, only to be stopped as a delicate tug at the back her her head. Namyra’s eyes went wide and then fluttered shut as she began to lift out of herself, pulled aloft by a sparkling silvery cloud.

The last thing she was aware of before drifting out of the room was Luna saying, “Don’t worry Tempered, I will be with her the whole time.”

Namyra yelped as she floated through the roof and into the sky. She tried to scramble back down to her body, an electric surge flickering through her. There was no racing pulse in her ears nor sharp breaths. Indeed, it was impossible, lacking a heart or lungs.

“No need to be afraid,” came Luna’s voice from the silver cloud at her side.

Refusing to answer in case it pushed her away from Luna, Namyra simply clung to her cousin. Or tried to, rather. Her ‘hooves’ slipped through Luna’s ethereal form, eliciting a series a giggles.

Halting their ascent, Luna swung around to face Namyra.

“Now, a few quick rules, okay?” Luna didn’t wait for Namyra to respond before saying, “Rule number one; Don’t try to touch anything. Especially Sol. Second rule; Don’t attempt to wander off and explore. And lastly; Don’t panic. Understand?”

Namyra gave a nod, but only seemed to wobble and jitter, the motion making her yelp and attempt to clutch Luna again.

“Good,” Luna said around a slight laugh as she resumed carrying Namyra up into the heavens.

Gradually the sky turned from a blazing orange to a sharp yellow striped with peach tones, and then faded to an empty black. Namyra glanced left and right as little points of sparkling light appeared, each the size of a large apple. From them came voices laughing and concerned, a few wobbling side-to-side as Luna and Namyra passed, others calling out greetings. It took her a few minutes to realise that the lights were the stars.

Several rocketed past the pair, racing each other across what should have been the lingering hour before dawn, sparks of white and ruby magic trailing in their wake as they taunted and shouted at each other. Following the stars as they headed away, Namyra became aware of the disc. The entire world was spread out below her like a living map. She could see almost everything, from the mysterious western continent, to the unexplored lands in the south-eastern oceans. The rivers shimmered as they wandered through forests and fields towards the rolling oceans, fed by calm lakes or a seemingly endless number of tiny streams.

A tentative laugh broke from Namyra as she began to spin around, trying to see everything at once. She stopped as something far off in the distance, hovering above the disc’s rim, caught her eye. It was too far away to see properly, but it seemed to be a circle or ring that shifted and crackled. Through it flowed a flock of what seemed to be white gossamer birds, but Namyra wasn’t certain if it were a trick of the light and distance.

Before she could ask Luna about the ring, a deep, booming voice rumbled across the heavens.

I should have done something! Not hung impotently up here like a useless ball!

Namyra glanced around for the source of the voice, the ring forgotten, her gaze settling on Sol, the sun only a short distance away.

Far, far larger than the stars, Sol radiated heat and anger in waves that washed over the pair of ascending alicorns. If the stars were the size of apples, than Sol was a mountain. A terrible mountain of crackling fire.

Next to Sol, Selene, the moon, was more akin to a large hill in winter, a shining sphere of silver-white light that chilled rather than burned. She was humming a lullaby, attempting to calm her sister with little success. While Sol snapped and sizzled, flares popping regularly from her sides, Selene held a slow, soothing motion as she spun, a slightly darker patch rotating into view.

Celestia hovered between the heavenly giants, a tiny cloud of aetherial dust only vaguely resembling a pony. Namyra recalled Celestia once describing herself as taking the shape of a dancing aurora, like her entire body took on the same properties as her mane, when interacting with Sol. With the injuries inflicted by Amon, her essence shifted and crackled, red-orange gashes of energy echoing across her ethereal form.

I’m sorry, love, consoled Sol, the sun hovering a little closer to Celestia. I should have done something… Crushed that beast, and all those with him. Burnt them to ash and dust and… and…

Sol grew a dark, lurid colour as her own anger and frustration mounted.

“It is alright, I understand, love,” Celestia replied, her voice strained and weak. “That would have been far, far worse. Remember Tenochdeerlan, love. We—”

I did that, not you. Sol gave a sheepish huff. Besides… they were at least as brutal as the griffons, if not more so. Why they thought I wanted living sacrifices…

“They didn’t know better.” Celestia glanced towards the black scar that marked the spot where Sol had, two hundred years prior, landed on the disc, crushing a city and all its inhabitants before rolling into the far western ocean. “They believed that unless they appeased you, you’d be their doom.”

I hate that they were right, Sol grumbled. And yet so wrong.

“Sort of how it is wrong that the sun is still in the sky?” Luna called up to the sun. “Go to sleep, you can barely keep your light flowing. The entire disc is in a panic, and Ioka herself is starting to wake from her slumber.”

Let them panic, and let her wake! My love is wounded, and I wont leave her. Sol grew from the dull, burnished orange back into her blazing form for a few moment, only to wilt and release a great yawn and burst of fire.

Celestia, please, make her see reason. This came from Selene, the moon’s voice soft and musical, like it were formed from the cords of a harp.

“Our sisters are right, Love,” Celestia placed a tender hoof on Sol, wincing as her injuries flared again. “I will be fine, in time. We need to return order to the sky.”

I… But… Sol gave a deep sigh, then seemed to perk up. But, we have a guest! I can’t set now.

Celestia slowly turned, and only then noticed Namyra floating beside Luna.

“Luna! What are you doing?” Celestia started towards her sister, only to stop and hiss as a pulse of unsightly green flitted across her surface. “You shouldn’t have brought her here. This is very dangerous.”

Luna just laughed, waving a leg—or perhaps wing—dismissively.

“Do not fear. I have her. She was worried for you.”

Aww, isn’t that precious, Selene cooed, drifting away from Sol and towards Namyra.

Indeed! Sol tried to puff herself up, but the action only served to bring out another great yawn of flame.

Namyra stayed in the heavens for several hours, listening to her cousins and their charges laugh and joke. Occasionally one of the stars would flit up to the group, but they never stayed long, always returning to their normal home in the sky. Sol, Namyra quickly discovered, was quick to laugh, faster to snarl, and had a great, big, if simple, heart. Several times she tried to ‘hug’ Namyra, each time a sharp warning from Celestia and Luna halting the sun’s advance. Selene, though she laughed no less than her sister, was far calmer and more sedate.

None of them noticed Ioka crack open a mammoth eye and smile up at them before smacking her beak a couple times, stretch her colossal flippers, and then fall back asleep, content that all would be right on her disc.

Part Three

A Dream of Pride and Envy
By Tundara

Sixth among the Great Sins is Sloth. For she who refuses to contribute withers away at the whole.

-The Book of Sol, On the Seven Sins of Ponykind

A sharp, bitter wind swept down from the Crystal Spines, rolling over north-eastern Equestria and plunging the lands into an unseasonable chill, in spite of the weather teams’ best efforts. Whispers of snow saw ponies pulling on their winter scarfs, despite only being mid-october. While the farm communities rushed to the harvest, students huddled in their classrooms, rubbing hooves against barrels to stay warm.

Daring should have been in one such class herself.

Instead she’d been put on academic probation and quietly sent home, the board of governors debating what to do about her unusual lessons. While they argued and trod slowly around the issue, Periwinkle took over teaching her class.

She didn’t even have the distraction of papers to grade.

So, she sat on her porch, wrapped in a blanket, gold cloth tied around her neck like a scarf. As a pegasus, Daring didn’t feel the cold as much as terrestrial bound ponies, yet she knew that even with the blanket and her natural resistance, the biting chill should have affected her more. That the cloth was magical, Daring was certain, adding it’s ability to ward off cold to the apparent regenerative properties she’d already observed.

Daring wondered what else the cloth was capable of.

Yearling rested against her, a similar blanket over her barrel and a cloud grey wing extended behind Daring’s back, a shiver passing through her every now and then. Blowing a long, curling strand of navy blue mane away from her golden eyes, Yearling gazed at the original journal sitting on the table in front of them, rereading it in it’s native High Unicornian as easily as if it were in Equestrian.

“A piece of Clover’s Robes, it has to be,” Yearling said, gently flipping a page. “Or maybe from one of these other priestess. Not that it matters to whom it belonged nearly as much as the healing magic contained within its threads. Only the ancients were capable of such feats.”

“And what of the dreams I been having, like,” came Plumb Bob’s voice, rattling out of the house as he emerged with a pot of tea and some warm stones for Yearling to place beneath her blanket. “Had another one last night, I did. Was a toad at a big party, and I kept trying to dance with this pretty princess. She turned into a dragon, mind you, but that’s not the point. That’s seven now since that package turned up.”

Plumb Bob flopped down onto a chair, rubbing his hooves together as he chewed on the inside of his lip.

“It must be the feather,” Daring reasoned. “The letter said there were gifts for all of us. The journal for Yearling, since she’s a historian and can actually read the thing. The cloth for me as it can heal. And the feather for you, Plumb Bob.”

“But… why?” Yearling pressed, gently closing the journal before placing it into a specially crafted box, gems and spell matrixes covering its surface. “Fans have sent gifts before… But never of this nature. I don’t like it, love.”

“Yes, well, it’s kind of like the time…” Daring’s voice trailed off as the gentle clop of hooves on cobblestone and the grind of wheels reached the porch.

Up the pathway, a large carriage approached. This was not so unusual. Daring and Yearling lived far enough out of town that their friends, such as they were, often took a taxi when coming to visit, rather than walk. What was unusual were the royal guards, polished golden armour flashing in the afternoon sunlight slanting through the trees, that crowded over the path, their breaths puffing around their muzzles like smoke from a train engine.

Daring’s jaw clenched as the carriage ground to a halt, a porter jumping down to open the wide door for the occupants. Engraved on the door, bright against the white paintwork, was the Royal Crest.

The final confirmation came a moment later. A long white leg proceeded a pony far larger than any other. Celestia positively glowed as she exited the carriage, stopping a few steps away to glance back and say something Daring failed to catch.

A second pony jumped out of the carriage, almost stumbling as she landed on the gravel path. She was a gangly purple unicorn in the awkward stage between being a filly and young mare, her legs having grown faster than the rest of her body. Cautiously, she followed the princess, her large eyes sweeping over the cottage before settling on the trio of stunned ponies on the porch.

“Princess, I don’t understand why we’re here,” the filly said, her voice squeaking as it broke.

“Patience, my faithful student, you’ll understand shortly,” Celestia replied as she headed towards the cottage.

Trotting quickly at the princess’ side, the filly knitted her brow together. They stepped onto the porch, the confusion transforming to wonder as she recognised two of the ponies sitting around a table. Squeeling in delight, she raced across the deck, screeching to a halt just before Daring and Yearling.

“You’re Daring Do!” the filly gasped, staring up at her with wide eyes, stars twinkling deep within their depths. Daring’s mouth fell open as she gazed upon an infinite expanse of space contained within those purple eyes, an entire cosmos that was supposed to hang above the disc, protecting the world from the void within which Ioka swam. “Can I have your autograph?” The filly demanded, producing an autograph book and breaking the spell her eyes cast by shoving it beneath Daring’s nose.

The scarf around Daring’s neck blazed with a comforting warmth at the filly’s presence, receded a little as she scampered back to Celestia jubilantly holding her freshly signed autograph book. The warmth began to grow again as Celestia approached and took a seat, summoning her own cup.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” she said as she poured some tea. “It is a surprisingly chilly fall. Twilight, please, settle down a little.”

From between Celestia and Daring, Twilight ceased dancing on the spot, an odd celebratory flailing that had more in common with Zebrican fertility rituals than anything practiced by Equestrians.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” Twilight wilted, her happiness melting like mist beneath the sun.

“No reason to be sorry, my faithful student, but I think moderation is better at the moment. Smile and be happy, and when we return to Canterlot we’ll have a little, private celebration.”

Twilight brightened a little, moving off to gaze lovingly at the freshly inked autograph.

“Mr. Bob, perhaps you could take my student inside for a bit? I’d like to have a private chat with your mentors, and I think Twilight would love to see the library.” Celestia turned to Yearling and Daring, adding, “If that is alright with you, of course.”

Of course it was. They wouldn’t dream of having the filly wait outside! Perhaps she’d like some warm juice. Just, not around the books. And she was to be extra careful in the library.

Several other similar comments were made before Plumb Bob and Twilight had disappeared into the cottage.

Humming to herself, Celestia said, “You don’t need to fear for the safety of your books around Twilight.”

“If your Highness is certain,” Yearling replied, staring at the front door in a combination of dread and anxiety.

“Now, Mrs. Do,” Celestia began as she adjusted her position on the bench, “I hear you’ve been teaching some interesting ideas in your class lately.” Daring sucked in her breath, wings readying beneath the blankets she shared with Yearling to launch her forward. A touch from Yearling eased the tension while Celestia continued to speak. “Also, that you received a journal and letter, as well as a few other interesting curios. I would appreciate seeing them, if you don’t mind.”

Hesitating, Yearling produced the journal. As she slid it, and the box containing it, over, she said, “There was an accident with the letter… Coffee…”

Celestia raised a brow at the obvious lie, but didn’t press the issue. Taking up the journal, she skimmed through several pages. “Oh, Clover, always too gentle and trusting for your own good,” Celestia hummed as she flipped towards the end before snapping the journal shut.

Returning the journal to it’s box, Celestia poured herself some of the tea.

“So, it’s true? Everything in that journal?” Yearling asked, her cup clattering in her hooves. Daring had never heard her wife so anxious before, her wing extending protectively behind Yearling.

Celestia was quiet for a few moments as she set her tea back down.

“I can not say without reading the whole thing, but it was not Clover’s way to embellish or lie. She was honest to a fault, and a good friend.” The light of old memories filled Celestia’s eyes, her lips pulling up at a remembered joke or occurrence. “I miss her dearly.”

“Princess… I was curious about your sister, Luna. The journal is rather… clinical in its descriptions of events. It’s almost like reading a court transcript at times. Great for conveying the facts Clover wished to share, but it doesn’t do so well presenting the character of the ponies involved. I was wondering… what was Luna like?”

Lifting her head to gaze up at Sol through the trees, it was a minute before Celestia answered.

“She is an artist. Not with a brush or music, though she has a beautiful voice. It is the battlefield that is her canvas. Luna has such a mastery of the sword that I was, to be honest, jealous. I am the older sister, and in the natural order of things, I am supposed to protect her. It was always the other way around, she protecting me. Ponies got it wrong; she didn’t bring out the monsters, she hunted them beneath Selene’s light.”

Edging forward on her bench a little, Yearling leaned onto the table. “In the books I’ve uncovered, she’s described as…”

“Aloof? Cold? Scornful of our little ponies?” Celestia said the words with a slight smile. “The truth is that, while she did become those things, they’re weren’t really her. Just a tool she thought she needed to protect others. After we ended the Age of Chaos, I was venerated more and more, while she was marginalised. This was largely my fault. I basked in being the saviour after so many years in her shadow. Pride blinded me to her pain. But the seeds were set long, long before then. Even if I had known, I believe it still would have been too late.

“The Nightmare had set her hooks deep in my sister centuries earlier.”

Having finished their first cups, Celestia poured them some more tea, a simple cantrip reheating the pot. A faint smile played across the princess’ fair features, basking in memories as old, and older, than Equestria. Leaning forward, she shook off the memories, a far more serious line making her jaw grow firm.

“So, then, what do we do about you three?”

The ponies in question to gulped simultaneously. For a brief, mad moment, Daring wondered if she’d be able to buy Yearling and Plumb Bob time to escape if she hurled herself directly at Celestia. Common sense prevailed. The passages on Celestia’s destructive capacity at the forefront of her mind. Even then, knowing that on a whim Celestia could destroy everything within a mile, Daring would have done so. Except, she was—as much as she hated to admit it—a far wiser and more cautious mare. Ten or Fifteen years earlier and she’d have already been attempting to kick Celestia’s flank. It’d hardly be the first time Daring took on a pony that was physically and magically her superior.

A twinkle in Celestia’s pink eyes, the slight tug at the corner of her muzzle, and the way her wings ruffled, all gave Daring further pause. Her mouth fell open as realization struck; Celestia was teasing them.

“Princess, did you send us these gifts?”

The question was from Yearling, and it seemed to catch the princess by surprise. She tilted her head a little, as if she were examining a painting, before saying, “I did not. I am not so ghoulish as to give one of my little ponies a piece of robe soaked in my blood, no matter its healing or protective qualities.” Celestia’s wings jittered as she answered.

Daring glanced down at the cloth tied around her neck, her coat crawling despite the warmth emanating from the fabric.

“Who is she?” Daring asked, glancing away from Celestia and to where Twilight sat at the far end of the porch, nose deep in a pile of books gathered from Yearling’s library. “Is she a sister? Or… a cousin?”

“I pray every night that it is the former, and not the latter,” Celestia dodged. “How can you tell?”

“When she came near, the scarf grew warmer. It’s doing the same thing with you, ma’am.”

“She could be Cadence’s daughter, you know,” Celestia laughed before finishing her tea.

“Or your own,” Daring snorted.

Instantly, she regretted the words. Celestia gave little reaction, only the slightest of winces, just enough for Daring to know how deep she had cut.

Setting down her empty cup, Celestia sighed.

“Your Highness…?” Yearling began. Thinking better of her question, she clamped her mouth shut.

“Well, this has been an interesting and informative visit.” Celestia rose, calling to Twilight that they were leaving. As she stepped off the porch, she turned back to the couple. “I will refrain from confiscating the gifts, for now, under a few conditions. You are to withhold divulging the contents of the journal for the next few years. The time is not yet right for the information held within to come to light. Should you attempt to publish it beforehoof, I can guarantee that it will be discredited. Furthermore—”

“Ponies have a right to know, Princess!” Daring stamped a hoof, glaring at Celestia.

Celestia returned the glare with a sweet smile. “What they have a right to know, and what is best for them is not always the same thing, Mrs. Do. We are on the precipice of a great upheaval. You have already uncovered my student’s hidden nature. And, if I were to hazard a guess, I would say that there are other revelations waiting in the shadows of the night. Do not try to take from my ponies one of their little, comforting lies, Mrs. Do. I would take it rather unkindly.”

Celestia waited for Daring and Yearling to nod before she finished walking to her carriage. As she entered it, Daring and Yearling heard her say, “I was just telling them good-bye and a story, my faithful student. Nothing to concern yourself over.”

And then the carriage door was shut and it began to roll away, leaving Yearling and Daring standing out in the cold, their wings extended over each other’s back. Neither breathed until the guards and carriage had disappeared around a bend.

Seventh among the Great Sins is Envy. For she who covets what others possess is as dangerous to herself as she is to others.

-The Book of Sol, on the Seven Sins of Ponykind

The Valley of the Eternal Foal, Late Summer, 12 B.E.

Sombra glared up at Sol, still unmoved, with the moon hanging at her side. An almost unheard of occurrence. He’d studied the ancient texts, and knew it for a sign, a portent that great change was about to befall the disc. A sign that had been given to him in warning.

“They knew… somehow… they knew…” Sombra muttered to himself, his words filling the otherwise still room.

Lifting himself from his bench, Star Swirl asked, “Who knew? And what?”

“I encountered three earth pony gypsies on the road to Marelencia.” Sombra frowned, then smiled, his eyes dancing with hope and greed. “They told me what would happen, and I didn’t believe them. Only Faust can see the future, afterall. A choice… they claimed I had a choice…”

Sombra shook his mane and went to the pitcher of sweet wine left by the sisters on a low table. He emitted a bitter laugh as he gulped down a glass of the delicious nectar, his mind setting on a course he’d been walking for some time.

“Three gypsies on the road to Marelencia you say?”

Sombra wasn’t listening, his mind already far away. He muttered to himself, beginning to pace as plans and hopes danced in front of his eyes. “Obscurity and happiness or loneliness and power.”

“What are you babbling about?” Star Swirl laid a hoof on Sombra’s withers, jostling the larger stallion out of his thoughts.

Drawing one of his swords, Sombra began to inspect the gleaming steel. “Have you ever thought on the nature of a sword, master?”

Star Swirl took a step back, tugging on his beard before answering. “I have not. It is a tool, nothing more. Even the ensorcelled blades are simply weapons, though they may argue otherwise.”

“Ah.” Sombra grew silent, his eyes pinched and pensive, turning the sword this way and that as he contemplated it. “Yes, what other purpose can a weapon have? What other destiny could they possess than to maim and kill?”

Spinning, Sombra drove the blade into Star Swirl’s chest. The stroke was quick and precise, flawless in its execution. Star Swirl was given no time to react, no hope of conjuring a defense or deflecting the sword aside.

“Why?” Star Swirl coughed, blood frothing from his mouth as he collapsed onto his side.

“Because, my old master,” Sombra twisted the blade from the old wizard’s chest, blood pooling in the fuller, “it’s my destiny.”

Sombra acted swiftly removing one of Star Swirl’s spare robes and donning it. With a simple glamour Sombra shifted and changed, transforming into a copy of his dead master. He didn’t bother to hide the body, simply locking the door before making his way through the manor towards Clover’s room.

Knocking on the door, Sombra called in Star Swirl’s voice, “Child, are you within? We must speak on a matter of grave urgency.”

The door opened with Clover standing on the other side, rubbing her eyes free of sleep.

“What is it, master?” She gave a large yawn.

“We must make haste.” Sombra pushed his way into the room, heading to Clover’s wardrobe from which he retrieved her robes. “Sol still has not set, and in a matter of hours the seventh dusk since Celestia was wounded will be upon us. Luna is with her now, giving what aid she can, but it is up to us to act. If we do not…”

“Sol will die… The sun will fade and all the disc will be lost to darkness,” Clover concluded, hurrying to pull on her robes. Almost running to keep pace with the pony she thought was her master, Clover said, “But we healed Celestia! Sol should set!”

“Her wounds were graver than we thought, obviously,” Sombra growled, the malice in his tone making Clover lift her head. “I should have seen it earlier. I am a blind fool, it seems.”

“What can we do?” Clover’s voice edged on panic, her steps faltering for a moment.

“Namyra.” Sombra stopped in front of the filly’s rooms. “With her help we may yet be able to save Celestia and Sol.”

Clover looked uncertainly from the door to her false master, back to the door. “Master… You’re not suggesting—”

“That we do what is necessary to save the disc. Worry not. I would never contemplate anything that would harm her, child.”

“If… If you say so, master,” Clover could not hide the concern in her tone.

Sombra just smiled and pushed the door open.

Namyra slept in a bed that would have been large enough for a half-dozen adult ponies, or a few alicorns, covers drawn up to her chin. There was no hesitation in his step as he went to the bed and shook Namyra awake.

“Star?” Namyra yawned, stretching her hooves and blinking blearily at the ponies in her room. “Clover? What’s going on?”

“We require your help with a ritual, child,” Sombra said as he fished a cloak out for Namyra from her closet. “In order to heal Celestia.”

“Really? But, Luna and Celestia both say she’ll be alright.” Namyra protested as she slid from beneath her sheets.

“And yet, Sol has not set. A week and the sun has not moved, all the while her light dimming,” countered Sombra as he wrapped the cloak over Namyra.

She was silent, adjusting the cloak’s clasp as she went to stand by Clover.

“What can I do to help?” Namyra asked as they slipped down the sister’s stairwell and out a side-door into the gardens.

“We’re going to recreate the spell used by the Cabal to make Sol set,” Sombra replied in a hushed voice, watching the manor for any sign that they’d been detected. “But Clover and I can not cast it alone. We need your help.”

With a little skip in her step, Namyra gave a chipper, “Okay! If it will help Tia.”

Sombra simply grinned, the bells on his hat giving a forlorn jangle. His was a purposeful stride as he lead the way from the gardens towards the mountain. They’d need a secluded place, a grove or little dell, where they’d have time to prepare the ritual. He held no illusion that the sisters wouldn’t soon discover Star Swirl’s body or that Namyra was missing.

“Master, where are we going?” Clover’s voice was filled with confusion and uncertainty, the filly lagging behind her supposed master. “Why have we left the manor?”

Putting on his most genial smile, Sombra slowed. “We need somewhere to craft the necessary glyphs, child. Somewhere that is safe but won’t be hampered by the manor’s wards. We can’t risk them interfering. Not in this. Something like—”

“A cave?” Namyra asked, jumping up between Clover and Sombra.

“Yes, that would do nicely.”

Taking the lead, Namyra quickened her pace so that even Sombra had to hurry. “This way. I have a hidden cave that the others don’t know about.”

Sombra doubted that the sisters were anything but aware of all the caves and hidden places along the length of the valley. Not that it mattered, so long as it would take them time to search other, more logical, places first. A cave would suit his purposes.

It was not a particularly large nor impressive cave either. Sombra almost had to stoop to pass the low hanging entrance. A badger or some other animal had been making it a home, a den to one side before a sharp bend that lead to a decently sized cavern. A rotten wood play fort squatted along one wall, now little more than a pile of damp boards. It had been many years since any pony had visited the cave.

“This will do perfectly,” Sombra declared, shoving the remains of the fort further out of the way in order to clear a circle.

“But… Won’t we need to be in the open to cast the Setting Ritual?” Clover crinkled her nose at the mildew and mold.

“The Cabal used to cast the ritual in the basement of a tower. Being under a mountain is unimportant.”

Waving a dismissive hoof, Sombra instructed Clover on the glyphs they’d need. While she formed the first of the needed anchors, Sombra marked out the rest of the ritual circle. Though pressed for time, he took care to use aether untainted by his own magic, and thus glowing a pure white. He’d not be able to hide the nature of his magic once the ritual began, but by then, it’d be too late. Clover hesitated at the second glyph, chewing on her lip a little before turning to Sombra.

“Master… I don’t recall there being any Dark runes in the Sunset Ritual. Are you—”

“It is a slight modification, nothing more,” Sombra countered as he continued the work of inscribing the casting circle. “This spell was meant to be cast by several members of the cabal, but there are only two of us. For this to work we’ll have to borrow a small portion of Namyra’s power.”

Tilting her head, Namyra asked, “Borrow my power?”

Chuckling, just like his master would, Sombra made a soothing motion with his hoof. “It will be but a tiny sliver, child. All we need is a…” he struggled for a comparison for a moment, before saying, “a push, to get the spell started. You will not be harmed.”

“Okay. You’re really good at magic, and my cousins trust you.”

They worked in silence as the remaining glyphs were formed, large menhirs pulled from the stone to act as anchors for the ritual. Sombra kept an eye on Clover the entire time. She was both required and a threat. Until the ritual was started she could not suspect his true goal. He didn’t breathe easily until the final glyph was in place and the circle completed.

Such a pure, trusting soul, Clover. Sombra couldn’t help but smile as she took her spot within the second ring, Namyra moving to the center. Licking his lips, Sombra inspected the runes one final time, insuring that they were properly inscribed. Satisfied, he nodded to Clover.

“We begin with a simple containment spell, something that can hold your power, child,” he said to Namyra, putting on his most comforting grin. From the way both Clover and Namyra frowned, Sombra wondered if, perhaps, they’d seen through his ruse. “Even a bare fraction of your power will be immense, and without a proper vessel it would prove to be too dangerous to harness. Remember, this is for Celestia.”

“For Celestia. Right.” Namyra gulped, though her little legs trembled. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Master, are you certain there is no other way?” Clover let her doubt fill the small cave, her head drooping and shifting on her hooves. “What of the Queens? Or Luna? Surely—”

“Luna is buying us the time we need to help her sister. As for Iridia and Faust, we do not know where they have gone, nor why they have yet to return. We must assume that they are indisposed in some capacity by Amon, for the time being. Celestia is our most pressing concern, child. We must act swiftly,” Sombra grinned as one of his old master’s many saying popped to mind, “a Wizard must be sure and true in their course. Do not give in to doubt.”

The effect was immediate, Clover snapping upright, and giving a firm nod.

“Of course, master.”

They began the spell at once, magic flowing from their horns into the circle. Sombra’s gut twisted into his chest at the final hurdle. While he could glamour his appearance, and knew his former master’s mannerisms well enough to impersonate Star Swirl, there was nothing he could do to hide the nature of his magic. The smokey grey wisps of aether that rolled from his horn were clearly not those that belonged to Star Swirl.

Fortune continued to favour him. Sombra grinned as Clover clasped her eyes shut, concentrating on her portion of the spell. Like a line of ants, their combined magic weaved and wandered through the casting circle. The glyphs hummed to life, amethyst strength flowing from each, growling like an angry hound, rising throughout the cave.

Namyra glanced uncertainly at the glyphs and then Sombra.

A bolt of hungry energy flashed across the ring, jumping from glyph to glyph as it formed a star. Rebounding off the final glyph, the magic arced into Namyra, driving the filly to her knees. She grunted as the magic pushed through sinew and bone towards something deeper still. It coiled around her essence, sniffing at the boundaries between the physical and aetherial. Namyra collapsed, ice shooting through her veins as it struck and then pulled.

Sombra began to laugh in triumph.

“It works! I knew it would! Quickly, begin the syphon!” he ordered as he channelled more magic into his horn. “We must hurry!”

“Please, stop!” Namyra begged, twitching and writhing on the ground.

Parts of herself that she’d never been aware of before were yanked and twisted out of her, streams of silver cored blue magic flowing from her like blood. Her magic coiled around her, a protective serpent that hissed and snapped at the energy piecing Namyra from the casting circle.

Namyra gasped as her eyes were ripped open and she Understood.

In the valley below, she could see the Earth ponies and Pegasi, unaware of the desecration being performed above. She could see their dreams, forming and bursting like minature novas, white on an even whiter tapestry. Foals dreamt of their soul marks, lovers of their paramours lips, and the elderly of days when they were strong and full of life. More and more appeared, each like a little sphere that clung to the dreamer. Hundreds, then thousands, floated up before Namyra’s eyes, and she knew her destiny.

“Stop!” she roared, teeth clenched to hold back the pain.

Namyra’s voice broke through to Clover, piercing the wall of her concentration. Opening her eyes at last, Clover almost dropped the spell, instinct saving her at the last moment. The backlash would have been catastrophic with the amounts of raw energy coursing through the cavern. There shouldn’t have been so much energy. The runes were meant to only extract the barest sliver of Namyra’s magic, enough to act as a catalyst for the true portion of the Sunset Ritual.

Clover had seen such spells before, though never cast one herself. Through the doubt and confusion twisting at her heart, she tried to piece together why the spell was going so wrong. Namyra wasn’t supposed to feel a thing, and yet she continued to writhe and twist at the circle’s heart, drawing deep gasps before screaming anew.

It clicked all at once, the way Rim was bound to Qun, the dark rune hovering above and between the pair. The spell, as it was laid, wouldn’t take a portion of Namyra’s power, it’d strip it all until there was nothing left.

“Master!” Clover yelled, trying to be heard above the crackling bursts of magic. “The ritual… It will kill her!”

“She’ll be fine,” Sombra shouted back, his own heart racing as thick bands of magical fire engulfed the carefully inscribed runestones. “So long as we begin the Sunset Ritual before her divinity is fully asserted.”

His jubilant laughs were cut short by a flare of azure magic bursting from Namyra’s chest, scouring the ground in a rumbling crackle. Grinding his teeth against the pressure forcing it’s way down his horn, Sombra fought to re-assert control.

“Master, we must stop!,” Clover shrieked, trying to figure out how to wean herself from the spell. She had to be careful, releasing the spell too fast would force it all upon her false master in a tidal wave of uncontainable energy, and she didn’t even know what effects it would have on Namyra. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Maintain the spell, Clover,” Sombra tried to shout above the tumult of magic. “There can be no weakness or all the disc is doomed.”

Still writhing in the shell of magic at the rituals heart, Namyra reached out towards Clover. “Please, help me.”

“No, this is wrong,” Clover cried, attempting to end her connection to the ritual.

Namyra howled louder still, her back arching as a gout of arcane fire tore free and scoured the ceiling. In a panic, Clover reapplied her magic, cutting the discharge short, even as it continued to syphon and draw Namyra’s essence free.

Before each of the menhirs, a crystal took shape, forming from the condensed bands of aether drawn from Namyra. Seven crystals, each a different colour.

Gasping like a fish in the bottom of a boat, Namyra reached out a hoof for the closest crystal, silent pleas twisting her pained face.

Sombra ignored her, reaching out for the crystal formed by the Dark glyph.

His heart raced as he clutched the small thing in his hooves. He could feel the power it contained, the promise of immortality and strength it offered driving him forward.

“Thank you, Clover, I couldn’t have done this without you,” Sombra said, dropping the glamour. He smirked at the betrayal that drove into Clover.

Ending his own connection to the ritual, Sombra turned and left.

All Clover managed was an incoherent shriek of blind rage, the ritual rebounding upon her without Sombra. As before, instinct saved Clover again, taking up the strands discarded by Sombra before the spell could destabilise and backlash upon her.

Clover tried to figure out a way to undo the spell. Alone it was impossible. She lacked the strength and skill to reverse the spell, let alone contain it. In desperation, she grabbed at the nearest menhir, attempting to rewrite the glyph. It was a foolish last gamble, but she could see no other option.

Pouring as much power as she could spare from holding the spell together, Clover almost succeeded. The rune began to change, its outer bounds rippling as it strained against Clover and the forces being channelled. No wizard could alter a rune mid-spell, however. With a tremendous bang, menhir, glyph, and crystal all shattered, a blast striking both Namyra and Clover, hurling the later from the circle. Clover landed with a bone crunching smack atop the broken remnants of the wood, their rotten nature sparing her from worse harm.

Atop the pile of wood, a glowing emerald halo of loose aether covered Clover. She stared at the gentle little fires dancing along her limbs, idly wondering why it didn’t burn. Then she began to scream, the sharp piercing sounds echoing those that had been spent by Namyra. She clawed at her face, hooves scratching and pulling at the magical fire. Soot and ash fell down her muzzle, tumbling between her desperate legs. Toppling from the pile, Clover tried to pull herself towards Namyra, stopping after a few length where she lay still.

Namyra smiled as the chains of energy holding her began to buckle. Indigo flames liquified the remaining runes, their hold weakening as they grew unstable. Like the crash of an avalanche, once one had shattered, the others quickly followed. Namyra’s smile turned into a twisted howl as the tendrils of her essence connected to the ruins were torn free and severed, completely drawn into the remaining crystals.

She jittered and shook as a third then fourth part of her soul was torn off, the menhirs binding her destroyed and the crystals connected to them vanishing, propelled to some distant corner of the disc. Summoning all the magic she could, Namyra reached out and grabbed the remaining threads, attempting to pull them back into herself.

Her gaze drifted down to Clover, the other filly’s breaths slow and shallow.

“You did this. You and your master,” she snarled, the words inaudible over the crackling magic, even if any pony had been present to listen. “I curse you, Clover! I curse you and all your kind. None of you will ever dream again. I bar the unicorns from my realm,” Namyra reached out with senses she never knew she possessed as she snarled at Clover.

She could see all the dreams, all the myriad little hopes and bubbles that formed and flew from Oneiros, carried on the wings of black songbirds. Closing her eyes, Namyra reached towards the realm of Dreams, her realm, and closed the unicorns’ gate. She could feel it rattling shut, the Oneiros dreambirds chittering as they were driven back. Chains, each as thick as three wagons, criss-crossed the gate, lesser chains connecting them together. A few of the oneiros slipped between the chains, while most were repulsed and driven back. Namyra gritted her teeth, willing the gate to close faster and be fully sealed, only for the chain to stop at the last moment, a small flaw allowing a narrow passage for the oneiros.

“I curse you…” Namyra repeated, pulling herself to her hooves, only to fall, her legs twitching as she was lost to shadows, all the world drifting and bleeding away while the final rune broke, catapulting its crystal across the disc.

Neither Namyra nor Clover was aware of their names being called, of the pounding of hooves, and of a dozen forms rushing into the cave. Luna led the Sisters of Spring, following the dying traces of magic left by the ritual. She didn’t slow as the horror became apparent, barely sparing a glance for Clover as she went straight to Namyra, scooping her cousin into her legs.

Her heart hammered like the steps of an ancient wyrm, Luna’s entire body shaking with each beat as she nuzzled Namyra, seeking the comforting presence of her cousin’s breath.

There was nothing.

No breath. No heartbeat. No magic.

Gone was the comforting presence of Namyra’s essence, the slight tingle that manifested at the base of Luna’s horn whenever she was near her family. She could sense Celestia still back at the manor, a low hum of building light that could blind and burn the world, but of Namyra there was nothing.

Luna laid her cousin down, saying nothing.

Standing, she made her way out of the ring of sisters that had formed around her and approached Clover. A few sisters had gone to tend to the filly. They made a path for Luna, their heads held low, grief etched deep upon their brows. Luna was unsure what emotion it was that flashed through her, driving a hot knife between her ribs, when she looked down on Clover and saw that the filly still lived. Rage, hope, disgust, or joy; all were equally at play.

Brushing aside the burnt remnants of Clover’s mane revealed the filly’s eyeless gaze. Blackened holes were all that remained of her inquisitive eyes, the last fading tendrils of the magic that had struck her still smoldering within the sockets. Luna’s gorge rose at the sight, even with all the horrors she’d seen and battled over her two centuries of life.

Clover’s small hoof shot out, grabbing Luna’s own.

“Save her! You must save her, Luna.”

“I can not. She is lost to us.”

The sisters gasped and cried, a few uttering low curses. Luna herself felt only a cold fury as the words slipped free of her tongue, silently promising that the ponies responsible would suffer for their transgression.

“No… I can hear her. She’s screaming still, alone and frightened. I can hear her…” Clover gripped Luna tighter, her voice cracking as she pled.

Luna was silent for a few moments, searching Clover’s face for deceit. Seeing none, and knowing in her heart that Clover was wholly incapable of the act that surrounded them, Luna bent down to touch her horn to Clover’s. She had to know the truth of what had transpired, and to do so she needed to access Clover’s memories.

Pushing her thoughts through their connected horns, Luna entered Clover’s mind. At once she was struck by two presences; Clover, and another that skulked and prowled like an angry cat around the edges. Luna tried to focus on this intruder first, but it slipped away. All she could tell was that it was old, though far from ancient. Clover herself was curled into a tight ball, face scrunched up as she maintained a shield to hold the other at bay.

Over and over she repeated the words, “I can hear her. I can hear her. Why won’t she stop screaming?”

“Clover the Clever, stop this,” Luna shouted, only to have her words drowned out by Namyra’s thundering voice.

“I wish I was as pretty as you and Celestia… Will I have a mane like yours when I grow up? How come you get to join the armies? We’re the same age! I want to help!”

Luna stiffened as each word hammered upon Clover’s shield, emerald bursts of light crackling in the dark. She recognised them from a conversation she’d shared with Namyra years before.

“What in Harmony…?”

Luna took a half-step back, ready to break the connection between her and Clover. But she stopped, driven by hope and the need for answers, she turned from Clover and addressed the void.

“I do not mean thee any harm.” Luna held out a hoof. “Come out, so we may talk.”

The presence drifted closer, and this time Luna could detect Namyra’s essence, but it was wrong, twisted and corrupt with a vile undercurrent that set Luna on the back of her hooves. It was nothing like when she’d taken Namyra to visit Celestia in the heavens.

“I don’t like it,” responded Namyra, her voice unnatural and strained, as if it were being pulled from her rather than spoken. “What’s it like? Life among the mortals, I mean.”

Luna’s face fell, her hoof shaking as the words conjured up memories of the last day they’d spent together as a family, everypony together under one roof.

“Namyra, it is I, Luna, your—”

The remainder of Luna’s words were lost as Namyra lunged, a beatial screech slashing across the mindscape. She grappled with Luna, invisible claws sinking deep into Luna’s shoulders. Luna threw herself backwards, attempting to shake Namyra while breaking the connection between herself and Clover.

Memories, both hers and not, assaulted Luna as she reeled away from Clover. She was looking up at herself, tucked beneath one of her wings. Luna towered over her, so regal and commanding, but with a hint of sadness in the corner of her eyes. She envied that figure. A pang of deep longing to have what she had, to be among the ponies, to see their cities, to learn the odd, new ways of speaking, pierced her.

And then the memories were gone, like a soap bubble popping on a thistle.

“Your Grace,” cried a chorus of voices, the priestesses appearing at Luna’s sides to steady her as she slumped.

“I am fine,” Luna brushed the assistance away.

Pushing her way forward, Tempered asked, “What happened? You were fine, then you fell as if struck.”

“She is still here… And if she is still here… I can save her.” Luna rose onto shaky hooves. Her heart raced. She knew that what she was about to attempt had never been done. Once dead, no mortal could be brought back to life. Or so it was said. But Namyra wasn’t mortal, she was immortal, and the same rules did not apply to her, as they did not to Luna, Celestia, or their mothers.

Closing her eyes, Luna stretched her mind towards the heavens.

She found Celestia waiting for her, pacing about the sky above the valley.

“Luna,” Celestia shouted in tense relief. “What is going on? You left so suddenly… and that disturbance… What has happened?”

“We have no time for explanations. Sol must set this instant, I require the aid of my stars.” Luna pushed past Celestia, making her way towards Sol and Selene. “For what I am about to attempt, Celestia, I will require the power granted to me by Selene’s grace and the star’s light.”

Celestia didn’t argue or press her questions; the force and desperation flowing from Luna like wind down a mountain slope spoke volumes.

“I will need your help, then.” Celestia drew up beside Luna. “I will show you a trick that always sends her to rest.”

Love? Sol gave the approaching goddesses a suspicious look. The suspicion turned into a grim glower when neither slowed as they drew near. I am not…

Her voice trailed off as Celestia began to sing. Brushing herself against Luna, Celestia guided her sister in tracing a line across Sol. Their essence swirled up and down, swished left and right, and as the lullaby drew to a gentle close and Sol gave a deep yawn, Celestia and Luna pushed together.

Sol departed the heavens, snoring as she journeyed towards Ioka’s shadow where she would regain her full strength, night at last claiming the disc.

“Thank you,” was all Luna said as she reached out and woke the stars.

Celestia followed Luna as her sister began to call the stars together, drawing them from their age-old constellations. Some yawned, others grumbled, but most playfully sprang about the night, stretching after a week of being cooped up by Sol’s light, faded though it had become.

Addressing the stars, her voice booming with such volume across the heavens that ponies and beasts atop even a moderately tall mountain could hear her, Luna said, “Namyra has been… hurt.”

The stars murmured, while Celestia was brought up short.

“To save her…” Luna’s voice trailed off, indecision almost claiming her, but with a flash, she pushed onward. “To save her I need one of you to fall.”

A wish? You want to force a wish? cried Mintaka, the Luckstar, and leader of the Three Sisters whom made a game of predicting the future.

“Only to—”

You can’t force a wish, dear Luna, interrupted Arcturas, the Stormstar huffing and snorting like a wild beast as she paced to and fro.

Many, many stars hummed and bounced in agreement, a few going so far as to shout, It’d be wrong! Corrupt the wish! Nothing good, nothing good will come of it, mark our words.

“Please! She needs our help!”

But the stars would have none of it. Many began to wander off, returning to their appointed spots in the heavens. A few gathered to one side, Sirius at their heart, the Firestar, greatest and brightest of the all, shrouded in a contemplative light.

Luna called them to stop, to come back, to lend their aid. She flew to a few, those she knew to have kind spirits, but this only drove more away.

She turned to Celestia, her sister hovering a short distance away, her form crackling with worry. She turned to Polaris, the Lodestar directing her sisters back their their homes. She turned to the disc, and looked on a certain valley, the lights of villages blinking awake as ponies lit candles.

“No…” Luna hissed. “I can save her. I will save her.”

In a bolt of blue fire, Luna roared to the nearest star. Zana, the Whisperstar, yelped as Luna grabbed her. With a single, wrenching tug Luna cast Zana from the heavens, shouting as she did, “Forgive me!”

The other stars cried out as one; screaming, cursing, howling Luna’s name. Damning her for what she had done to their sister.

All except Sirius, the Firestar blazing brighter until she was like Sol in miniature, holding back any other star that made to follow.

Luna fell alongside Zana, collecting the raw aether stripped from the star as they passed through the boundary between the disc and the heavens. Within the tumbling inferno, Zana began to change, her body of light and pure magic reshaped into that of a dark pegasus. Wings snapped and tried in vain to slow Zana’s fall, their angles at odds with one another and her spiralling motion. Not that they could help.

With a shove, Luna redirected Zana’s trajectory so the star would land in the vicinity, at least, of her already fallen sisters. The Valla would be able to guide and protect Zana while she learned the realities of her new form. In time Luna would join them and apologize for what she’d done.

A sharp crack and burst of light heralded their arrival into the sky, the barrier trembling at the hole Zana’s fall left. The barrier would mend, as it had every other time a star had fallen.

Zana no longer threw stray magic in her wake, what remained tightly bound within her new body. Whatever demands of punishment or reparations Zana would make, Luna would gladly pay. Cringing at what she’d done, Luna turned away and returned to the valley and her own body, the magic she’d collected held close.

The priestesses were where Luna had left them, as was Namyra.

There was no contemplation nor doubt as Luna stood and strode towards her cousin. Zana’s stolen magic burned inside of her, writhing at its containment. She was halfway to Namyra when the first wish arrived.

I wish my dolly were alive so I’d have a friend.

The loneliness infusing the wish almost made Luna stagger. A filly appeared, sitting on the porch of a seaside cabin, a wooden doll clutched in her hooves. There was not a light nor sign of civilization for as far as the eye could see. Even the home felt empty, no warmth flicking within, and the loose shingles on the roof rattling in the sharp wind.

Gritting her teeth to hold back Zana’s magic from leaping towards the wish, Luna took another step.

I wish my daughter to be healthy, wise, and beautiful.

Hope and fear. An expectant mother replaced the lonely filly, a fair coated mare sitting in a garden, her sides large with the developing foal. Nestled beneath a willow were five tiny graves, each marked by a name and an age, none more than a few years.

Luna shook off the vision, her wings extended as if she were falling. The starscape in her mane crackled, waves of reddish-purple sparks coursing from the roots to the tip.

I wish for the knowledge of Lost Marelantis to protect my ponies.

Princess Platinum snapped into view while the mother faded. Luna’s friend sat at her desk in her study, a tear stained letter open before her. The words on the letter were ineligible, but they didn’t need to be, the stain of suffering they’d left on the young princess was all Luna needed to know what they said. Platinum was unbowed even in the face of loss, taking her pain and shaping it into a tool to serve her nation.

A snapping hiss broke from the corner of Luna’s eye, a tendril of star-aether dripping down her cheek as if it were a tear, as she pushed forward.

I wish to be a princess so I may court Prince Faith.

Love, True Love, gripped the wish as it crashed upon Luna. A young pegasus sat on a rickety cloud, great Pegasopolis floating in the distance, the city a glowing white in Selene’s light. She possessed nothing but the vest on her back and the winged monkey perched on her withers, sharing in the meagre scraps of stale bread they’d been given by the baker’s husband.

Unlike the other wishes, Luna could see the outcome and consequences of ignoring the mare’s plight.

To grant the wish meant the rewriting of the young mare’s origins, and future. She would have been born to royalty and privilege, a member of a rival city’s ruling family. The mare would be faced with hardship and trials, her love not easy, but in the end, triumphant. Beyond it lay a line of Queens; strong, proud, and just. All from the line of Pansy.

Ignore the wish, and Luna would doom both cities to ruin and despair. One would plummet from the sky, covered in ice, a terrible shadow falling over it, while the other would be lost to the lands it once called home, the protection offered to the Earth Ponies that lived in it’s shade gone. Predators and beasts would feast, and the land would become empty and wild, home only to unburied bones and dreams.

Froth covering her coat, legs trembling, Luna made her choice, shouting, “I wish to have my cousin returned to me!”

She pressed all her weight and despair into the cry, launching the stolen magic at Namyra’s cold body. Waves of primal aether swept between Luna and Namyra, pulsing with life, love, and hope. Luna gave a triumphant shout as the last of the magic left her.

The priestesses looked from one another, stepping back from Luna as she panted and began to laugh, the sound going from one of victory to worry as the sands of time fell.

“It… It should have worked…” Luna whimpered as her laughter died away.

Tempered stepped up to the young goddess, her hoof hovering just above Luna’s withers. Placing it down, she sighed, “Your Grace, you know better than any pony or halla… The dead can not be brought back to life. And if they could, would you truly be willing to bear that cost?”

“I thought I just proved that I would.” Luna snarled, rounding on the High Priestess. “What more can I give than one of my stars?”

“You yourself said that the wishes granted by stars are limited, that you do not choose them, but are rather guided to them.” Tempered stood her ground, head held high in the face of Luna’s anger. “I saw you struggling. Did you really believe that—”

“I am Luna Invictus! Goddess of the Moon and Stars. Wishgranter. Nightshepherd. Moonguard. The Blade Bathed in Silver!” Luna’s voice grew with each title until it boomed through the cave, making the mountain’s roots ache. “I failed her, Tempered. I knew Sombra was a wicked and vile creature without a shred of good in his soul, and yet I was too consumed with my sister to watch him. Because of me Star Swirl is dead, Clover is blind, and Namyra… Namyra is gone.”

Clenching her eyes shut, Luna choked on the final words, grief pressing down upon her with a force greater than the weight of the disc.

“What—”

Tempered was silenced by a chittering sound, like the legs of giant centipedes scrambling across stone. Luna whipped around, looking for the source. Something moved within the deep gloom, jumping from spot to spot, peering from behind a stalagmite then a pillar, drawing closer each time. A horrible stench filled Luna’s nostrils, a putrid combination of decay and overripe berries with a sulphurous tint.

But, beneath the stench, there was a second smell, one that danced across Luna’s tongue in a familiar pattern, though she couldn’t place the exact components.

“Namyra?” Luna took a half-step.

Namyra, or what she’d become, mirrored the movement, entering a thin sliver of light.

A knotted cloud of pure wintery-blue aether, the creature was not Namyra. At least, not as Luna knew her cousin. It was a shadow, like the shade cast by a tree or drifting cloud, resembling the twisted things that inhabited graveyards and places of terrible sorrow and pain. She hung in the air, shifting slightly from side to side, looking on Luna with hollow eyes.

“Luna?” the shade whispered the question, hesitant and confused. “You look… different… Why do you look so different?”

The shade drifted to the ground, pooling on the spot where Sombra had stood. She pawed at remnants of the casting circle like a dog looking for a bone, head swinging first left, then right, before focusing again on Luna.

“Something is missing… I feel funny, Luna…”

Namyra floated closer as her voice, so empty and flat, devoid of any dreams or fears, made Luna’s heart drop. She stopped just before Luna. For a brief instant, Luna dared hope that maybe this was how her wish was being worked, that Namyra would be reconnected with her body and all would be well.

Her ghostly hooves shooting out, Namyra grabbed Luna’s head, drawing closer still. Namyra’s demeanor changed at once, her form popping like boiling water, an unearthly howl making Luna cringe.

“You’ve taken it! You’ve taken it! Why did you take it? Give it back! It’s mine! Mine!”

The shade, no longer Namyra at all, flowed upwards, towering over Luna as she screamed and ranted, only to stop as a lance of ruby magic pierced her. The shade was driven back, a second, then third beam striking her in resounding thwacks. Pulling herself back together, the shade tried to circle back to Luna, howling and screeching, only to be felled by a fourth and final blow, this one of twin beams of ruby and gold.

Luna, her mouth hanging open and unable to fully process what had happened turned to behold Iridia and Celestia, each leaning on the other for support, at the cavern entrance. Iridia staggered forward, tears streaming down her face, and collapsed at her daughter’s side. She laid her chin across Namyra’s head, openly weeping, her body wracked by sobs.

Outside the first flake of snow fell, twisting and tumbling on the capricious wind. Through the boughs of the trees it spun, narrowly missing leaves and branches to settle at last on a blade of grass.

Epilogue

A Dream of Pride and Envy
By Tundara

Daring’s entire coat prickled. Her ears folded back, and her muzzle was set into a fearsome snarl. Before her stood a foe more fearsome and dastardly than any she’d encountered during her many adventures. An enemy that she couldn’t conquer with a swift right jab or a blast of searing fiery wind from her wings—side effect number five of her shawl—but had to combat with honeyed words and a fake smile.

A garden party.

Though calling it a garden party wasn’t doing the gathering justice. It could only be called a garden party in the same way that a Manticore could be referred to as a kitty-cat.

The Galla of the Stars was so much more than just a garden party—even though it was being held in Canterlot Castle’s expansive gardens. Daring was certain the guest list had to be in the hundreds, perhaps even thousands. There were nobles, members of Equestria’s gentry, wealthy commoners without any titles, and dignitaries from nations across the breadth of the disc. Some she’d not visited since her second voyage to the wild southern continent with it’s lush jungles, jagged mountains, and high plateaus.

She noticed at least three zebras, a pair of tapirs, several griffons, and a minotaur with a trained monkey hanging from his horns among the crowd. The minotaur seemed a little familiar, and when the monkey screeched at her, drawing a finger along its throat, Daring decided to slip off towards the h’orderves.

“Come on, love, it’s just a party,” Yearling chided, wing extending across Daring’s withers.

Snorting, Daring checked for the twelfth time the location of the nearest exits.

“We’ve both been to enough parties to know better than that.” Daring did try to settle, but the prickling sensation wouldn’t let her. “What about—”

Yearling placed a feathertip to Daring’s lip. “If there is going to be some calamity, it won’t be involving us.” Taking a pair of champagne glasses from a passing waiter, Yearling gave a toothy smile. “Relax, have fun, and try not to ruin the new Goddess’ evening.”

Making a face, Daring took the glass. “You just said—”

“I know what I said,” Yearling leaned over to give Daring a peck on the cheek. “I also know you. So please, no hooffights, shoot-outs, or setting the palace on fire. For me?”

“When you ask that nicely, how can I say no?”

Giggling like a schoolfilly, Daring went to reciprocate the kiss, only to stop as a shadow loomed over the pair. Her lips close enough to brush Yearlings coat, she turned towards the intruder upon their private moment, face warm beneath her coat. An acidic comment died half formed on her tongue. Iridia stood beside her, inspecting the platters of cheeses with intense curiosity.

“It’s always amazed me how a good cheese can diffuse even the worst situation,” Iridia commented as she selected a hearty blue cheese covered in a white sauce Daring couldn’t identify. Taking a bite, Iridia turned to gaze over the crowd to the far side of the gardens where Twilight Sparkle stood with the Elements of Harmony greeting the various dignitaries.

“Your Majesty…” Yearling began to bow, but stopped as Iridia shifted to look at the pair. “Your Divine Majesty?” Yearling tried again, this time receiving a sharp frown.

The frown was banished by a laugh, Iridia scrunching her face up in a smile that made her eyes twinkle.

“So,” Iridia said, “Daring Do and Yearling. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you again.”

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Daring frowned, Yearling mirroring her thoughts. “We’d remember.”

Iridia’s smile took on a wolfish tint. “Would you? What if I used a memory spell upon you?” Another laugh, this one accompanied by a toss of her mane. “What I meant, however, is in this life. We’ve met, oh, I can’t count how many times now. You two turn up like bad bits. I believe that is how the saying goes.”

Iridia tapped her chin while Daring and Yearling just stared at her as if she were mad. From what they’d read and discovered over the years after receiving Clover’s final journal, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

“I see you still wear Tempered’s robes, and even turned it into a shawl. I think she would have liked that.”

Lifting a hoof to the golden cloth wrapped around her neck and ears, warmth seeping from the threads, Daring said. “It was you!”

“That sent you your shawl? Yes.” Iridia waved an absent hoof, focusing on her daughter and not the ponies beside her. A break appeared in the dignitaries. Iridia took a few steps forward, and then retreated. She grabbed another cracker with cheese, nibbling on the edge and watched as her moment was lost, a pair of zebras trotting up to Twilight.

Daring frowned, looking between the queen and princess. A frown that only deepened as Iridia asked, “So, how have you been keeping?”

“Oh, well enough. Writing, adventuring, and wondering what the hay you mean by ‘in this life’ nonsense.” Yearling waved an airy hoof, only for her words to take on a sharp bite.

“Huh?” Iridia wrenched herself away from staring across the garden. “Nothing. I was just being silly. I…”

Iridia sighed and shook her head. Daring couldn’t believe her eyes and ears.

This was the terrible queen that had threatened all of ponykind? This was the pony that had unleashed the Windigos and brought about the Long Winter? Daring had fought many villains over the years, from power mad business ponies, to demon worshipping cults. She’d never encountered a great evil from history and been disappointed by the depths of their depravity.

It was comforting that she could still have new experiences even in her old age.

“Just go to her, already,” Daring gave Iridia a shove.

“But, what if…” Iridia began to protest, wings flapping to halt her movement.

Rolling her eyes, Daring gave Iridia another shove, while Yearling said, “She’s your daughter. Go to her, already.”

“I… Thank you.” Iridia turned, and before Daring could react, wrapped her wings around the couple. It lasted only for a moment before Iridia released them, Yearling’s eyes wide while Daring’s heart beat faster, her shawl so warm it almost burned. “You two always find each other.” Iridia grinned. “No matter the age or the hardships, you find each other.”

“I don’t—”

“Soulmates. You’re talking about soulmates? You think we’re…” Yearling pointed to Daring then herself, an incredulous chuckle making her eyes crinkle.

“Soulmates have never been proven,” Daring pouted, crossing her hooves.

Iridia laughed, shaking her head, and started toward Twilight as the zebras made their parting bows