The Stranger and Her Friend

by TheUrbanMoose

Rating: teen
Tags: Twilight Sparkle, Discord, Princess Celestia, Dark, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Adventure
Length: 310685

Before she was the Princess of the Sun, she was merely a stranger.

Princess Celestia is a living legend, but much of her life is shrouded in mystery. Records have long since been lost to the decay of time, and the tale of her triumph over Discord has become a fable. The Princess's memory of the event has long since faded... or has it?

Her faithful student lending an eager ear, Celestia recounts the true story of a war-torn Equestria, the struggle against Discord, and the early years of her own life.

Before she was the Princess of the Sun, she was merely a stranger.

(Featured on Equestria Daily!)

Published 2012-04-13 00:44:09 UTC
Last updated 2016-03-15 19:36:01 UTC

II: Crazed Vision

The dream seemed to last forever.

And why shouldn't it?

“…wake up…”

In between the path leading from oblivion to reality was a halfway point. Everypony had to traverse it. Some chose to skirt around the edges, and some chose to wade right through it. She never had a choice. It was always there, all the time, drawing her in, willingly and otherwise.

“Wake up…”

The dream was the same. It was always the same. The same chaotic blends of light and unintelligible sounds, almost like whispers. Once again, she saw ponies she knew, but were simultaneously foreign to her. It was a strange contradiction, one she could never quite understand. She tried calling out to them, but they never had anything to say in response, only answering with pitied gazes. It was frightening, but not more than it was frustrating.

“Wake up!”

She felt herself being drawn away from the dream, as the colors quickly faded before her mind’s eye. She became aware of her body, feeling at once uncomfortably cool and wet. She was lying on her side, and she felt a gentle but firm hoof on her shoulder, shaking her from her troubled sleep. She took a deep breath, slowly filling her lungs with chilled springtime air.

“Thank the gods…” the voice beside her murmured. She received another steady nudge to her side. “Come on now, you've still got some life in you yet.”

Her eyes fluttered wide open, and then immediately closed to a squint as she realized she was looking into the rising sun. She struggled with the sudden light, until a shadow moved to block the source. She glanced up at the figure, but could not properly see it through her bleary eyes.

“Good morning, stranger,” the specter spoke. Its voice was that of a stallion, that much was certain. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice caught on a lump in her throat. She scowled and swallowed, and tried again.

“W-who…?” was all she was able to speak. The stallion seemed to understand.

“Its okay. I'm a friend.” She tried to summon more questions, but he spoke first.

“If you can hold your tongue for but a moment, I must ask a favor. Can you stand?” he said. She had a thousand questions, but this was perhaps the most important. Now thinking about it, she came to an awareness of the complete soreness in her body. She was not in pain, but it was rather a dull ache, the same kind that came after rigorous exercise. As long as she was taking mental inventory of herself, she realized she also felt an unpleasant, rhythmic pounding in her head, starting just behind her eyes and pulsing to the top of her skull.

“Come on now, on your hooves, stranger. There’s no success without endeavor,” the voice encouraged. She looked up at the shadow, and timidly gave an almost imperceptible nod of agreement. Rolling her legs underneath her, she pushed as much as her unsteady muscles would allow. She felt the stallion’s head and neck steady her on one side. She leaned into it.

“Easy now. That’s it,” he said, as she rose from the wet ground. After some effort, she was up. Once the unfamiliar stallion was sure she was steady, he withdrew his support, only to quickly steady her again as she began to fall. It seemed she had a minor sprain on one of her forelegs.

After another moment, the stranger found her voice. “I am… I am steady,” she said weakly. The stallion again withdrew, this time with greater care. She took a moment to gather her bearings, before daring to raise her head and look around. With the sun still on the eastern horizon, she had to shield her eyes to its glare.

She was in a small meadow of short grass. A small distance away was a wall of trees, surrounding them on all sides. To the north of them, she spied a small wooden cabin with no roof. Beads of morning dew still clung to blades of grass, half explaining why her coat was wet on one side.

“Well, stranger? How do you feel?” It was a simple enough question with a much more complicated answer.

Her gaze swung to meet the nameless stallion at her side. His long, green traveling cloak obscured most of his body, but she could see his grey coat, dark orange mane, and pitying expression well enough. She hated that expression.

“I feel fine,” she snapped, a little harsher than she meant to. The truth was she did not know how she felt. Confused, mostly. She lacked proper motor control, and she felt unfamiliar with herself, as if there were two strangers in the meadow, rather than one. After he did not respond, she amended her statement, “Perhaps a bit… strange.” She looked back at her wings, which hung limply at her sides, and clumsily tucked them in.

He recognized the deliberately vague answer. “Let's start slowly, then. Can you walk?” he asked.

“Of course I can,” she huffed, not actually certain of that either. The stallion raised an eyebrow, and motioned with one hoof. Well show me, then.

She took one clumsy step, and another, and another, lightly hopping when she wanted to avoid pressing her sprained hoof to the ground. She walked a small circle in the ground. Five steps in, she stumbled and nearly fell before awkwardly recovering. Unfortunately, in doing so, she stomped her injured leg onto the ground full force, prompting a short squeal of pain. Another few steps and she returned to face the stallion, a strange mix of embarrassment and frustration on her face.

“A decent effort, stranger, but it seems your pride isn't the only thing that's wounded,” he said, motioning to her leg. She looked down and shifted her hoof around. Examining it, she realized there was a small but steady stream of crimson blood trickling down the side. She looked back at her path and saw a tiny trail of blood leading straight to her.

The stallion rummaged through a hidden pocket underneath his cloak, and procured a roll of cloth bandages. “May I?” he said. She cautiously raised her injured hoof towards him, and he began to work.

The morning was pleasant enough. A symphony of nature played all about them. A calm, cool wind would infrequently roll through the meadow, gently rustling leaves of the nearby trees. Some sort of insect buzzed in the distance. A flock of birds flew overhead and landed in the forest below. The scene around them contained a natural peace that, were it not for herself and the stallion, would have remained completely unbroken. She almost felt bad for intruding upon it.

It could have been the very picture of serenity, and yet, she knew something was wrong. Her mind seemed to work as slowly and sluggishly as the rest of her body, but eventually, something clicked.

She remembered the day previous. She let out a quick, flinching gasp of realization.

“My apologies,” the stallion said, mistaking her sudden recoil for pain. “I am no physician.” She did not answer. Another silent minute rolled by.

“And that’s that,” the stallion said, wiping his hooves on the grass to clean them of blood. “Whatever happened, we earned more bruises than cuts, but it would still do you well to exercise a measure of caution.”

“What are you?” she said. The stallion stared at her, curious and confused.

“Pardon?” the stallion said. “What am I…?”

“You aren't a doctor. You said as much yourself,” she said. “Tell me then, if you are no a physician, then... what are you?"

The stallion sighed, and turned away, pocketing the bandages. “The memories of last night’s events return to you.”

“No,” she replied forcefully, “they does not. I remember fire, smoke, and death. I remember a horrible creature. I remember others. I remember you. But true memory implies coherence. What I recall was nothing more than a crazed vision. What I want,” she said, “is context.”

“Context,” he repeated. He turned back to her. “Well, you have eyes. What do you say about my profession?”

She looked him over. His cutie mark was hidden by his clothing, so there was no help there. The green traveling cloak itself was long and sturdy, bearing resemblance to the clothing of a woodland ranger, but it had no identifying marks to see. His face was square and set; perhaps even handsome, were it not for the scowl he regarded her with. Matted lines in his coat were drawn infrequently across his neck and face. Scars, she realized. The tip of his left ear was missing.

He would have been about the same age as her… She shook her head, realizing she did not actually know her own specific age. He looked to be in his early twenties, though etched on his face was the stress and subsequent wisdom of a pony twice that.

He was moderately built, but muscles on the few exposed areas of his body revealed the physique of more than just a common laborer. No, this stallion was one who trained. For what? She could think of only one thing.

“A knight,” she said confidently. The stallion paused, a distant look in his eye. It was only a fraction of a second before he recovered.

“Haha!” he laughed humorlessly. “You flatter me! A keen observation, stranger, but you err by the largest degree.”

She faltered at his response. “What are you then?” she asked, much less sure of herself.

“You're right about one thing. My dealings are in the most fickle kind of business, and in the ficklest places. The battlefield is my establishment, and killing my enterprise.” He paused. “But the title of knight lies beyond me. True knights are vanguards, harbingers of justice, champions of peace. True knights serve in the defense of ones they love. No matter the cost.” His words seemed to stumble on the last sentence.

“You mistake a simple soldier for one much greater. Would that I could, but I am no knight. The difference is dusk and daylight,” he quickly finished.

The soldier drew a deep breath, and continued, “And last night, the others. Can you guess at their profession? Or has that escaped your crazed vision?”

“T-they were magicians…” she began, almost intimidated by the soldier’s question. She could have been mistaken, but the way he asked it seemed to imply anger. “They bore the seal of the Royal Magi.”

“Correct. The Royal Magi.” He began to pace. “So, tell me. What were fourteen Magi plus one soldier doing in a burning village, full ready to receive the wrath of Discord?”

The name ‘Discord’ burned like an inferno in her mind and put a foul taste in her mouth. It was reflexive and understood, almost like a law of nature. An experience with Discord was an experience one ought not to have at all. The only solution to Discord was to end it. She could not guess why, only that it was so.

“I don't know! I told you as much, my memory fails me!” she exclaimed, frustrated.

“Hmph. A poor storyteller you would make,” he responded disdainfully. The soldier seemed to choose his next words carefully. “You… really do remember nothing?”

“Naught but visions,” she said.

“Naught but visions…” he repeated under his breath. Deep in thought, he slowly walked a few paces away, gazing at the crumbling cottage at the edge of the clearing. He spoke without turning to face her.

“I will divine the situation, stranger, if you will hazard a guess at but one last question.”

“Do not mock me!” she responded angrily. “My memory will fail at this, as it has all the rest!”

“I'm not mocking you,” he said sincerely. “Please.” His tone caught her off guard. She stared at him in puzzlement.

“Fine. One last question. After that, you shall either enlighten my memory, or depart from my company,” she said firmly. He nodded his head, and still facing away from her, he spoke in a voice without emotion.

“Do you know my name?”

“Of course n-“ she started, but paused when she saw him flinch. She determined to answer as quickly as possible, but the attitude of the soldier made her second guess herself. It took only a moment for her to realize that she had no idea what his name was, but what caught her was a feeling. An inescapable, pervading sense of guilt. Still she did not know how else to respond.

“No,” she said. “I do not. I… I am sorry.” She apologized without really knowing why. The stallion’s gaze dropped from the cottage to the forest floor as he hung his head. He did not respond for a full minute. He brought his hoof to his face and held it there. Finally, he turned back towards her, his expression a mask of stone.

“The truth is, I know naught of your origin.”

Her anger flared. “W-what? But you said-!”

“I said,” the soldier spoke, cutting her short, “that I would divine the situation. What can I tell you, save the truth?”

“You… you…!” she stuttered, summoning a barrage of insults to the forefront of her mind.

“I'm not done yet!” he exclaimed before she could start. “No, I know no more of your history than you do. However, I do know of you.”

“Of me? My patience is short, speak plainly!” she huffed.

“Like I said, I am only a soldier, but of no small rank,” he continued. She noticed he said this with a distinct lack of pride. “I was sent with a detachment of my guard to Canterbury to escort a ‘guest’ of the Magi back to Canterlot. I did not have the pleasure of making your acquaintance beforehand.”

“Then why did you ask me to remember your name?” She stomped. “It was impossible, had we not already met!”

“I simply assumed they told you the name of your future escort? I am merely trying to discover the bounds of your memory, that is all.” When she did not respond, he continued. “The day we were to meet you, the madness fell upon us. Discord and his hordes attacked the city. It was most unfortunate, and most unlikely, as Canterbury is far behind friendly lines. Was far behind friendly lines, I should say.”

“So that city, the one I awoke to, is…?”

“Gone. Destroyed. Consumed in the fires of madness.”

She frowned. “And the Magi? The ones who helped us?”

He shook his head. “I cannot say, only that we are here, and they are not.”

She was distraught, but not more than she was curious. “So how did we escape?”

“We?” the soldier said. “We did not do anything. I daresay you did the brunt of the work!” She gave him a questioning look. “The city was thought to be ‘safe’, and so when it was attacked, it was defenseless. Nearly all the guard had been deployed to the frontlines. I set my soldiers about defending the city whilst I looked for the Magi, and for their... guest. The siege lasted for only an hour before the whole place was an inferno.

“I finally found you in the town square, thrashing about as though you were possessed. By then, however, it was too late. The hordes approached, led by Discord himself.

“When his soldiers advanced, you… embraced, me.” He paused awkwardly. “And then, we were gone.” He finished lamely.

She waited for him to continue. When he did not, she said, “And then what?”

“Nothing. I awoke here, with you beside me. I scouted around, made sure we were safe, and tried to wake you as well. Which brings us to now.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “That’s it?”

He met her gaze unconcerned, eyebrow raised. “That’s it.”

“So…what happened?” she asked, still unsure.

“I don't know. Whatever happened, you did it, not I. I don't deal with magic, nor do I trust it in the least,” he said with contempt. "And obviously, I'm not a unicorn."

There was a silence, punctuated only by the occasional breeze of wind. “What now?” she asked uneasily.

“Now,” the soldier said, “we travel to Canterlot. It's still my mission to bring you there, guard or no.”

“But we don't even know the reason for going!” she protested weakly.

“Do you have a better idea?” he said. When she did not speak, he said, “Besides, our arrival at Canterlot may yet reveal your past. That is what you want, yes?”

Another cold breeze rolled through, making her shiver. “You’re freezing, and wet. Here, take this.” He removed his traveling cloak and slung it over her, hinging the clasp at her neck.

Underneath his now removed cloak, she saw a covering of thick chainmail over his body that clinked and rattled as he moved. His cutie mark was still obscured.

“Let's go, stranger. The sun will be high before long. Best move while the air is still cool.” He started to move towards one edge of the forest, motioning her to follow. She limped behind him.

“Why do you call me that?” she abruptly asked.

“Call you what?” he asked.

“Stranger,” she said sullenly.

“Is that not what you are? You don't know my name, and I don't know yours?” he said.

“A situation easily fixed, I think,” she responded. “Pray tell, what is your name?”

He paused for a moment, still walking on. They hit the forest wall, and continued beyond it, trudging through brush and dodging fallen trees.

“Lucky Break,” he finally said. “Lieutenant-Commander of the Maiden’s Battalion. Soldier and patriot of Equestria.” He paused for another moment, and followed with, “Excuse my manners if I don't return the question, but I know your memory is in short supply.”

“Wait!” she said, stopping suddenly. “N-no…”

Lucky Break looked at her cautiously.

“I do remember. My name, I do remember,” she said, wide-eyed.

“You do?” he said, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“I’m… my name is… Celestia,” she said. It sounded foreign, the way it rolled off her tongue, but she was sure, without a doubt, that this was her name. “Celestia,” she experimentally repeated.

“Celestia,” Lucky murmured darkly. He continued walking. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance.” He did not seem pleased at all.

III: The Maiden's Battalion

“So, Princess, how exactly did you escape?” Twilight asked, her quill magically paused in midair.

“Long-range teleportation, as I later found out,” Princess Celestia answered. “I discovered it by accident, it seems.”

“Why didn’t the other Magi do the same?”

“Well, Twilight, as you know, back then, they didn’t have the same kind of documentation you and I enjoy. Many spells were passed down from pony to pony. Teleportation was a rare spell as it was, and the long-range variant had yet to be discovered and recorded. I was either the first pony ever to use it, or the first pony to use it in a long time.

“But as I said, it was an accident. I didn’t properly learn the technique until long after the war was over.”

“Fascinating,” Twilight murmured, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. She finished her thought, and then paused, tapping the quill to her chin. “Hmm…”

Celestia had taken another sip of tea, finishing the cup. Twilight had not even touched her own. “Something on your mind?” she asked.

“It’s just… Lucky Break, the soldier you were talking about? I feel like I’ve heard his name before, but I can’t remember where,” Twilight said, staring out the window in contemplation.

“Ah yes. Commander Lucky Break. A great knight if ever there was one.” Celestia’s horn gently illuminated as she magically poured herself a second cup of tea, and took a small sip.

“Lieutenant-Commander,” Twilight corrected.

“Hm?” Celestia asked, her lips still to the teacup.

“You said he was a Lieutenant-Commander. The Commander’s subordinate, and right hoof pony?" There was a pause.

“…Right?” Twilight followed timidly.

“Twilight, you don’t need to be afraid of asking questions, now of all times,” Celestia gently rebuked, “I’d be worried if you didn’t!”

Twilight returned with an apologetic look.

Celestia continued. “Yes, I did say that. That’s what he told me at the time. He also told me he wasn’t a knight.” Another sip of tea. “He was mistaken on both accounts.

“I was curious, and it was a long journey, especially with my injury. Eventually, I was brave enough to ask him about himself.” She chuckled. “He was so abrasive and cynical, and at first, I think he hated me. He may have been a good knight, but he certainly wasn’t a gentlecolt. You can’t imagine the nerve it took.”

**********

“Are you sure you are able to travel?” Lucky Break asked. “Your pace is… slow.”

“Of course I can,” Celestia scoffed. “I am a grown mare.”

“Ah,” Lucky said gruffly, “Well, forgive my boldness, but don’t grown mares usually bear a cutie mark?”

“What? You can't be-” Celestia began, but she stopped suddenly as she drew back her cloak and looked at her flank. It was bare. Celestia yelped, and a nearby flock of birds took flight at the startle. Even Lucky jumped at the noise.

“M-my… my mark…” she said, trembling at the sight. “What… what evil is this…?”

“Is it hidden then?” Lucky asked, picking at his ear. Celestia did not respond. “I'm surprised you didn't earn it just now. Your talent for yelling is extraordinary.”

“M-my talent is not yelling!” she yelled. “Though I imagine yours is aggravation!”

“So, what is your talent then?” Lucky asked, ignoring her last comment. The truth was, Celestia had no idea. She tried in vain to call a special memory, a specific trait, or even an image of her cutie mark to mind. Nothing worked. Maybe she really did have no special talent! The idea was strange to her. No mare her age should be markless.

“Well?” Lucky pursued.

She could think of nothing else. “I'll show you when this evil magic wears off!” she answered.

“Hmph. Until then,” Lucky murmured. They resumed their silent walk.

They trudged through a small section of forest. It was slow going, Celestia’s injury notwithstanding. Though it was tranquil and filled to the brim with life, the woodland itself seemed as though it had, at some point in the past, been ravaged. An unusual amount of trees were knocked over, leaving great blockades that sometimes stretched so high, they had to be walked around. Still others were left standing, but bore deep, gouging scratch marks like ancient wounds that had healed into scars.

Still, the forest was green and ringing with the pleasant orchestra of nature, broken up only by their steps and the rhythmic clinking of Lucky’s chainmail. They discovered a path on the opposite side of the cottage they woke up next to, but found there may as well have been no path at all. It was in a state of complete disrepair, with grass and trees and shrubbery encroaching upon all sides. At times, it simply disappeared, leaving them to wander until they could pick it up again.

The two travelers had not said a word to each other since they began, save for the quiet advice Lucky gave when helping Celestia around particularly difficult terrain. She was wanted to ask more questions, but the thought of breaking the silence seemed almost heretical. He did not seem the type for talk, especially in his current mood of general irritation. Even though he had not said a word of hostility towards her, Celestia could not help but feel it.

Finally, her curiosity got the better of her. If she were to be traveling with this pony, she decided, she would be civil and hope for the same treatment in turn.

“So… where are we?” she asked, starting with her most pressing question. She tried her best to be nonchalant about it, but her anxiety was clear. Lucky Break walked on without answering for a moment, briefly making her wonder if he was not going to speak.

“I don't know. It was you that brought us here, you tell me,” he replied gruffly, leaping over a tree trunk, and stopping to help her do the same. He extended a hoof towards her.

“If we don't know where we are, how can we know where we're going?” she asked, gripping his hoof and pulling herself over. “Surely you must have some idea.” Lucky grunted.

“I have a suspicion, but it's only that,” he said, “a suspicion. If we can find the end of this blasted trail,” he paused, moving a large branch out of the way, “then I might be able to tell you.”

Celestia was much less confident than he seemed to be, but she was eager to assert herself as something more than a helpless burden.

“Could we not wait for the owner of the cottage?” she offered.

“No,” he simply said. He heard Celestia sigh, and added, “The owner of that cottage is no pony, and the only tenants are rats, dogs, and birds. Whoever 'owns' this cottage,” he smirked, "is not somepony worth meeting.”

Celestia’s annoyance flared at his rebuke.

“Hmph. Suspicions and ideas will get us nowh-” she began, but was cut short as an errant step on her bad leg sent her tumbling to the ground. She crashed shoulder first into the dirt and slid a couple inches. She blinked in surprise, and shook her head.

She looked above her, where Lucky was offering a hoof to help her up. She pretended not to see it and quickly recovered on her own, brushing the dirt off of her borrowed traveling cloak and clumsily refolding her wings.

Lucky withdrew his hoof and shrugged. He continued walking.

“Neither shall injured mares that cannot control their hooves get us anywhere,” he said evenly. “Let's strike a deal. First, we will try recovering our sense of direction. Failing that, we can do as you wish, and stumble about until our heads hit the Canterlot wall.”

Celestia furiously blushed in embarrassment, and did not say anything else. Another ten minutes of walking in silence, the forest began to thin. Trees grew more sparsely and wild shrubs were shorter. Finally, they emerged into another clearing, this one being much larger than the one previous. If she had to guess, Celestia would have said it were about five miles across until the next wall of forest appeared.

There also happened to be buildings dotting the landscape. They had emerged on a hill, and had an excellent view of the small valley below. There seemed to be a pleasant little village just below them.

Or, perhaps it would have been pleasant had it been inhabited.

Most of the buildings were either collapsed or in the process of collapsing. Many houses had no roof, the unstable thatching having long since blown away or fallen in. The few larger buildings that still did have roofs featured decaying shingle and rotting wood. Random debris and material littered the roads, which were in a poor condition themselves.

There was not a soul in sight. The people of this village had long since gone. Nature had begun a slow but steady reclamation of the land, growing over roads, creeping up the timber of houses, and burying any evidence of habitation.

Celestia cast a sidelong glance at Lucky Break, who had an expression of grim satisfaction on his face. He gave a slight smile, and chuckled, shaking his head.

“Imagine that,” he murmured. “I know exactly where we are.” Celestia gave him a questioning look.

"Since it is your first time here, allow me to bid you welcome,” Lucky Break said, grandiosely sweeping his hoof toward the village, “to the charming village of Ponyville.” She stared at the scene before her.

“Charming in times past, perhaps. Now, there is nothing but broken brick and mortar,” she said, frowning. “Are we safe here?”

“I know she doesn't look the part, but Ponyville is harmless enough. Don't worry, I am friends with the ghosts,” he said, dryly laughing at his own joke. Celestia did not understand. “This is, after all-”

**********

“Wait, wait, wait,” Twilight said quickly, cutting off her mentor with the sudden motion of her hoof. “Ponyville? You mean, Ponyville Ponyville?”

“Yes,” Celestia calmly answered, “Ponyville Ponyville.”

“But Princess, I know Ponyville wasn’t settled until way after this! It’s a little over one hundred years old!”

“True. The Ponyville you live in is exactly one-hundred and six years old. However,” Celestia said, eyes twinkling, “it was not the first.”

“Not the first? What do you mean?” Twilight asked.

“Long before the Ponyville you know was established, there was a village just like it in almost the same location.”

“Almost?”

Celestia got up from her stool, and stretched. She walked over to the study window, and peered out into the night. By the light of the full moon, Ponyville was just barely visible in the distance.

“Back then, the Everfree forest didn’t exist. Or rather, it did, but it was not dangerous like it is now. The land in and around Everfree was, and still is, rather fertile. They based their houses and farms more central to it, as I’m sure Ponyville’s current residents would were it not so hazardous.

“Even that old castle in the forest was a part of Ponyville at one point,” Celestia added.

Twilight was writing faster than Celestia thought possible. She dipped her quill in the inkpot, only to find there was none left. Wasting no time, she switched to a new bottle, and resumed without missing a beat.

“What about the name? They were both called ‘Ponyville?’” Twilight asked, dotting the parchment with a quick stroke of finality. “That can’t just be a coincidence.”

Celestia chuckled mischievously. “I may have had something to do with that. Being a princess of the realm does have some benefits, you know.” Twilight scribbled another note.

She continued. “Even though it was destroyed, Commander Break still boldly declared it to be-”

**********

“-my hometown!”

Celestia paused, unsure if he was joking. “Were you raised in a ruin, then?”

“No, but it has been called worse,” he said, walking down the hill. Celestia limped after him.

“If our location is plain, what of our destination?” she pursued. Lucky stopped, and motioned Celestia to his side.

“See those mountains? Right there?” he pointed to a range of mountains, each sparsely covered in trees and capped with pure white snow. A thick fog obscured a single portion of the scenery. “The pegasi must be brewing a storm, for the mist conceals it. Over the edge of a plateau hangs Canterlot Castle, strongest bastion of ponykind in the kingdom. On a normal day, it can be seen for miles around. Of course,” he added, “normal days are in short supply, it seems.”

“It takes only a few days to walk there. Perhaps longer, considering your pace.” He resumed walking. “It is strange indeed, our being so close to our goal. It's a shame, almost, I was so looking forward to your plan of action,” he teased. Celestia did not find it amusing, and changed the subject.

“So what of this place? Ponyville, you said?” she said.

“Yeah. It was pleasant enough. It was a town of farmers and laborers, through and through. My grandfather was a blacksmith, my father was a blacksmith, and I was to be a blacksmith as well.” He humorlessly chuckled. “I suppose that plan went awry.”

They began to enter the village proper. Most of the roads were dirt, but there were patches of cobblestone here and there. Their hooves made lonesome clopping sounds whenever they struck the rock, echoing off the walls. A quiet breeze of wind whistled through some nearby rock, and seemed to accentuate the absolute abandonment of the place.

“Ponyville was small, lacking in fancy, and most importantly, safe. Such a small dot on the map was hardly enough to attract the attention of anypony, friend or foe.”

“So what happened?” Celestia asked. The moment she asked, he stopped and looked at one of the ruined houses. Celestia stopped with him, mentally drawing a line from his gaze to the building, trying to find what he was looking at. She could not spot anything significant; it was small, likely a residence at some point, and completely indistinguishable from all the others.

Lucky suddenly moved on. “Discord happened.”

There it was again, that name. Discord. She abhorred, loathed, despised, and cursed the foulest of fates upon it. Discord. What a loathsome thing. Discord. It set her heart on fire with righteous fury.

Discord. Hatred. Discord. Hatred. A never ending pattern echoed in her head. She could not end it, nor did she want to.

“…estia…?”

“Huh?”

“Celestia? Are you well?” Lucky was looking at her with mild concern. She realized had completely lost touch for a moment.

“O-oh. Oh! Yes, I am well,” she said, shaking her head.

He gave her a suspicious look, and moved on.

“I’m afraid I must ask,” Celestia said, “Who is Discord?”

“Who is Discord?” he repeated incredulously, stopping in his tracks. “Are you joking?”

Celestia shook her head.

“You struck me as a mare of twenty and some. Surely somepony of your age…?” Lucky said. “Only infants and idiots don't know the meaning behind that name!”

“Guard your tongue!” Celestia said defensively. “I am not an idiot!”

“An infant it is then! By the gods, the town drunk possesses the awareness of a royal ambassador compared to you,” he said. “Even as a foal, I could name the three most known to me: mother, father, and Discord.”

“I will not suffer this!” Celestia cried indignantly. “Make it plain to me! Or do you just enjoy berating the unfortunate?”

“Unfortunate,” Lucky mumbled. “Clueless, more like. Never have I met a dreamier mare…”

“Your insults fall upon deaf ears,” Celestia said venomously. “If you find it proper to ridicule me at every question, I suggest you do it all at once. My memory is scarce, and my questions quite the opposite.”

“Oh, calm yourself,” he said, waving dismissively, “I react with hesitation. Many would punish you on the spot, had they thought you were joking with such matters, and it would be more than a gentle slap on the hooves. If you really are ignorant, I suppose it behooves me to… remind you.”

He resumed walking. “You are familiar with the War of Madness, correct?” Celestia met his question with frustrated silence.

“The war? The one that wages even today?” he repeated. More silence.

“…not even that. Well, I suppose the tale will have all the more effect, seeing as your first memories are of it.” Lucky cleared his throat.

“Well, to answer your first question, the war is what tore Ponyville apart, but it is certainly not one of a kind. Dozens of settlements have met the same fate, most with a destruction far greater than this. Discord’s hordes are known to rend bone from flesh and tear brick from brick ‘till naught remains but a crimson waste.” Lucky spoke with an unnerving viciousness. He paused.

“But I’m getting ahead of myself. The War of Madness. It all started in the east.” He swept a hoof eastward, pointing to the sunlit horizon.

“Far past the frontier, and beyond the Hieyuma Empire, lies the-”

**********

“Wait!” Twilight interjected. “The Hieyuma Empire? I’ve never heard of that.”

Celestia was taken by surprise at the sudden interruption.

“It’s a difficult bit of history to find, but it is there,” she answered patiently. She rolled her eyes at her student’s look of ‘Are you sure?’ and smiled.

“I promise, it is. Remind me sometime, and I’ll tell you all about it,” Celestia said. She knew it would bother Twilight for every minute of every day, until she was either told, or she found it herself. Celestia knew she would not. Time had been unkind to the annals of history.

“Now, where was I…?”

**********

“It all started in the east.

“Far past the frontier, beyond the Hieyuma Empire, lies the Astral Mountains, where dwells the fabled alicorns. Nopony ever goes in, and nopony has ever come out, the only exception standing before me, I presume.”

Somehow, Celestia knew what an alicorn was, but it did not strike her that she was one until just now. She looked herself over, giving her wings an experimental stretch. She supposed it was true, but still, it struck her as a tremendous oddity.

Lucky Break continued, “Many centuries ago, the alicorns dwelt among us, or so the stories say. Some versions of the tale say that they grew tired of the pony tribes’ bickering, and others say they found their differences between the tribes beyond reconciliation. Still others tell it that they believed themselves superior, and became arrogant.

“Whatever the reason, the alicorns departed from the land, and traveled as far west as possible, making their home in the distant mountains.

“Time passed, and the tribes forgot about their counterparts, the alicorns. It was not until fifty years ago, when the tribes united to form the kingdom of Equestria, that anypony recalled that ancient tale. The hierarchy sent explorers on an expedition to find them, in hopes that we might learn of their fate, and perhaps even be reunited.

“The scouts returned empty-hooved. They recounted a strange tale, one that I would not have believed had I not seen the results of it with my own eyes.”

The two rounded a corner, and entered what looked like an old town square. The surrounding buildings were built to be slightly larger, and so the resulting rubble was proportionally larger as well. On one side stood a large church, easily the biggest, most unscathed structure in the whole village. It had a bell tower with a large brass bell still hanging in plain view. It was old and in decay, but still had an air of proud, unyielding majesty about it. Lucky Break stopped and gazed at it ruefully.

“Every Sunday, that bell rang. We attended, and learned the sacred writings, and all about Harmony,” he said, a slight twinge of regret to his voice. “Where is our Harmony now, I wonder?”

Celestia did not know how to answer.

Lucky grunted, and tore his gaze away, and said, “Forgive my irreverence. I find my piety somewhat lacking these days.” He walked on, Celestia close behind.

“Where was I?” Lucky pondered. “Its strange. One need not tell this story very often… ah, yes! The scouts.

“They returned with nothing but a tale. They reported the Astral Mountains to be covered in a shroud of black fog, like a storm cloud. When they approached it, they found it to be impassable and intolerable, arresting movement and choking the ponies that dared to breathe it. A consult with the creatures of Hieyuma, who lived nearest to it, revealed that neither could they enter the shroud.

“It was a curiosity, but hardly an important one. Scholars and magicians studied and theorized, but to them, it was merely a distraction, a game with which to exercise the mind.

“For another thirty-five years, the tale grows dull. Peace, prosperity, and indeed, Harmony were the ways of the land. I am told it was…” he looked up, searching for the right description. “…nice.” He fell silent, seeming to ponder the very meaning of the word.

He continued after a moment. “All good things must come to an end, it seems.

“The shroud parted, and without warning, hordes upon hordes of abominations poured out. It seemed a nearly endless sea of beasts, each of which demonstrating a huge capacity for destruction and a tireless will to exercise that capacity. At the head of it all was a monster that called itself ‘Discord.’”

Celestia flinched as an electric pulse ran through her head. Discord. Hatred. Discord. Hatred.

“He attacked without provocation. Attempts of diplomacy were met with violence. We may as well have been appealing to a thunderstorm, or a volcano; a force of nature with no mind or method. He had only one goal, which he made abundantly clear: to bring about absolute chaos. Indeed, in the wake of his trail, there was not only destruction, but what I can only describe as… well, as chaos. The landscape becomes twisted and wrong. The laws governing reality cease to be. In much of the land we have had the fortune to retake, there are still scars. It is… most disturbing.”

Lucky shivered at some recollection. “His attack was vicious and sudden. Before we were ready, he pushed into our lands and killed many good ponies. Ponykind was ill-equipped for war. We were too used to our peace, our… our Harmony.” He seemed to spit the word with disdain.

“Our kingdom was upon the precipice of ruination, but thanks to the effort of many brave knights and soldiers, we pushed them back. For fifteen years, we have kept them at bay. We shall keep them at bay for longer still.

“And that,” Lucky concluded, “is the legacy of Discord.”

Discord. Hatred.

There was a pause. Celestia dared not speak until she knew he was done with his story.

“That is… most unfortunate,” Celestia said. Lucky returned with a noncommittal grunt. “This village,” Celestia continued cautiously, “Are we so close to the frontier that we are in danger of attack?”

“No,” he answered ruefully. “This ruin is the result of an unhappy accident.” Celestia paused expectantly, waiting for him to continue. He did not, but could sense her anticipation.

“Do you want to hear the story?” he asked.

“Stories pass the time,” she answered, “but not if it pains you to tell it.” Stories did indeed pass the time, and Celestia truly was curious about the place.

“No,” he repeated. “It's alright. It is the duty of every Equestrian, no, every rational being to bear a hatred of Discord. Let his deeds not be forgotten.”

Celestia did not tell him she was already doing her duty. The only difference was that now she had a better reason.

“Battle wages upon the frontlines many miles from here,” Lucky began. “But in days past, when the hordes first attacked, we were ill-prepared for their coming. The abominations advanced as they achieved victory after sweeping victory. Eventually, after many months of loss, Equestria was able to muster a force enough to drive them back.

“The early Equestrian Army was amateur. Regardless of the strength of their legs, and the bravery of their hearts, and even the cunning of their leadership, they were not the disciplined fighting force we know today. They were disorganized and untrained, rushing forward in the same broken rank and file that the hordes did.

“Indeed, they pushed the hordes back, but not without casualty, and not without missing a few beasts. In the wake of many victories, the army lacked the strength and organization to set about hunting the remaining abominations. These leaderless hordes, cut off from their tyrant, wandered about until they settled in Equestrian territory. They no longer sought battle, but they were still dangerous.

“One such horde chose Ponyville as their resting place,” Lucky Break said. “They ran wild among us. Not a one of us knew how to fight. It was a pathetic sight… farmers and cobblers and potters, all running for their lives. It was a massacre. I’m sure you can guess on which side.”

Lucky shook his head, sighing. “I cannot even claim the pride of having fought valiantly. Valor was not a common trait when one’s biggest concern was next year’s crops. Almost as quickly as they came, we fled like cowards, leaving behind our homes and land. And we were right to do so.”

He hesitated for a moment, but continued. “Both of my parents died, as did my elder brother. I was eight.”

“Oh…” Celestia quietly murmured. “I’m sorry…”

“As am I,” he said evenly. “Don't worry. Death has occurred before, and I wager it shall continue to do so.” He took a deep breath. “So we ran to Canterlot.

“Canterlot was not as we know it now. It was a small, mostly earth pony farming village, just as Ponyville was. There was no castle, no walls, and certainly no trained guard. To us, they were simply our neighbors to the north, with whom we traded occasionally. We ran for that haven, not because it was safe, but because it was our only option. The good folk of Canterlot took us in, and nursed our wounds.

“We were beaten, broken, and most of all, embarrassed. Our pride and joy had been taken from us, and most of us felt like it was gone forever, myself included.”

Lucky Break paused and looked toward the sky, as if pondering how to continue. “Have… you ever heard of the Maiden’s Battalion? Commanded by the Maid of Canterlot?”

Celestia briefly pondered. “The names sound familiar… but no, I do not recall,” she said. “Was it a detachment of the army? Did this ‘Maid’ save your village?”

“Well… you have it half right. To answer those questions, no they were not a detachment of the army, and our village was, at that point, far beyond saving. No, what needed redemption at that point was our pride. Our will. The attitude of despair hung thick over poor Canterlot. We sent a call for aid to the kingdom, but it was lost amongst a churning sea of similar pleas. They were overburdened. Many thought it was only a matter of time before their village was next.”

“What of you?” Celestia asked. “How did you feel?”

“An orphan of eight years who had just lost his entire family? How do you think I felt?” he said abrasively. “I felt just like everyone else. Perhaps a bit more lost than my elders. A good family took me in, and they still have my utmost thanks, but it was little consolation at the time.

“Soon, it all changed. It was Sunday, the day of Harmony, a day of prayer and meditation, but few could meditate on anything but tragedy. The Father rose to speak, and began his sermon. Even he was in foul spirits, and could not bring himself to preach with the zeal he once knew. He ended with something like, ‘May we find Harmony away from this battle.’ When he was finished, chaos’s plague still weighed heavily on our hearts, perhaps even more so than before.

“We were ready to adjourn,” Lucky said. He smiled. “I’ll never forget what happened next.

“This little filly, even younger than I was, stood from her seat, and galloped to the pulpit. Racing right past the Father, she slammed her hooves on the wood as hard as she could, and shouted, ‘No!’”

Lucky Break laughed at the fond memory. “It was almost pathetic, how little noise she made, and yet… it seemed to echo. ‘No!’ she shouted. ‘Ponyville was my home! I will not let some demon take it! I will fight!’” There was a grin on Lucky’s face, huge and genuine.

“This foal, this little earth pony filly that had yet to even earn her cutie mark,” he said through small, stifled laughs, “is up on the stand, shouting more zealously than a young priest. Hardly anypony actually knew her name. She hammers her hooves on the wood again, and shouting so loud her tiny voice cracks, she says, ‘Harmony will not find us away from battle! There is no Harmony in cowardice! I say, may we find victory in battle, and Harmony after!’”

Lucky’s smile began to fade. “Victory in battle, and Harmony after,” he quietly repeated.

“Well, the Father was furious. He ran up to her, grabbed her by the ear, and looked as though he was going to give her the beating of a lifetime, when somepony shouted. I don't know who, but somepony shouted. ‘She’s right!’ they said. Somepony else stood, and agreed. Then another, and another, and another.

“Soon, the whole congregation was on their hooves, screaming and shouting with the rage and passion that only the truly desperate possess. Eventually, even the Father, who later became the caretaker of this little filly, was up in arms.

“The entire town, stallions and mares alike, left the church, and marched with this little foal down the mountain to Ponyville. They were armed with pitchforks, wheat scythes, carpentry hammers… some left with only their bare hooves and the clothes on their backs. I too followed, my hapless adoptive mother not quick enough to stop me.

“I was not the only foal to go. We were too young to fight, but we were inspired nonetheless, and wanted to watch the retaking of our village. Most ponies allowed their children to follow. Those that were forbidden to go snuck out anyways.

“It really was a sorry sight to behold, this ragtag mob of angry ponies charging down this mountain, their leader a foal that was small even for her age. But when we got there… I am now a proper military stallion, and I have never since seen such a battle. I would go so far as to call it beautiful, could such affairs be called that.

“That mob, that unlucky, inadequate, wretched mob of ponies fought so brilliantly. There was bloodshed, and there were casualties, but the ponies of Canterlot and Ponyville hunted each and every abomination till there were naught left.” Lucky’s eyes sparkled with pride.

“The village’s homes and farms were all but ruined, and so the Ponyvillians returned to Canterlot after the deed was done. It mattered not that they restored their village, only that they restored their dignity. And they did, believe me, they did. It was the ponies’ proudest moment, and the story is still told today.

“The filly that lead them was celebrated as a hero and saint. On the day of their triumphant return, her cutie mark manifested itself. A half-hidden, rising sun.”

Celestia and Lucky Break were beginning to exit the village. By this time, it was mid-morning, and the sun was high above the eastern horizon. They stepped onto a cobblestone trail that lead away from the ruins and toward the mountains. It was well-worn, better maintained, and if the track marks were anything to go by, appeared to be used very frequently.

“What was her name?” Celestia asked.

Lucky did not answer for a full half minute. Finally he spoke.

“Daylight,” he said. “Her name was Daylight.” There was a slight, choking roughness to his voice.

Lucky cleared his throat and continued. “Years passed. Word of her deeds spread quickly. Eventually, when the royal army came by, and when she was of proper age, she joined them. I did too, along with many others who still remembered her act of courage.

“She advanced quickly through the ranks, possessing the courage, skill, and leadership of a pony far older. Eventually, she was given her own battalion to command, the newly formed 21st division. It consisted of all those who had come from Canterlot, as well as many others. Almost all of the soldiers were rookies and amateurs, but that did not matter. ‘I will take a battalion of rookie patriots’ she once told me, ‘over a battalion of weak-minded professionals.’”

Lucky sighed. “I was stronger. Faster too. My reflexes in battle were unbeatable. But somehow, she… was always just a little bit better than me.” His eyes lit up with conviction.

“The greatest position I could ever attain was one serving under her, and the greatest title, Lieutenant-Commander. Some thought she was delusional, and they were right to think so; some of her tactics were so unorthodox that even her most loyal questioned them.”

Lucky gave a small laugh. “That battalion was as green and fresh as springtime grass. No one expected her to do such great things with such a verdant fighting force, but lo and behold, she ended up commanding the best there ever was. Her battalion won victory after glorious victory. At one point, she was offered a higher position in the army, but declined, opting instead to stay on the battlefield.

“She became known throughout the realm as ‘the Maid of Canterlot.’ Her force, officially the 21st Mixed Unit Division of the Equestrian Army, became whimsically known as ‘the Maiden’s Battalion.’ We still bear the rallying cry that started it all.

“Victoria intra bellum, Armonia postea,” he said, quoting the old language. “Victory in battle, and Harmony after.” He said the phrase with immense pride.

“And that, Celestia, is what happened,” Lucky finished.

Celestia was impressed. The tale seemed to resonate with her, inspiring her just as it had inspired the ones who had actually been there.

“It must honor you to serve under Commander Daylight,” she said.

“What?” Lucky responded, a strange twinge of… something in his voice. Anxiety, perhaps?

“This mare, the Maid of Canterlot. She seems like a great pony!” Celestia said. “And you’re the Lieutenant-Commander of this force. You said as much, yourself… did you not?”

“Oh,” he said dejectedly. “Yes. I suppose I did say that.”

Celestia frowned. “What's wrong?” she asked.

“Celestia,” he said slowly, “The Commander Daylight has been gone these two months.”

An electric shock seemed to hit Celestia. “Gone? You don’t mean…?”

“Indeed. She is slain.” He sounded heartbroken.

“I’m… so sorry…” Celestia said for the second time today. She almost felt like she had lost a hero, though she had only been introduced to the tale a moment ago. “How… how did she…?”

“Two months past, at the siege of Trotterdam. The city was the halfway point in an important supply route, and the 21st was tasked with reclaiming it from the Madness. We attacked. As always, she led the charge. As the battle began, she was lost in the fray.” Lucky Break was looking away from Celestia, obviously not wanting to show his face. He tried to remain impassive, but his voice wavered ever so slightly.

“We drove the Madness out, but she was nowhere to be seen. Eventually, somepony found her body, dead from a slash to the neck.” He cleared his throat, but it did nothing to change his tone. “Needless to say, the Battalion was severely demoralized, and was rotated out of the frontlines early. We were to return to Canterlot for a funeral, and to recognize the new Commander. I was given orders to make a side trip to escort another, and then rendezvous with the rest of my company.

“I am the Lieutenant-Commander of the Maiden’s Battalion, yes,” he said miserably. “But only by virtue of procedure. In truth, the burden of leadership falls upon me.”

Celestia was at a loss for words. “Well… I… I’m sure you will lead them to glory just as great.”

“Of that, I have doubt,” he said. “I am an able tactician, but I am no hero. Some ponies just…" he trailed off for a moment, and looked at Celestia with a harsh, mournful gaze. "Some ponies just can’t be replaced.”

Celestia fell silent, as did Lucky Break, who was content to let it remain that way. No more stories for today, she decided. Her mind was weighed heavy with the history of a doomed kingdom, and the tragedy of a fallen hero. She doubted she could listen to any more. It seemed Lucky was not a fan of idle talk, as the rest of the day held little conversation.

**********

The winding forest path took them away from Ponyville, and into the mountains. The trees blocked most of the horizon, but Lucky seemed to know where he was going. The sun passed steadily through the sky as they trudged along. By the time the sun was setting, they were almost completely out of the forest.

They were making good time, but not because Celestia’s limp had gotten any better. In fact, by now it was worse. Lucky was traveling at a pace far beyond her own, but she was determined not to ask him to slow down. She was not weak, and she would prove it.

“It will be night soon,” he said. "Let's stop here. Another day will see us at the gates.”

Lucky turned away, and prepared to make camp. When she was sure that he was not looking at her, Celestia allowed a flood of relief to wash over her, and she collapsed on the ground, examining her leg. It was swollen and bloody, but at least the blood flow had stopped.

She found a relatively soft spot on the ground, and lay down, draping the cloak over herself for warmth. Though it was spring, the mountain air could become very cold at night. Reaching into a saddlebag hanging off of his chainmail, Lucky retrieved a tinderbox and set about starting a fire. Eventually, they had a pleasant flame going, and they both curled around it.

Lucky began to work the chain off of his body. With a series of great metallic clinks, he folded it and set it into a neat pile next to his saddlebags. When Celestia questioned him, he merely answered, “Sleeping in chainmail is only one step above sleeping on a bed of nails.”

With that, he rested his head on the ground and closed his eyes. Celestia did the same, but a sudden curiosity came to her mind. She raised her head, and eyed his flank. By the dim light of the fire, she could see his cutie mark: a simple silver horseshoe, jaggedly broken into two equal pieces. She stared curiously, pondering possible meanings for such a mark. It was another moment before she realized his eyes were open and looking straight at her, brows raised. She lowered her head and looked away, slightly embarrassed. She thought she heard him chuckle, just once.

She settled into her earthy bed, and warmed by the radiance of the fire, she drifted off into a restless sleep.

IV: Castle in the Mist

The dream seemed to last forever.

And why shouldn’t it?

She screamed in frustration as the chromatic wasteland around her never settled. Or, at least, she tried to scream. Her face was scrunched into an angry focus, and her mouth was open, but no sound came out.

There was a face. Familiar and foreign. It gazed at her with pity. She screamed at it. Or, at least, she tried to. The unstable visage of another appeared. It gazed at her with pity. She tried screaming, and failed again. Another materialized, and another, and another. She silently screamed at them all.

I do not desire your pity, she tried to say. I desire your names.

Among the anonymous multitude, there was one face she knew. It was the only face she knew with certainty, both in there and in the waking world. Lieutenant-Commander Lucky Break. His face was the only one not painted with pity. Celestia thought she might take comfort in seeing something different. She was mistaken. Displayed upon his face was an expression of the utmost betrayal. She was taken aback. She did not scream at this face. She pleaded with it. She could not remember what she spoke, only that it was apologetic and desperate. He began to fade.

Don’t go! She cried.

He left anyways.

The rest remained silent, just like they always did, until one by one, they vanished along with him. They were replaced by… something. A shadow, seeming to move just along the horizon, could a dream have such a thing as a horizon. Though she could not see it clearly, and it did not make any kind of threat, something about it invited a violent fury into her heart. She feared it, but more than that, she hated it. It was the cause of all of this.

She hated it.

In the distance, she heard an earthquake. She did not care.

Hatred.

Hatred.

Hatred.

**********

Celestia woke with a startled, panicking gasp. Her breath was quick and heavy, her chest rising and falling in time with her ragged, uneven panting. She was lying uncomfortably on her side. She figured she must have been moving around a great deal last night, because she was thoroughly tangled in Lucky’s borrowed cloak.

She took a moment to lay her head back down, and collect her thoughts. It was just a dream, she told herself. Just a dream, and nothing more. Celestia focused on bringing herself back to reality, concentrating on what she knew as real. There was not much to draw from, but it seemed to work. Her breathing quieted, and her lungs did not draw so much air.

She still remembered the anger, though. The absolute fury she had felt. That she still felt. She tried to recall a reason for it, but after a moment of mental examination, she concluded that she had either forgotten, or that there simply was no reason at all. She hoped it was the former. She feared it was the latter.

Celestia wrestled with the cloak and managed to free herself. She stood up, adjusted and readjusted the cloak and clasp around her neck, and then quickly lowered herself to the ground again after experiencing an intense head rush. She waited a moment for the stars in her vision to pass, and stood back up, looking around.

The fire had turned into a pile of black ash, having long since gone out. She still saw some embers at the base, gently glowing in their last hour of life. She looked a little further up, and recognized a basin of flattened grass where Lucky Break had slept. He was nowhere to be found.

In the distance, she heard an earthquake… except it was not an earthquake at all. Lucky had chosen a spot just off of the path to stop for the night. What she heard was the wheels of a wagon being drawn down the rough, cobblestone road. She brushed past some trees and jumped out onto the trail, just in time to see an ornately decorated, heavily built carriage being pulled by a team of four armored stallions.

It was a small distance away, due to pass her in seconds. She thought about running, but they had already seen her. She tensed up, as her eyes locked with the guard that seemed to be leading it. It was drawing closer and closer… the stallion opened his mouth…

“Mornin’,” he said politely. He and his team rumbled by without another glance.

“O-oh. Good morning, sir!” Celestia called after him after he had already passed. He did not respond. She shook her head. The remnants of the dream had left her tense.

She was about to return to her makeshift camp, when a side window of the carriage swung open. The transport itself did not stop, but from the open window emerged the head of a pony. Celestia could see it was a female earth pony, and probably a teenager. Her coat was a pleasant shade of teal blue.

She wore a distant expression of curiosity. Celestia awkwardly waved to the young mare, who only stared in return. A few seconds passed, and the carriage moved around a bend and out of sight.

Celestia shook her head. What was that all about?

“That was a royal carriage,” spoke a voice from behind, nearly making Celestia jump out of her skin. “Where was it going, I wonder?”

She wheeled around to see Lucky Break, armor on, saddlebags over his back. Before Celestia could recover from the scare and respond, he continued.

“I thought I saw… Who was that pony? A friend of yours?” he asked. Realizing he meant the filly that had stared at her out of the window, she responded.

“No,” she said, “I have no friends, remember?” Celestia had said it without bitterness, but she could have sworn she saw Lucky recoil at the statement.

“Oh?” he said nonchalantly, “Am I not your friend?” He did not wait for a reply.

“We'll leave soon,” he continued. “I have only a few more errands to attend. Stay close, I’ll be back soon.” He began to walk back into the forest. “Don’t go flying off on me!”

Celestia scoffed. As if she could.

She froze as a sudden thought struck her. Or could she? She hesitated, watching him walk back into the forest. Should she? Lucky would be none too pleased if she did.

That sentiment alone struck a chord. “I can fly away if I want to,” she murmured.

She waited until Lucky had disappeared behind the foliage. She cautiously unhooked the clasp on her cloak, and let it fall to the forest floor. She stretched her limbs and arched her back, shivering at the pleasant pain of stretching muscles. Then, she deployed her wings.

They still felt foreign and out of place. Celestia gave them an experimental flap, just once on either side. She felt a tiny amount of lift underneath her, and a few of her snow white feathers fell loose. There was no way it could be that hard, right?

She flapped a little harder, and then again, and again. A steady current of air pressure swept away dust at her feet. Finally, she stopped holding back, flapping as hard as she could. She could swear she was about to take off any moment, but she never did. Her wings eventually became tired, and she stopped, retracting them. An enormous cloud of dust hovered about her.

Maybe I just need a running start? she thought. She looked warily at her bandaged leg. It was still swollen and bloody. She gingerly moved it about, experimenting. I can do it.

Celestia stepped out onto the exact center of the trail, trotted in place for a moment, testing her injured step. It seemed okay, better than yesterday at the least. She inhaled a lungful of fresh, springtime air.

She started with a quick forward trot, which became a solid canter, which became an all-out gallop. She winced every time her sprained forward leg hit the ground, but tried her best to ignore it. She extended her wings. In the same motion, she jumped and flapped them as forcefully downward as she possibly could.

The pressure pushed her into the air. She was flying! Celestia took a moment to revel in the joy of being airborne, for a moment was all she had. The next instant, she was on the ground, looking up at twin copies of Lucky Break swaying above her.

Her vision was swimming, her head pounding, and her ears ringing. He said something she could not hear.

“What?” she asked. Her own words were slow and sluggish.

"When I said I wanted to try your plan of finding Canterlot,” he repeated, “I was joking.” His voice seemed to echo and ring in her ears.

Eventually, his dual image snapped together, coming into focus. She tried to come up with a clever response, but could not. She merely groaned in reply.

“C’mon, get up.”

She rolled over at the behest of a gentle nudge to her side, and with Lucky’s help, stood up. She swayed in place for a moment before regaining her balance. She blinked a few times, and the world came into focus. Lucky’s green cloak drifted onto her shoulders, and she absentmindedly hooked the clasp around her neck.

“If you’re done training for the Sky Guard, we need to go,” he said. “Dusk will see us at the gates, but only if we hurry. Oftentimes, they close at night.”

Celestia nodded absently. He began walking at a quickened pace, which she dreamily followed. It was another few minutes before Celestia was able to keep up, much to Lucky’s frustration.

“Did I do it?” she eventually asked, still dazed.

“Do what?” Lucky asked impatiently.

“Did I fly?”

“You certainly fell, that much is sure.” He chuckled. “An alicorn who cannot fly. I suppose the tales of your race’s power are false after all.”

“So… I didn’t fly?” she said, disappointed.

Lucky hesitated for a moment. “When I came out onto the road,” he said, “you were galloping like a lunatic. After that, you jumped and sort of…” he trailed off looking for the right word. “You hovered for a bit, and then nosedived into a tree.”

She was not sure whether she felt pride or embarrassment. Embarrassment, she decided. Lucky sensed her disappointment, and seemed to have a brief internal struggle over what he should say.

“It was a valiant effort,” Lucky finally managed, begrudging encouragement in his tone. Celestia smiled timidly. “Just keep in mind, valiance does not stop concussions,” he added after a moment.

That was perhaps the first compliment he ever gave her, hesitant as it was.

**********

Another uneventful day passed as they traveled. Lucky Break led Celestia on a forced march to Canterlot, only stopping for the smallest amounts of time to drink and eat. If Lucky was at all tired, he did not show it. Celestia, on the other hand, had a harder time keeping her composure. Her leg pulsed with a great, rhythmic beat of pain that only seemed to get worse as time went on.

Still, she did not let her composure break, and she did not ask for reprieve. Long after the sun had set, they were still walking.

“We'll be there soon,” he said. Celestia could do no more than nod her head in exhaustion.

“Since it is dark, they may have closed the gates,” he continued, “I’ll do what I can to convince the guard to open them, but be prepared to spend another night under the stars.” Another exhausted nod.

The ground was wet, and had the trail not been set in cobblestone, they likely would have been marching through mud. They had entered the mist, which still hung heavy in the air, but was gradually dispersing as they got closer and closer.

Another half hour of walking in the foggy moonlight, and it finally dissipated. What Celestia saw was breathtaking. Castle Canterlot.

The fortification was enormous and awe-inspiring. Even by the dim light of the moon, it practically radiated with an aura of the most overwhelming majesty and intimidating security. The inner structures were carved straight into the mountain, and the outer structures hung securely over the cliff side.

The stone material of the buildings glowed with a magnificent white brilliance, even in the pale moonlight. At the forefront of it all was a gatehouse, preceded by a huge moat that ran straight off the mountain in the form of a waterfall. In fact, as Celestia took a closer look, she realized the river was diverted in several spots to run through the city, and exited in several waterfalls.

Visible over the massive, luminescent stone walls, turrets and towers jutted proudly into the misty night sky. Beneath them were huge stone buildings. Nearly every single structure could have been a fortress unto itself. Many of the structures were connected with bridges and skyways, making the whole place seem like one cohesive construction.

The whole place was an amazing feat of engineering and design. It was exactly the kind of thing that inspired the utmost confidence in the kingdom of Equestria, almost making one believe that victory was assured. How could it not be, when this magnificent castle stood testament?

“Canterlot,” Lucky Break said, motioning to the castle before them. “Or most of it, anyways. There’s a few homes scattered here and there outside of the castle.”

“Wow,” Celestia murmured.

The gatehouse was only a half mile away. Emboldened by their proximity, Celestia’s broken stride took on new meaning, and hobbling forward, she pulled ahead of Lucky. He did not stop her.

They came closer and closer. Celestia began to see pegasi working far above the city to move some of the larger clouds away. Moonlight glinted and shimmered through the gentle mist that still hung in the air, giving the whole place a feel of heavenly etherealness.

Behind her, Lucky cursed as the gatehouse came more clearly into view. “The bridge is drawn, and the gate down,” he said.

“How do we proceed?” Celestia asked, drawing her gaze toward the moat.

“We can't, unless you want the moat to sweep you off the mountain,” he answered. “Still…” He tapped a hoof to his chin.

“Could we not catch their attention on the other side?”

“…Perhaps.” He continued walking, as did she.

Another ten minutes, and they reached the end of the road. There was a large, uniform scuff mark where the wood of the bridge met the stone of the road when lowered. They stopped.

Celestia looked curiously at the turrets of the gatehouse beyond. She thought she saw a shadow move inside one of the tower windows. Lucky scowled.

“Hail, gate guard!” he shouted. “We beg passage! Our hooves are weary and our mission is dire!”

There was no response.

“Hail! Canterlot!” he repeated, shouting with increased vigor. “We beg passage! Our mission is dire!”

His echo made the following silence seem even louder. Some of the weatherponies stopped their work and looked down curiously at them. Lucky growled in frustration.

“Bah,” he growled. “They deny us passage. Come on, I know somewhere we can stay-”

His words were caught in his throat as he let out what Celestia could only describe as a strange cross between a gasp and a hiccup. Lucky’s tail gave a sudden swish, and his head a sudden twitch, tiny but noticeable. His eyes were wide.

“Wha-?” Celestia began, but was cut off as Lucky suddenly and violently hit her with a full-bodied charge and tackle.

“Get down!” he shouted with the urgency of a warrior in mid-battle. It was immediately followed with a wheezing grunt, as if something had knocked him breathless.

“What are you doing?” Celestia cried, confused and panicked. “Get off of me!” She was underneath him, but rolled him off easily enough. He put up no resistance, and when she stood, he did not.

“You… you…!” Celestia began. “Madpony! What was that?”

Lucky slowly rolled and rose to his hooves, clutching his side and coughing.

“…you moppet, I said aim, not fire…! Yeh gods damned, milksop simpleton…!”

“You call me dreamy? You call me an idiot? I cannot believe…” Celestia shouted, but trailed off as she caught glimpse of an object at Lucky’s hooves.

An arrow, tip blunted and shaft bent.

“Would you… so happily… insult your savior?” Lucky growled, speaking in between coughs.

“…yer gonna be scrubbin’ latrines for a week, yeh damned tosspot, and by the Gods, I’ll make sure yeh get the foulest, most reeking…!”

She had no words. Lucky looked down at the arrow, lying lonely on the ground. He picked it up and, turning toward the castle, held it high, presenting it to the gatehouse.

“A true enough shot!” he shouted with pained effort. “But I doubt it is now common procedure to fire upon weary travelers.” Lucky paused for another fit of coughs. “Perhaps you could trade a pound of your aim for a pinch of discretion!”

He threw the arrow contemptuously beside him. It clattered onto the stone.

“Are you alright?” Celestia finally managed.

“I’ve been worse,” Lucky responded quietly. “The arrow did not pierce the chain. Sure did take a knock to the lungs, though.” He followed with a small involuntary cough, as if to prove his point.

The two could hear a commotion in one of the towers, presumably the one that loosed the arrow. Celestia looked around nervously, wondering how good of an idea it was to stay and confront a castle tower that had just shot an arrow at her. Lucky’s scowling gaze never left the tower, however, and he forced his coughs to quiet. Eventually, an answer came.

“Friend or foe?” A distant voice said. Lucky’s eyes seemed to bulge.

“Oh, by the… Friends! We’re friends!” he shouted incredulously.

“Our sincerest apologies! The bridge draws at sundown, we don’t suffer travelers to pass at night!” the voice spoke.

Lucky growled in anger. “I am Lieutenant-Commander Break of the 21st Division!” he shouted. “You will suffer me!”

There was a pause. The anxiety was palpable, as the pony on the other side of the moat deliberated on how to respond.

“Lieutenant Break?” he spoke. “Lucky?”

For all its distance, the response seemed to pierce the night. Lucky’s hard gaze seemed to falter.

“Crumble?” he shouted back, though with not nearly the same volume or contempt.

There was another pause before the voice shouted a command. The sound of grinding gears and shaking chains broke the night silence. The bridge began to lower as the gate was simultaneously drawn open.

“…Crumble?” Celestia repeated uneasily.

“Keep your head down, do not speak, and follow my lead,” Lucky responded quickly and quietly. “And leave the cloak on,” he added, placing emphasis on every word.

“Leave the cloak… why?” Celestia asked. It was not like she was going to take it off, anyways.

He waved her question away with a dismissive hoof. “Just don’t do anything… stupid.”

Celestia grumbled irately. What does he take me for, a fool? It was worse when she realized the answer was yes, that was what he took her for.

The bridge hit the cobblestone with a deep, resonating thud, the two a small but safe distance away. On the other side, they saw a small contingent of five guards, plus another that looked to be their leader.

“C’mon,” Lucky said quietly as he stepped onto the bridge. Celestia cautiously followed, hobbling a short distance behind him.

The guard on the opposite side began walking as well. The purpose they held in their stride was intimidating, but no more than Lucky’s was. He kept is gaze straight ahead, irritated and determined. He marched with deliberation and resolve, matching and perhaps outdoing the guard in their determination.

They finally met in the middle of the bridge, and stopped small distance away from each other. The rushing of the waterfall could be heard to their left.

“Lieutenant-Commander Break,” the leader said stoically. He was a pegasus, and his armor differed from his subordinates, denoting a high rank. His coat was a deep red, faded with age, and his mane a light blonde, stricken through with lines of grey. He spoke through a thick, blonde-grey beard.

“Lieutenant Crumble,” Lucky answered, just as coolly. There was a moment of silence as the two stared each other down.

“Was that your shot?” Lucky asked. “Your eyesight must be failing you.”

“Nay, ‘twas the shot of my most trusted recruit,” the lieutenant said, words dripping with sarcasm. “He’s just about bursting with pride right now. Though, I reckon my sight is still better than yours, yeh scurvy-headed mule.” His wings flared with aggression.

“You pig-snouted prick, I doubt you could see past your own nose.”

Celestia gasped as the two seemingly levelheaded, sophisticated military officials let loose very unsophisticated remarks.

“My nose could smell a better shot than yer eyes ever could see, yeh stubborn, clay-brained buffoon.”

“You fangless dog!”

“Yeh bed-pressing whelp!”

“You soft-headed geezer!”

“Yeh hard-headed scoundrel!”

Lucky took a deep breath. “You swag-bellied, hoof-licking, courtesan-loving vermin! Thy mother was a goat, and thy father would fain sup with swine, could he afford it!”

Celestia’s jaw dropped.

Lucky and the Lieutenant Crumble stood, staring at each other with fierce scowls. Celestia’s mouth hung open in shock, and even the guards behind the lieutenant, the very same who were trained in the sacred art of stoicism, seemed to be ill at ease. There was another moment of intensely uncomfortable silence. Celestia’s gaze shifted back and forth from Lucky and the lieutenant. The seconds drifted by.

Finally, Lucky’s stare faltered, as did the lieutenant’s. At exactly the same time, they both broke out into hysterical laughter.

Celestia’s jaw dropped even further.

“Bed-pressing whelp?” Lucky asked in between fits of laughter. “How long did it take to come up with that one? You’re losing your touch, my friend!”

“An’ what about fangless dog!” he returned, letting loose deep, bellowing guffaws. “Though, in the face of that last, I must admit defeat. Another glorious victory fer the Breaker!”

“Thank you, thank you,” he said, bowing. “I’ve been working on that one.”

“Why, with such finely crafted poetry, I’m surprised yeh don’t take up the bard’s cloak,” the lieutenant joked. “Jus’ think of all the ponies in need of a good insult!”

They both laughed again. Eventually, their laughter died down into a chuckle.

“I reckon you’ll be wantin’ passage, yeah?” Lucky nodded. “Right then. Follow me.”

Lieutenant Crumble motioned for his guards to return to the gatehouse, and they began to walk across the bridge, back to the castle. Lucky and Celestia followed.

“So,” Lieutenant Crumble began, “Who’s the stranger?” He motioned to Celestia.

“She’s my… guest. I am to escort her to the palace,” Lucky replied apathetically.

“Well, I figured that, yeh lunkhead,” he said, a grin still painted on his face. “I was askin’ fer an introduction.”

Celestia did not wait. “I am Celestia, of… of Canterbury. Good greetings, sir…?” She put her good hoof forward in greetings.

“First-Lieutenant Apple Crumble of the Maiden’s Battalion, at yer service Milady,” he responded, accepting her hoof and shaking it. “But please, call me Crumble.”

His accent was thickly western, similar to the kind one might find in Trottingham, though it was much rougher. He spoke heavily and gruffly, but his tone seemed to have a constant quality of fatherly kindness to it. He was old, much older than Lucky or herself. In his early fifties, if Celestia had to guess. His body was worn with signs of age, but he appeared to be as fit as ever. He seemed sturdier, stockier, and stronger than even Lucky, who was himself no pushover. Next to the thin frame of Celestia, he was a veritable giant. On his back, he sported a pair of wings, powerful and wide.

“The honor is all mine,” Celestia replied, smiling. She flinched as she readjusted her bad leg to a normal standing position. Crumble seemed to notice.

“Oh, poor dear. Are yeh hurt?” Crumble asked. Without waiting for a response, he continued. “Yer guest is hurt, Lucky. Poor dear, you look like yeh could’ve walked the mountain in two days flat.”

Celestia paused awkwardly. “We did,” she said. Crumble looked incredulous.

“You… he… Lucky!” Crumble growled accusingly, “Yeh’ve walked this poor mare here in two days?”

Lucky merely shrugged. “I heard no complaints.”

“You scoundrel,” Crumble said. “Of course yeh didn’t. Yer ears are likely plugged full of yer own scummy pride.”

Lucky scowled while Celestia smiled, enjoying the guilty pleasure of hearing her escort insulted for a change.

Crumble drew himself up. “Well, I won’t be such a poor host. Come on then, let’s get a carriage for yeh.”

“Oh no, I am well, truly,” Celestia weakly protested.

“Nonsense,” Crumble said. “I’ll not have yeh collapsing about on my streets, and I’ll not be such a poor host as Lucky here.”

“Such a sentiment did not stop you from loosing an arrow at my guest,” Lucky replied, “who, by the way, owes her good health to yours truly.”

Crumble grumbled and punched him in the shoulder, albeit good-naturedly.

“So sorry ‘bout the bridge. There’s been talk of strange folk about,” Crumble said. “Even sorrier ‘bout the arrow.”

“I will forgive you,” Lucky teased, “but this is the last time.”

“It’s a good thing yeh have this fine fellow with yeh, Miss,” Crumble said.

Celestia rolled her eyes. He may have done a good deed, but he certainly was not a ‘fine fellow’.

“I reckon the lad’s lucky sense done saved yer life.”

“His… what?” Celestia asked.

“Nothing,” Lucky quickly said, glaring at Crumble.

“What?” Crumble said innocently.

“So,” Lucky said, changing the subject, “did the Battalion make it back yet?”

“Aye,” Crumble responded darkly, “’bout three weeks ago. The news of ‘er death has been hard. The funeral’s already been held.” He gazed with sympathy at Lucky. “I’m so sorry.”

Lucky stared blankly ahead. “Yeah,” he said emotionlessly.

“Much of the city is still in mourning,” Crumble continued. “You’ll not find a sorrier lot in all of Equestria.”

There was a sorrowful silence. They reached the other end of the bridge, and entered the gatehouse. There, Lieutenant Crumble gave a few swift orders, and soon there appeared a small military carriage before them, drawn by a pair of city guards. Lucky was about to board before Crumble forcefully nudged him out of the way, politely motioning to Celestia to enter first. She timidly smiled, and stepped in.

“Wait,” Lucky said hesitantly, after they had all boarded. “Three weeks ago, you said?”

The carriage started to move, and the massive gate behind them closed. The streets of Canterlot were finely crafted. Each was evenly paved and well maintained, resulting in a near perfectly smooth ride.

“Aye. What of it?”

“We’ve not been gone that long…” Lucky mumbled. He looked at Celestia suspiciously, who only replied with a shrug.

“Magic…” he murmured contemptuously.

“C’mon now, lad. When have I ever been dishonest with yeh?” Crumble asked. Lucky only expressed a small, sideways smile. “I’m only tellin’ yeh what I know,” Crumble said. “What of you? Where’s yer guard, n’ all that? We heard of Canterbury’s attack, but naught of yer survival. What happened?”

“I know nothing of my guard, save for the knowledge that I am here, and they are not.” Lucky began to regale Crumble with the tale of their survival and escape.

Meanwhile, they passed through the gate and entered the city. Celestia peered through the carriage windows with fascinated curiosity. It was even more magnificent on the inside than out. Nearly the whole inner city was composed of the same bright white granite as the outer walls. On some of the finer government buildings, there were carved exquisite works of art, permanently set into the stone. Tranquil fountains and striking statues adorned open city squares. Much of the city was trimmed with a royal shade purple, although colors of seemingly every hue could be seen here and there.

Far above them were the towers, looming giants that were larger than life, appearing as elegant as they were intimidating. Celestia imagined some of them to be tall enough to pierce the clouds. Certainly the weatherponies must have had a hard time maneuvering around them.

Most of the city was dark, but there were a few lanterns glowing, no doubt kept alive by magic. They had no trouble traversing the well-lit streets on their way to the inner stronghold.

The city seemed to be in constant motion, the dark hour of night notwithstanding. Though a majority of ponies were indoors by now, there were still a few running errands, working nighttime jobs, or simply loitering about. Celestia had expected them to draw attention, but the villagers that they passed seemed to pay them no mind.

“…and then I got shot with an arrow. Now, we’re here,” Lucky finished. Celestia had noticed he forgot some details about her first waking moments in Canterbury, but did not bother to say anything.

“That’s quite a tale…” Crumble said. “So now what?”

“Supposedly, she’s a guest of the Royal Magi,” Lucky continued, motioning to Celestia. “I aim to secure an audience with the Arch-Mage. Should be easy enough once they learn of our arrival.”

“Actually, I’m afraid to tell yeh,” Crumble responded, “but the Arch-Mage is gone.”

“Hmph,” Lucky said, scowling. “I thought as much. Though I’m surprised they haven’t named a new one yet.”

Crumble scratched his beard. “What’re yeh talkin’ ‘bout, lad? She’s gone, as in she departed Canterlot only two days ago.”

“Oh? So who now holds the title?”

“Er… the title’s not changed, lad. I’m talkin’ of Arch-Mage Shimmer.”

Lucky paused. “Arch-Mage Shimmer?” he asked, a tone of confusion in his voice. “You mean, Midnight Shimmer?”

“Aye, the very same,” Crumble said solemnly. “Poor dear. I sat next to her at the funeral, y’know, me bein’ the highest ranking in the battalion in yer absence and all that. Practically cried ‘er heart out. Funny, she I didn’t realize she knew her that well-”

“Were there others?” Lucky suddenly said, cutting him off.

“Others?”

“Survivors,” he said, “Other survivors from Canterbury.”

“Well, there are plenty o’ refugees we’re still tryin’ to sort out,” Crumble said, “and I ‘spose some of ‘em are from Canterbury.”

“Any Adepts of the Royal Magi?” Lucky said hurriedly.

“No, no Adepts, ‘less yeh count Arch-Mage Shimmer. In fact, she told us she thought you were dead, an’ we all believed her, too. Told us she tried to help, but it was too late,” Crumble said darkly. A grin appeared on his face. “Looks like she underestimated yer fortune, eh? It’s never too late for the Breaker, it seems.”

Lucky did not return the smile. His gaze dropped to the ground, as he mumbled something to himself. Celestia, who had been wrapped up in the sights of the city, had begun to listen more intently.

“She told you I was dead…”

Crumble’s grin slowly faded. “Lucky? You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lucky said slowly, raising his head. “Who is the presiding magician in Canterlot?”

“That’d be Master Clover,” Crumble cautiously replied. “Yeh’d probably have to wait ‘till mornin’ to get an audience with her, though. She’s an old ‘un, even older than meself. Needs her beauty sleep, an’ all.”

“Of course,” Lucky said, wearing an expressionless mask. There was another silent moment, as both Crumble and Celestia tried to decipher Lucky’s deadpan visage.

“So, how fares the Maiden’s Captains?” Lucky said suddenly and brightly, obviously changing the subject. “I know Captain Flower was having a particularly rough time. She is the newest lieutenant, correct?”

“Hmm? Oh, aye, that she is,” Crumble replied, taken by surprise. He quickly recovered. “She’s a real shy mare, that one. Has yet to earn the respect of her comrades…”

The conversation quickly turned to the well-being of the 21st Division, and soon, plans for its eventual redeployment. Celestia resumed looking out the window, taking in the sights.

“So, Celestia,” Crumble said suddenly. Celestia jumped at the mention of her name as she snapped out of her sightseeing trance.

“Where did’ja say yeh were from again?” he asked.

“Oh, uh… Canterbury. I’m from Canterbury,” she said nervously. In truth, she had no idea. She looked at Lucky, who, out of Crumble’s sight, gave her a nearly imperceptible nervous glance.

“Canterbury,” Crumble repeated. “I’m so sorry fer your loss. Yer kinsfolk deserved better.”

Celestia had no idea how the conversation had turned to her, but did not like that it did, even though she knew Crumble was just trying to be polite.

“Yes, they did,” she politely replied, trying to hide her apprehension.

“I been to Canterbury, once. Lovely place. There was this one chef, had a famous cherry stand. What was his name… do yeh know who I’m talkin’ about?”

Celestia adopted the same pondering expression, and merely shrugged.

“Ah, well, I ‘member the taste, that’s fer sure,” Crumble said. “So where did yeh live? What did yeh do?”

“Oh, I, uh, um… I weaved. Baskets. I weaved baskets. I was a basket weaver,” Celestia replied quickly. “And I lived on the north side of town.”

“Livin’ in the wealthy end as a basket weaver?” Crumble chuckled. “Well, I ‘spose they must’ve been excellent baskets if yeh ended up a guest of the Royal Magi.”

“Er, yeah…” Celestia mumbled. She eyed Lucky frantically, who shrugged.

“Actually, how did yeh end up a guest of the Royal Magi?” Crumble asked.

“Well, it’s quite the tale, actually,” Celestia said, desperately trying to think of something. “You see, I was, uh, weaving baskets, like usual, because that’s what I do. I weave baskets. Did I already say that? Of course I did. Where was I? Oh yes. I was weaving baskets. Suddenly, there was a, uh… a big, stray cat. Like, a huge one. It was a lion, actually. With horns.”

Crumble listened with fascination. “One o’ Discord’s minions?”

“No. Er, yes! Probably.”

Lucky slammed his hooves into his face with frustration.

“And I’m really good with baskets. Really good. My skill is legendary. I am known all across Equestria as… the famous… legendary… basket weaver. Perhaps you have heard of me?”

Crumble shook his head.

“No? Oh. Well, anyways, this big stray cat appeared-”

“Lion,” Crumble corrected, “with horns.”

“Indeed, with horns,” Celestia repeated. “It appeared and started attacking one of the Royal Magi, who happened to be there, purchasing a basket from me. The Magi, a full-fledged Adept, mind you, was having some trouble, so took the biggest, most famous, most legendary basket I could find, and-”

“Would you look at that!” Lucky suddenly and loudly interrupted. “We have arrived!” He swung passenger doors open, which slammed emphatically into the side of the carriage, before it had even stopped. The guards who pulled it jumped in surprise.

“Such a shame. It really is quite a good story, Crumble,” Lucky said. “She could hardly stop telling it on the way here. She is a regular warrior poet, this one.”

“What? I never-”

“She even promised to knit me a basket!” he snarled through the gritted teeth of a forced smile. He jumped out of the carriage, yanking Celestia along with him.

“Oh, oh yes! Of course,” Celestia said, playing along. “Well, I tire of telling this story, and we have indeed arrived. Perhaps another time, Sir Crumble.”

“Er, yes,” Crumble replied awkwardly. “Perhaps another time. Farewell, then. It was a pleasure meetin' yeh. And Lucky?” he added, “It’s good to see you well.”

“The feeling is mutual, friend,” Lucky said genuinely. “Fare thee well.”

“For now,” Crumble replied, smiling. “You make sure that lady finds a proper physician fer that leg.”

“Of course,” Lucky replied.

He closed the passenger doors. Lucky and Celestia both waved goodbye as the carriage was pulled away.

“What kind of story was that?” Lucky muttered, still waving farewell.

“As if you could do better,” Celestia returned.

“In my sleep.”

“Jerk.”

“Idiot.”

Crumble’s carriage disappeared around a corner, and the two stopped waving. There was an awkward silence.

“Right, well,” Lucky continued, “shall we?”

“Let’s,” Celestia quickly agreed.

They turned and began to walk. They had both moved only two steps before they stopped, each for a completely different reason.

Celestia was stunned by the sheer scale of the palace. It was absolutely massive, and perhaps the biggest continuous structure she had yet seen. Its walls were the highest, its architecture the grandest, its decoration the most ornate, and its towers taller and precariously farther over the mountainside than any around. It was breathtaking.

Lucky was surprised by the ponies that stood to greet them. A pair of curved staircases led to a grand doorway. On either side of the door there stood a pair of stoic-faced guards. In the center was a mare, adorned in a mage’s cloak. Her mane was a faded purple, and her coat a light lavender. She was obviously very old.

“Clover the Clever,” Lucky muttered. The mare tilted her head. When she spoke, her voice, though slow and trembling, seemed to resonate with the wisdom of the ancient.

“Greetings, Lieutenant Break. Greetings, Celestia. I have been expecting you.”

V: No-Leaf Clover

“I have been expecting you.”

“I’ll bet you have,” Lucky muttered under his breath.

“Of course I have,” Clover the Clever said, responding to a statement that there was no way she should have heard. “Thy fame precedes thee, and thy personality even more so.”

Lucky Break fumbled with his words, being caught off guard by her response…

**********

“…Twilight? Are you alright?” Celestia asked.

Twilight’s quill was paused mid-page and, if Celestia was not mistaken, mid-sentence. She eyed her mentor with curious astonishment, who gazed at her in return with a mixture of concern and amusement. Finally, Twilight spoke.

“You… you’ve seen… you’ve met Clover the Clever?” she stuttered incredulously. “Creator of the Ruminatic Technique and the Farsight Spell? Author of ‘Harmony in Hearth and Fire’? One of the Founders of Equestria?”

“I have,” Celestia replied, a coy smile forming on her lips.

“Wow…” Twilight murmured. She leaned back, simply contemplating the implications. The gears of her mind were grinding at maximum speed, Celestia could tell. Finally, she opened her mouth, and released a flood of questions.

“What was she like? What did she say? How did she become Canterlot’s presiding magician? Why wasn’t she Arch-Mage? Did she show you any magic? Did you get to see her perform the Ruminatic Technique?” Twilight gasped. “Did she teach it to you? What was-”

Celestia put her hoof up, a motion that Twilight recognized as a quieting gesture. The princess held a gaze of calm focus on her cup of tea, which was now only halfway full. Her horn lit with a deep yellow-orange, a color that always reminded Twilight of the sun. The teacup began to shake. For a fraction of a second, there seemed to be a small distortion in the air, as if reality itself had been torn. There was a crack, and in the next instant, before her were were two identical cups of tea, both filled the exact same amount.

Twilight was stunned. “I’ve never seen anypony do that before… some have even theorized it to be impossible!”

“It can be very dangerous, my student,” she said gravely. A small smile reappeared on her face. “I only use it when I am particularly thirsty.”

She took a polite one sip from one cup, and again from the other.

“When I met her,” Celestia began before Twilight could ask any more questions, “she was very old. She served as councilor to the unicorn Princess Platinum for many years. When the princess passed, Clover herself was given the opportunity to represent her race. She declined, electing instead to pursue the magical arts.”

Twilight had resumed her furious note taking. The scratch of quill on paper almost seemed like a nostalgic song to Celestia, reminding her of days past, when, to Twilight, she was less of a princess and more of a tutor.

“She was actually the one that proposed the foundation of the Royal Magi, with the purpose of bettering all of Equestria through magic. She was due to become Arch-Mage, but when the war happened, the hierarchy elected somepony with a more war-like skillset.

“Clover was always interested in the advancement of magic, even if only for the sake of advancement. However, she never lost sight of what was truly important.” Celestia looked at her pupil.

“In some ways, you remind me of her.”

**********

“Y-yes, well,” Lucky stammered. He paused a moment to collect himself. “I suppose the nature of our visit is just as plain?”

“No,” Clover replied. “Should it be?”

Lucky was again caught off guard.

“Why hast thou come?” she asked.

Lucky cleared his throat, and took on a formal tone. “I attend at the pleasure of the Royal Magi, who-”

“Pardon my manners, Lieutenant,” Clover interrupted, “but it is not thee whom I address.” She carefully motioned to Celestia with a wrinkled, lavender hoof. “You, my dear. Celestia. Why hast thou come?”

Celestia was momentarily surprised. For the course of the entire journey, she had been traveling as something of an afterthought, a mere objective in the completion of Lucky’s errand. Now, someone spoke to her directly, someone who knew her name. It seemed to bring her down from being an aloof observer to a proper participant.

“I…”

Why had she come? Because of the insistence of another. Because she knew of no other option. Because she was frightened. Did she have a real reason, one important to her? Only one thought came to her mind, but that one sentiment burned brightly with purpose.

“I come seeking truth,” she said softly.

“What’s that, dear?” Clover said, putting her hoof up to her ear. “I prithee, speak louder. Mine ears are old, and my hearing faint.” Lucky rolled his eyes.

“I come seeking truth!” Celestia declared, increasing a little in volume and boldness.

The ancient mare gave a slight nod and a subtle smile. “Good.”

**********

“I want your absolute confidence in this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Upon pain of death, you are to tell nopony.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“I'm serious. Her condition is like nothing you've seen.”

“Pardon? My condition…?”

“I understand. Don't be troubled, doctor to patient confidentiality is of my oath and utmost concern. But if I may be so bold, sir, a moderate abrasion and swelling of the leg is nothing to be ashamed of. Even if my eyes deceive me, I rather doubt you could show me a wound or condition I have not already seen. I have been in the business of medicine more years than even the war."

Lieutenant Break gave the unicorn physician a scrutinizing scowl before speaking again.

“We'll see.” He motioned to the doorway, where a mare stood with a dirty white coat and messy pink mane. She was wearing a hooded, forest green cloak that looked like it had seen better days.

“Your concern is misplaced, Lucky,” the mare said. “I’m sure the good doctor will perform admirably.” Her voice was a pleasant soprano, light and, though perhaps the doctor imagined it, innocent. Even through all the muck and grime, he could not help but notice that the mare was, for lack of a better word, pretty.

The doctor smiled. “Of course, milady. Rest assured, Sir Break,” he continued, turning to the soldier, “that your lady is in good hooves.” He thought he saw the mare cringe at the words ‘your lady’, but she did not say anything about it.

“Indeed,” the mare followed, “you may depart.”

Lucky’s head swiveled back and forth between the two.

“Very well,” he announced, almost haughtily. “My cloak, if you please.” He motioned to the clothing the mare still wore on her shoulders.

“What…?” the mare questioned, surprised at the request. “Yes, fine. Certainly. I have no more need of it.” She unhooked the neck clasp, and flung it off of her back towards Lucky, who deftly caught it with one hoof. She rolled her shoulder blades and slowly stretched her wings, working out the knots of discomfort that came with stuffing them under a cloak all day.

She stretched her wings.

She had wings. And a horn.

The doctor stood in the presence of an alicorn.

He let out a gasp.

“You… you…!” he stammered, staring at the mare, mouth agape. This really was a condition he had never seen. “You…!”

An expression of confused concern grew on the mare’s face. Behind her, Lucky briskly motioned a slash across his neck several times, a signal he knew to beg his composure.

“Doctor?” the mare asked, concerned. The physician shifted his gaze to the pleading magenta eyes of the mare. It was not the frantic motions of the soldier, but the innocent tone of his patient that brought him back to control.

“You… look positively filthy!” he cried, shifting his words to fit his outburst. “Why, such muck is ill-befitting of a lady! Come, let us clean you up.”

He forced a grin at his patient, and then toward the soldier. Lucky eyed the doctor precariously before straightening his chainmail and moving toward the door.

“I'm off to an audience with the Master Clover,” he said, dismissing himself. “If you wish to see her as well, it will have to wait until morning.”

“When will I see you again?” the mare asked. Lucky did not stop.

“I don't know,” he said dismissively. In the tone he spoke, he may as well have added, ‘and neither do I care.’ He went through the door and rounded the corner. His echoing hoofsteps faded into the distance of the castle hall. The doctor and his patient waited until they were completely gone before carrying on.

“Right, let’s take a look at that leg of yours,” the doctor spoke, breaking the silence. “Would you care to sit down?” He motioned to a thinly padded medical bench. The mare hobbled over and sat, offering her leg to the doctor’s care. He began unwrapping the old bandage.

“I don't believe I learned your name. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Celestia,” she murmured.

“Celestia, ‘tis a pleasure,” he said. The doctor waited for her to return the question, but she did not, electing instead to blankly stare at the door where Lucky had just exited.

“I am Doctor Cross,” he introduced, taking the initiative, “but you can call me Red, if you wish.” She did not seem to care. His eyes kept flicking back and forth between her horn and her wings. He still could not believe it… this would not bode well for him…

Celestia’s gaze turned back to him, and caught him eyeing her features. She seemed distraught. He looked away, silently cursing his own foolishness and vain superstition. He was a professional, why was he not acting like it? It took all of his effort and willpower not to ask his patient about her ‘condition’, having both wings and a horn, and being markless to boot. He finished unrolling the bandage, and examined her leg.

He cleared his throat. “The wound is not bad,” he announced, trying to regain a form of composure, “but you have been walking on it too much. I will give it a fresh bandage, but the proper thing for it is rest and relaxation.”

“Yes, of course,” Celestia said politely. “My thanks, Doctor Cross.”

A few silent minutes passed. Doctor Cross dabbed and swiped at the splotches of blood on Celestia’s leg. She winced at the pain every now and again, but remained silent the whole time. The crimson stains drastically contrasted with the white of her coat, but after some effort, the doctor was able to clean it all, leaving only an ugly scab. He wrapped a small bandage around it, and examined his handiwork one final time. He nodded in approval.

“Easy enough,” he said dipping his hooves in a small basin of water. “Stay put, I will go fetch a tub of hot water for you to wash up in.”

Celestia nodded, and watched him leave the room.

**********

Cloak still casually draped across his back and chainmail still rhythmically clinking, Lucky strolled down the castle corridor. His chamber was far from the infirmary, but he did not mind. It gave him time to think, time to plan. Time to sort out everything that was happening. He did not look forward to the inevitable meeting with Master-Adept Clover. It also did not ease his mind that Celestia had to leave his sight. If ponies found out before they were supposed to…

He passed a pair of patrolling guards. They stopped and stood at attention, smartly saluting as he strode past. He nodded his acknowledgement, and walked on, not breaking stride. Even out of formal attire, they recognized him. There was hardly a pony in Canterlot who would not, even if his fame was earned riding on the coattails of a pony much greater. Surely, tales of his feats could be heard now and again, but mostly he was known as the face that always appeared beside the Maiden’s. At the tactician’s table, in rank and file, during parades, and most importantly, in battle. Constantly by her side. Right where he should be.

That was all about to change. He could picture it now. Once the council learned of his survival, they would no doubt name him as Commander. He would elect Apple Crumble as Lieutenant-Commander. There would be a ceremony. Of course, they would all politely congratulate him, thank him for his service, perhaps even tell stories of his conquests. But behind his back, he knew their whispered conversations would be much different. They would all make known their pity for him. ‘Poor colt,’ they would say, ‘what a shame, she was a great commander.’ Rather than celebrating his success, they would mourn his loss, and Lucky would not blame them for it. He would likely do the same thing. His ceremony, he knew, would be every bit as sorrowful as her funeral had been.

He finally reached his suite. He nudged the wooden door open, and stepped inside. It was a rather humble living space, but he counted himself fortunate to have it. Real estate inside the palace was extremely limited, and therefore extremely valuable. It was also rather minimally furnished, but that was of his own doing. There was a dresser for storing clothing, a chest for storing personal equipment, a full mirror, and a modest bed. In the corner was a tub of clear water, no doubt brought by one of the servants after he had requested a hot bath. He dipped an experimental hoof into the basin. It was ice cold.

The only visible decorations were the ornate, purple curtains drawn across the window on the far side of the room. He was actually not in Canterlot very often, and did not mind the plainness of the room. Indeed, sometimes he actually thought he preferred it.

Lucky tossed his cloak away, and it gently floated to the floor. He began working his chainmail off, unhooking clasps and untying straps all over his body. Finally, it came loose and fell to the floor in a great pile of metal and leather, ringing with a series of rapid metallic clinks. He shook his mane, and shuffled over to the full mirror to inspect himself.

He was dirty. His mane was messy, and his coat was unnaturally flat and strangely patterned from wearing armor all day. On the battlefield, it would have been nothing. In Canterlot, it mattered. The citizens were certainly not high-and-mighty, like some ponies were in other, more western cities. Many of these ponies were still the original inhabitants of the area, farmers, laborers, and the like, grateful for their castle but humbled by their origins. Still, when it was possible, they preferred to keep the ‘messiness’ of the war outside of the walls, wanting very much to keep alive the image of a safe and secure mountain fortress.

Lucky met his own gaze. His sky-blue eyes were not the same color they used to be, he realized. Perhaps he was imagining it, but some of the vibrancy seemed to have bled out.

Staring into his own, war-weary eyes, a thought struck him: could he ever really replace Daylight? As a commander, maybe, but he would never fully escape her shadow. The ponies serving under him would always wonder what she would have done, what decisions she would have made. So would the hierarchy, and so would the citizens of the kingdom. So would he.

Even still, he was an able leader, a brave soldier, and a clever tactician.

As a commander? Maybe.

As a hero? As a legend? No. Never. He doubted anyone would ever tell his story. He would be lost in the annals of history, like so many others.

He sighed. Now was really not the time for reflection. He ambled over to his dresser, and retrieved a long haired brush. He had work to do.

**********

“Forgive the delay,” Doctor Cross apologized as he returned. “There was an incident in the garden.” He magically maneuvered a large wooden basin into the room. Curls of steam rose from the hot water inside.

“You would scarcely believe it! There was this big, stray cat…” His words trailed off as he realized he was talking to an empty room.

“Celestia?” he called. There was no response.

**********

“Enter.”

A pair of great wooden doors swung open, groaning with effort and age. On the other side of the entrance stood an unusually clean Lucky Break.

“Lieutenant, thy presence one most welcome. It has been much too long. Thy dress is impeccable. Come closer, I beseech thee.”

He stepped through the enormous arched doorway. It was true. His dress was impeccable. He had bathed, his coat had been groomed, and his mane brushed. Weeks of dirt, sweat, and bloodstains had all been scrubbed out. The only marks of battle the soldier still bore were the irremovable scars and his seemingly perpetual war-face. His outfit was trim and tidy, an official Commander’s jacket colored in a bright red. It served no purpose except to look nice and display rank.

Gone was Lucky, the traveler and escort; now entering the room was the acclaimed war hero, Lieutenant Lucky Break, second-in-command of the Maiden’s Battalion, and second most famous soldier in Canterlot.

“Well met, Master-Adept Clover. May all the Gods’ good greetings be upon thee.”

“Well met, Lieutenant Break, and to thee likewise.”

Lucky continued further into the room. It was big and dome shaped, and his hoofsteps echoed off of the ceiling. Clover hardly ever left Canterlot, but why she got such a spacious chamber was beyond him. Depicted on the rounded ceiling and walls were elaborate star charts, permanently painted into the metal and stone. Shelves lined the edges of the space, filled with books, scrolls, and strange contraptions with unknown functions. To one side, there was a large desk messily covered in papers and notes, and next to that, a small door that went Clover’s living quarters. In the center of the room was a large telescope, elevated on a platform and deployed through a collapsible opening in the roof. This was not merely the Master-Adept’s office and workshop; it was a grand observatory, one of only four in Equestria. Of those four, hers was almost certainly the greatest.

“Thy quarters are as impressive as ever,” Lieutenant Break said, taking on a polite tone and adopting a formal, archaic syntax. He may have held contempt for the Master-Adept, but he let none of it show through. Although it was steadily waning, Clover still held significant sway in both the Equestrian Hierarchy and the Royal Magi. Of the former she had many connections; of the latter, she was the co-founder and a veritable second-in-command. To bathe, groom, and dress was an effort well worth Lucky’s time. Anything to avoid treading on important hooves.

“As is thy bearing,” Clover responded, not actually looking at him. She peered through her telescope, while simultaneously taking notes with a magically levitated quill. “Even at this, the late hour, and after such travel, do thy manners pass well. ‘Twas my fear to find thee in fouler spirits.”

“I am nothing if not well-mannered, Master,” Lucky responded tactfully. Oh yes, he thought, I can play this game just fine.

It was indeed late. A full moon and a sky full of stars were clearly visible through the opening in the dome, casting a soft white glow into the room. If the position of the moon and the dark circles beginning to form under Lucky’s eyes were anything to go by, it was right around midnight.

“I am sure thou didst not come to enjoy my company,” Clover spoke, taking one last note. “Please, Lieutenant, sit.” She motioned to her desk, the same strewn with inky parchment and wrinkled scrolls. “I shall be but a moment.”

The Lieutenant did as he was asked. Clover stepped back from her telescope, and off of the elevated platform. Her horn began to glow with a deep purple magic. The telescope, enveloped in a swathe of telekinetic power, lowered and withdrew, while a large sheet of perfectly shaped metal was simultaneously drawn over the opening in the ceiling. For several seconds, the room was an echoing chamber of metal hinges and rolling wheels. Eventually, it stopped, and the two were left in relative darkness, the only light coming from Clover’s fading magic. Only a moment later, magical lanterns hearkened to an unheard cue, and lit up, illuminating the room in a fluorescent white light.

“Now then,” Clover said contentedly, “let us begin.” She began walking over to her desk.

Everything Clover did was slow, and it annoyed Lucky to no end. She moved slowly, she spoke slowly, and when she did speak, she was slow to find the topic. Lucky was a stallion of action. He was either in a battle, training for a battle, or otherwise making preparations for a battle. Even sleep was a tactically rationed resource, as he allowed himself enough to stay alert, but never over-indulged.

It was a full ten seconds before the ancient, trembling mare had moved to her desk. Inwardly, Lucky was screaming at her to hurry up. Outwardly, he held the poise of a veteran diplomat.

“So, Lieutenant,” Clover said seriously. “How dost thou fare?”

“I… pardon?” Lucky asked, surprised.

“The affliction upon thy face is apparent. Thou dost bear the lines of a pony much older. Such symptoms bode ill for a colt as young as thyself. I shall ask it again: how are you?”

“I am… well, Master,” Lucky managed, struggling to keep his tone. “Mayhap I bear stress, but thou shan’t find a pony that does not, nowadays.”

“Dost thou speak of me?” Clover said. Speaking over his subsequent protest, she laughed and continued. “Fret not, my wrinkles bespeak age. Forged in the fires of wisdom, are they.” Again, she chuckled dryly, the kind of sound only an old pony could make.

The Lieutenant’s composure slipped just a bit, as his expression allowed a subtle twitch of annoyance. “Forgive me, but do we not treat for matters more urgent?”

The Master-Adept frowned. “The young ponies today, always in such haste,” she muttered. “Very well, allow me to… debrief thee.” She said the word with an air of disdain.

She sighed. “Begin thy report.” Lucky cleared his throat, and drew himself up, pulling his Commander’s jacket straight.

“The weapon…” Lieutenant Break began.

“The mare,” Clover corrected.

“The alicorn,” he rephrased, his voice straining. “Aside from a small injury on her right foreleg, she bodes well. She is acceptably fit, if not somewhat weak, and she bears no illnesses. She is not quite the legend the Magi made her out to be, but I am confident that given enough time and training, she will be ready for deployment in-”

“Lieutenant, allow me to halt thy report for a moment,” Clover said, cutting him off rather suddenly for someone who spoke with such slowness. “Thy desire is to make her a soldier, is it not?”

“Indeed it is,” he responded cautiously. “For this purpose was she born.”

“I see,” Clover contemplated. “Has she told thee as much, then?”

Lieutenant Break hesitated. “No, she has said no such thing.”

“Then how hast thou found such knowledge? I know that thou hast gifts, Lucky, I myself have helped hone them. Has mind reading been added to the repertoire?”

Lucky gritted his teeth. “Indeed not.”

“Then again, how dost thou know?”

“A quill’s purpose is to write, and a sword’s purpose is to slay. I do not give thought to ask my blade if it wishes to perform,” Lucky stated confidently.

“Is she a piece of shaped metal, then?”

Lucky stared straight ahead, his expression having reverted to his default stoic scowl. Eventually, he answered.

“No.”

“I see,” Clover repeated contemplatively. “Tell me, Lieutenant Break, how does she fare?”

“It is as I have said, her condition is quite healthy-”

“Not her bodily condition, Lieutenant. As a leader of ponies, surely thou doth understand the importance of morale. How does she feel?”

Lucky let out a small growl of irritation. “Can you not ask her yourself?” he said, his tone less than amiable. Clover cocked a questioning eyebrow at him. Lucky sighed, and again tempered himself to calmness.

“She is confused, Master. Just as they had predicted, she has no memory. I believe she feels the need to prove herself in the face of uncertainty. Earlier today, she tried to fly simply because I spoke in jest that she should not.” Not wanting to add to the incompetency of his ‘weapon’, he did not say how embarrassingly she had failed.

“She is without purpose, Master. I merely aim to give her one.”

“Wrong, Lieutenant,” Clover interjected. “Thou art wrong. She has purpose, one methinks you would fain approve. Seated deep in her heart, she feels the absolute desire to destroy Discord. She will not rest until this very thing has happened, for she cannot. It is impossible. Thou wouldst sooner sleep upon a bed of coals. Her waking mind may not know it yet, but her nightmares shall drive her to the uttermost revenge.”

Clover adopted a distant expression, looking past Lucky at some unseen thing. “’Tis a most unfortunate shame.”

Lucky’s gaze could not have been more intense. “Unfortunate? Shame? Do we speak of the same Discord?” he asked wildly.

Clover eyed him curiously, but he made no motion to pardon himself. “I should hope so. Our kingdom has warred for fifteen years. Mayhap thou art in need of a history lesson?” she calmly teased. “Yes, ‘tis a shame. Or dost thou enjoy nightmares?”

The mask of stoic diplomat had been dropped completely. Behind it was a soldier, incredulous and desperate. Behind it was a pony who reached for the perfect tool, one to solve all his problems, only have his wrist slapped away like a disobedient colt.

“My life is a nightmare! And what would you have her do? Would you have her sit behind the frontlines? Would you have her lounge in the farthest castle in the farthest land, idly wasting her time away? Would you have her, have her find love, and start a family, and, and, and weave baskets? While our armies work and fight and die to protect her against a war we may every well lose?” His voice had risen to a wild, out-of-control roar. He slammed his hooves on the desk. “What would you have her do?”

The giant observatory doors burst open, and in rushed a pair of unicorn sentinels, horns glowing and swords at the ready. Lucky’s gaze swung around to face them. He was panting. His chest was heaving. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. In his anger, he realized that he had stood from his seat and had his hooves firmly planted on Clover’s desk. There were small cracks in the marble.

“Master-Adept! We heard shouting!” one of the guards called. “Is everything alright?”

Lucky looked back to Master Clover. She regarded him with an impassive coolness. It was impressive, considering the size difference between the athletic, powerfully built earth-tribe stallion Lucky, and the frail, elderly unicorn Clover.

“I do not know,” she murmured. “Is everything alright, Lieutenant?”

Lucky shifted his gaze from her, to the guards, and back again. His breathing slowed. He slowly slid back into his seat, dusted off his hooves, sniffed once, and quietly hung his head. So much for courtesy, he thought. All that dressing up for nothing. There were indentations of his hooves imprinted on the desk.

“All is well,” Clover called to the guards. “The Lieutenant and I are simply chatting. You may leave.”

One of them cast a wary gaze at Lucky, who remained silent. “Yes, milady.”

The guards nodded, and their swords slid back into their sheaths. The pair of them exited the room, pulling the doors closed behind them, but not before eyeing Lucky suspiciously once more. The doors closed with a thud.

There was a brief, contemplative silence before Clover spoke.

“I am rather fond of this desk, Lieutenant.”

There was no response.

“You bear a love for your country that few share. Would that all ponies were as passionate as you. Perhaps then, such drastic measures need not be resorted to.”

Lucky did not reply, but he noticed her language reflected a dropped premise of formality.

“I am going to ask you to do something for me. I am going to ask you to think.”

Lucky raised his head and looked at Clover, hesitantly but inquisitively.

“Think,” she began darkly, “about what Discord really is. Think about his true nature. He is anarchy incarnate. He spreads chaos as far as his claws can reach. He frolics in the pandemonium by day and slumbers in the bedlam by night.”

Her tone had become one of teaching, a cross between a tutor and a storyteller. “This war, the one we find so awful? The one that causes the death of so many innocents? The one we fear may never end? The very war that we, with all our hearts and souls, do so vehemently hate?

“This very same war does he love. What is war but civilized chaos? War is his game, and you, Lieutenant, are just another player. Though you are a skilled player indeed, you cannot beat the master in his own theater.”

“What then do you propose?” Lucky said, finally breaking his silence. “Shall we lay down our weapons, disarm our ships, and open wide the gates of our castles?” He tried his best to make his tone even and emotionless, but it still betrayed some residual anger.

“I propose nothing of the sort,” Clover responded matter-of-factly. She rose from her seat, and slowly shuffled towards one of her shelves. “Nor do I berate the bravery of our soldiers. They serve our nation the only way they know how.”

She reached the shelf, and retrieved a device of unknown purpose, and idly examined it. It featured a long, thin metallic tube, leading into a box of curious metalwork and set in a stock of wood. In days past, it had been a weapon. Now, it was a relic. “I merely suggest, Lieutenant, that this war will not be won in a military campaign. The tragedy of Hieyuma, at least, has proved as much.” She set the device back down.

“They were magic-less, powerless creatures,” Lucky declared. “We will succeed where they failed.”

“You are correct, they were without magic,” Clover agreed, “but they were not without power. I saw their works with these very eyes, and they were mighty works indeed. Their ingenuity was unparalleled, their industry was without compare, and their motivation was extreme. Within years of first contact, those clever Hieyumans had a military might beyond measure.

“And yet, when it came time, all of their brave soldiers and all of their ingenious machines amounted to naught. Why is that?”

“I thought I spoke it plain,” Lucky said dismissively. “They lacked the proper magic.”

“I happen to know that you dislike magic, Lieutenant, nearly as much as you dislike me,” Clover said, not with bitterness, but more like stating a fact. “Why then do you put so much faith into it?”

He answered with a noncommittal grumble and looked away.

“Discord cannot be put to the sword, nor shall the gallows ever see him swing. You would find more success in trying to slay a shadow. It simply cannot be done.” Clover again stood from her chair, and began to lecture, pacing back and forth. It was an old schoolteacher’s habit; she outgrew the occupation, but never the routine.

“Of course this put the hierarchy ill at ease; what army can be mustered against a foe that cannot be slain?” she asked hypothetically. “And again, what army can be mustered against a foe that is without mercy, a foe that will not accept surrender?

“No mortal endeavor could save our nascent kingdom, or our precious hierarchy. And so what did they do? They turned to the eternal problem solvers, the Royal Magi. Magic is undefined; its very existence is a science that is very much unexplored.” She paused.

“Trust me, I know. They do not call me ‘Clover the Clever’ without reason.

“In their desperation, the Magi did a very dangerous thing. They assumed. They assumed that in the massive, unseen equation that is magic, there was a solution. They hoped that somewhere, wedged in between the unknowns and only just out of our grasp, was a force that would put everything right. A spell, a savior, a something that would reveal a way to defeat the Madness.”

“Old hag,” Lucky said contemptuously, his previous humility forgotten. “You bore me with stories I have long since been told.”

“Then hear me now, and hear me well!” Clover spoke suddenly. “As a Master Adept and as the oldest hag of them all, I can say this with confidence. Magic is not the weapon. It is the catalyst.”

“You speak in riddles!” Lucky replied with frustration.

“Then you have a new language to learn, don’t you, young Lieutenant?” she retorted with a surprising amount of spirit for one so old. “And it would do you well to learn quickly, because the only two tongues you seem to speak are military strategy and foalish disrespect.”

“Perhaps I am inarticulate, but at the least my vision remains!” Lucky cried. “You lack faith in weapons of magic, crafts of your own art, when not an hour ago walked before you the very exemplar of such things, perhaps the greatest proof one could afford to show!”

“Oh? Mine eyes are indeed failing me then, if I missed such a thing. It must have been hiding behind that frail little alicorn.” Lucky fell silent.

“Tell me, what great feats of magic have you witnessed? What earth-shaking, god-slaying spells have been performed? Have the stars been moved? The mountains made flat, the plains made oceans? Oh happy day, because if so, she has an understanding of the basics, and may move on to learning the magic to defeat Discord.”

Her statement was not particularly loud, but it seemed to echo around the room long after it had been said.

“She will learn. She must.”

“She will not.”

“What then?” Lucky beseeched. “Name the weapon, and I will move earth and sky to retrieve it!”

“It is no weapon,” Clover solemnly spoke, “it is a tool, and it has yet to exist. From a set of base elements is it made, akin to the pieces of a puzzle or, indeed, like the materials of a sword.”

“The elements, then. Where can I find them? And who is to forge such a weapon?”

“Tool, Lieutenant,” she corrected, “A tool. The blacksmith, the mare shall indeed be, but she is not the soldier you believe her to be.” Clover paused, looking at Lucky to see if she had his undivided attention. She did.

“The elements cannot be found, leastwise not in the method you suppose. The pieces are granted, one by one, only to those who are worthy of them. To those who find true Harmony.”

Lucky did not respond. His eyes grew dim, and his expression distant. Clover did not interrupt his contemplation. Finally, he spoke.

“…Harmony?” he whispered.

“Indeed,” Clover answered, slowly nodding her head.

Another moment went by undisturbed. Clover was beginning to think he might see reason, when without warning, Lucky jumped out of his chair, violently scooting it back and nearly tipping it over.

“I can stand no more of this jest,” he bitterly declared. He pointed an angry hoof at Clover. “You preach a religious fallacy that I refuse to hear for another moment. Victory precedes Harmony, and it is victory I will find.”

He turned on his hooves and made for the door.

“All the swords in the world cannot buy you your victory. Would you disregard your only hope?” she called mournfully. “We seek for the same thing. Stay and hear me, or the only thing you shall find is pain.”

Lucky stopped, but did not turn. “I will stay only to hear you confess where Arch-Mage Shimmer has gone. Perhaps she can provide proper aid.”

“Lieutenant Break… Lucky. Please.” It was a delicate plea, trembling and quiet.

“Enough! Your next words had better be directions or a dismissal.”

Clover only responded with a sorrowful silence.

“Bah!” Lucky exclaimed. “A pox on you, old hag. I will find the Arch-Mage one way or another, and it will be my action that saves our great nation, not your lunatic ramblings. Victory comes first. Victory has always come first.”

He resumed his furious departure. He took a dozen steps, and was just outside the doors before he heard another halting question from the Master-Adept.

“Do you remember the Maiden’s last request?”

He stopped in his tracks, this time slowly turning to face her.

“What?” he whispered dryly.

“Daylight. Do you remember her last request?” Her words, though nearly a whisper, rung with the bass clarity of a church bell on Sunday morning. It shook Lucky’s heart with the same vibrato.

He could hear some sort of clamor on the other side of the doors. He ignored it. Clover stood on the other side of the room, waiting for a response. His throat was dry. He licked his lips and swallowed.

“How dare you,” Lucky whispered hoarsely.

Clover titled her head in question, a somber expression still on her face.

“How dare you!” Lucky shouted angrily. “How dare you even speak her name! You! Who would cast away our only hope! Who would squander our resources and doom us to oblivion!” His voice was rough and thick with emotion. “She was my master and commander, and my best friend. She told me in confidence, in private, and you dare ask me if I recall? Who are you to know such a thing? Do you spy on ponies by night with that, that damnable spyglass?” He pointed a quivering hoof to the telescope in the center of the observatory.

It could have been the same outrage as before, but Clover knew better. This was not the righteous fury of a headstrong patriot. It was the mournful cry of a bitter heart.

“The Farsight Telescope is far smaller and weaker than you suppose,” she said calmly, “and nay, I do not use it for such purposes.”

“You lie!”

“You are avoiding the question. Do you, or do you not remember Daylight’s last request?”

“I remember! I remember her damned request! And who do you think you are, to tell me what that was?”

“Lucky,” Clover said, trying to calm him. “Please. I am not one to play foul. You know this.”

“No, I do not think I do. Not anymore.”

“Lucky, she confided in me as well,” Clover said. Lucky had a malicious riposte already forming on his lips, but stopped cold. “Lucky, she asked me the same thing she asked of you.”

He was speechless.

“Understand, I can only do so much. I am old. I am weak. Daylight knew this. But you...!" Clover trailed off, not finishing her thought.

"She confided in me for this very purpose. Your heart is so full of bitterness, Lucky, and she knew that.” Clover gave the Lieutenant a pitiful look. She saw past the athletic stature and the ornate uniform and the earth-tribe soldier who was ready to give it his all. What she saw was a child, a foal, afraid and alone. She knew Lucky hated her for this very reason, that she saw past it all.

“She knew you so well, Lucky. She cared about you, far more than you realize. She knew you would be like this. Such bitterness.” Clover shook her head sorrowfully. “If it is as you say, if you truly remember, why then do you so blatantly disobey?”

“That is… you… you’re not…” he stammered. He again heard something behind the doors, voices speaking to each other. It was distracting, but he paid it no attention. He awkwardly recovered the only way he could: through a retort of animosity. “You know not of what you speak, villain.” His face was a mask of stone.

“The times were few and far between where I disobeyed an order from Commander Daylight. Some of her strategies were difficult, some were even absurd, but they were never impossible. I always had the... good fortune to carry them out and live to tell about it.” He paused. “But three things stop me from completely fulfilling her final utterance.

“First, it was not an order. It was a favor. I am not honor bound to uphold it. Second, she is dead. Her appeal has died with her, and is no longer relevant. Third, the latter half is impossible.”

Clover’s countenance fell with each reason, but the third seemed to crush her completely. “Impossible, Lucky? Surely you do not think that.”

The doors swung open. Lucky did not notice.

“I do, because it is.” His voice rose, laced with furious contempt. “That creature, that alicorn that calls itself Celestia is a tool in the clothing of a mare! She may move to the music, but this is merely a marionette’s farce. Your hoof is steadier, but if you refuse to grasp the strings, then I will. When this war is done, and we are victorious, the kingdom’s gratitude shall not fall upon the sword, but rather the one wielding it.”

Lucky gave Clover a vicious look, who failed to notice it. She seemed to be looking past him, worry etched into her ancient face. This irritated him.

“That mare is a weapon, and naught else!” he shouted.

His voice rang throughout the dome. Clover was aghast. Lucky sneered, thinking he had debated the Master-Adept into silence. He inwardly reveled in his victory. He was ready to announce his departure when he heard a quiet sniffle directly behind him. He froze. How could it be?

He slowly turned around to face Celestia. Shocked sadness was etched into her every feature. Her eyes were red and glassy. Her mouth was opened in distress. She closed it in a doomed effort to mask her sorrow. Tears formed hesitantly in her eyes and rolled freely down her cheeks. She was trying to summon the words to speak, but the only noises she was able to make were stifling, choking sobs.

Lucky’s gaze met Celestia’s. She flinched at the contact. His eyes searched hers, for what, she did not know. After a moment of grievous tension, she shut her eyes as tight as she could to break the stare. She turned and galloped out of the room, repeatedly stumbling on her hurt foreleg. The hall echoed with a poorly concealed lament. Lucky did not call to stop her.

VI: A Poor Wayfaring Mare of Grief

There is a certain kind of freedom in disobeying even the most sensible of orders. Indeed, perhaps the greater the sensibility ignored, the greater the exhilaration achieved. Or so thought Celestia as she crept down the hallway, away from security, medical attention, and the promise of a warm bath.

There had really been no orders involved, anyways. Leastwise, not to her. The doctor had been instructed to treat her injuries, and treat her injuries he had. She saw no need to linger, though she knew she probably should have stayed. But was it really her fault if there was a slight misunderstanding?

The doctor had also, for some reason, been sworn to secrecy over a supposed ‘condition’ of hers. She aimed to find out what that reason was. Had it been her markless flank? Perhaps. She self-consciously fluttered and readjusted her wings, trying to hide as much of her flank as possible. She felt awkward without a cutie mark. It was like she was reliving her fillyhood, wanting very much to be like the adult ponies, but not quite fitting in, if only for the simple fact that she did not have a mark. This was many times worse than that, though, because she was an adult pony. She should have a mark.

She shook her head, amending her mental statement, realizing she could not actually remember her fillyhood.

It had been more than just the cutie mark, though. She uncomfortably recalled the way the doctor had eyed her. It had been more than just a scrutinizing medical examination, it was a complete observation. The way he surveyed her had been odd, unsettling even. She remembered his anxiety, his restlessness, and, though perhaps she imagined it, his fear. The professional mask he had worn was awkward and ill-fitting, and she had easily noticed when it started to slip.

It troubled her deeply. Doctor Cross had been old enough. He was a middle-aged stallion with plenty of experience in the practice of medicine. He had worked before the war had even begun, if his claim was to be believed. Surely his familiarity reached beyond the occasional oddity. Celestia did not consider herself to be very odd, but she may as well have had a second head for all of the doctor’s discomfort.

She appreciated his efforts, in both healing her leg and attempting to keep his composure, but she felt she had to investigate. She just had to. After all, she meant what she said to Clover. She had come seeking truth, and she rather doubted she would find it from the distressed doctor. So, why delay?

In begging the doctor’s confidence, Lucky Break had all but endorsed his reaction. No, Celestia shook her head. Lucky was impolite and ornery, but not even he was that cruel. Even still, he had at least expected the reaction, which meant he knew something she did not. She was seeking him out, and when she found him, she would make him explain. Even if he would not, then perhaps this so-called ‘Clover the Clever’ would. Lucky had told her she was a high ranking member of the Royal Magi. In Celestia’s brief interaction with her, Clover had seemed kind enough, and she supposed that being a member of the Magi made one privy to all sorts of information.

Celestia had no idea where she was going. The palace was huge and intimidating, and at this hour of the night, almost completely empty. The only indication of Lucky’s path was the direction in which the noise of his hoofsteps had faded. She did not know where he was, but she did know where he would be: at an audience with Master Clover. Finding him was a simple matter of discovering where such an audience was to take place, and then asking directions.

She turned right, then right, then right again, because after that last hallway there was no other way to turn. She rounded the corner.

Oh, look, the infirmary!

…Oh. Look. The infirmary.

Realizing she had just walked in gigantic circle, she cursed her stupidity, and tried again, turning back the way she came. She thought to retrace her steps to the entrance and proceed from there, but began to second guess herself. The palace was like a maze, sprawling and massive, and yet in her brief exploration she had not seen a single soul. It was beginning to feel a bit ominous. It did not help that the only sources of light were the infrequent magical lanterns, and the moon’s illumination streaming in through the windows. Both were dim, and cast foreboding shadows. She flinched at the smallest and most inconsequential of sounds. The shapes in the darkness could have been illusive monsters, waiting to grab her. She was tense and restless. Of course, she knew it was foalish to jump at shadows, but that still did not completely dispel that primal fear in the back of her mind.

The empty hall echoed with Celestia’s lonely, cautious hoofsteps against stone. She reached the end of another hallway. Which direction? Left, she decided. No! Straight. Definitely straight. She noticed the palace’s infirmary was quite small, but she also remembered seeing a proper hospital in the city itself. This particular area must have been for emergencies, or important guests.

The thought struck her. Was she an important guest? The idea was not hard to imagine. She was, after all, supposedly a ‘guest’ of the Royal Magi, an organization that, in what little she could glean from her limited memory, was respected and distinguished. Logically, if she was in the company of such important ponies, then she too was important. Guilty by association, as it were.

The hypothetical revelation did not quite rid her of distress, but it did raise her spirits, if only a little. Her fears eased by a small degree, and she stood taller, striding with greater purpose. She tried to imagine that she owned the place. She playfully smiled, and took on a fanciful trot, though nopony was around to see it in the darkness. It was hers, and she was simply out for a midnight stroll. Her subjects would not dare to cross her. Upon life and limb, her guards would dutifully protect her. Oh yes, as a royal, they would call her…

“Ow!” a tiny voice cried.

Celestia let loose a startled, high pitched yelp, and jumped back a full body length as she was forcefully shocked out of her daydream. Something had hit her, had rammed her right in the chest! In the darkness before her was another pony, laying on its side. A thief, perhaps? An assassin? A monster? Her mind reeled with endless possibilities, each more horrible than the last.

Celestia meekly called out, her voice trembling and afraid. “H-hello?”

“Mommy?” the voice returned.

‘Mommy’? Celestia wondered. “Uh, no…” she said cautiously.

The figure stood up on all fours, and advanced. Slowly stepping into the moonlight, she saw it with clarity.

“You’re not mommy!” the childish voice accused. Standing before her was a little pegasus filly that could have been no more than three or four years old.

“Oh,” she sighed, relieved. “Um, no, I’m not.” She laughed, still working the nervous shake out of her mind and body. The peals of her short laughter echoed through the corridor, and quickly faded, almost seeming to be absorbed by the gloom. The hall fell quiet, and the two of them stood still in the natural light streaming in through the window. The silence, to Celestia, was awkward, as the filly just stared at her, not with fear or nervousness, but innocent curiosity. She shifted uncomfortably, and spoke.

“Are you lost?” Celestia’s voice had subconsciously lowered to what was almost a whisper, not wanting to disturb the already silent castle.

“No,” the filly said confidently. The pegasus then shifted her eyes, stooped her head, and kicked at an unseen pebble on the floor. “Maybe,” she mumbled, almost inaudibly.

Celestia smiled. The filly’s helplessness, though hardly different from her own, was almost cute.

“I'm lost as well,” she replied. The filly looked up in surprise.

“You’re lost?” she whispered incredulously. Her expression was one only a child could make. It was the expression seen on the faces of fillies and colts when they learned a new truth about the world, no matter how simple. In this case, it was: grown-ups can get lost, too?

“Mm hmm,” Celestia nodded, “Maybe we can help each other?” Her tone was kind and matronly. The filly stared at her in awe.

“You’ll help me find mommy?” she asked.

“Sure,” Celestia said, smiling. She felt much braver in the presence of the little one. At least one of them had to be confident, and Celestia knew it was not going to be the filly. “What is your name?”

“My name is Cream Sky,” she said automatically, “I live at Radiant Gardens, just east of Canterlot Palace, number two-two-three-one, Floral Way, my mommy is a reh…” she paused, sounding out the word. “Reh-par-ree-zentative on the Council, and my daddy is a soldier in the twenty-first mixed unit division.” She finished with a verbal flourish and a satisfied smile on her face. It was obvious that she had rehearsed this exact response in case she ever needed somepony to help her home. Celestia wondered if it happened often.

“Pleased to meet you, Cream,” she responded. “My name is Celestia.”

“Suh-les-tee-uh,” Cream whispered, experimentally repeating her name. “Ma’am, would you help me find my mommy?” She said it with child-like politeness. The parents of this filly had obviously taught her manners. Celestia would have expected no less from the daughter of a politician.

“I would love to help you find your mother, except I'm lost too,” Celestia said gently. “Do you remember which way you came?”

“This way,” Cream pointed a hoof one way, and then spun around in completely different direction. “No, this way!” She sped away galloping, infrequently jumping and using her tiny wings to glide small distances.

“Wait! Slow down, my little pony!” Celestia called after her. The filly looked back in the spring of a jump, faltered mid-arc, and crashed to the ground with a tumble. Celestia gave a concerned gasp and quickly hobbled up to the wreckage.

“Are you okay?” Celestia asked, reaching out with one hoof to help her up. Cream accepted it, but rose mostly on her own power regardless.

“Yeah,” she said modestly, “Mommy says I go too fast. But I don’t think so. One day, I’m going to be an ace flier, just like dad!”

Celestia laughed. “I have no doubt. You should keep your hooves on the ground for now, though.”

Cream contemplated. “Well… okay,” she conceded, disappointed.

“You can show me your speed after we find your mother,” Celestia said.

“Do I have your oath?” the filly asked solemnly. Celestia blinked. What formal language for such a young foal.

“You have my oath,” she said, mirroring her sincerity. “I will see you fly after this. Though, it may have to wait a day or two,” she added, thinking of the things she and Lucky would no doubt have to do.

“Yes,” Cream said, slowly. “Yes, okay.”

They began walking at a leisurely pace.

“I can’t actually fly,” the filly said suddenly.

“What?” Celestia asked.

“I don’t know how to fly yet,” she said, a tone of deep admission in her voice, as if she were confessing a sin. “My daddy is always away on deployment, and my mommy is always busy, so they can’t teach me.”

“But I saw you fly only a moment ago,” Celestia pointed out.

She shook her head. “No, that wasn’t real. That’s what they call ‘fluttering’. I’m a flutterer,” she murmured, hanging her head in shame.

A flutterer, Celestia thought. At least she can do that.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Celestia whispered. The filly looked up with cautious curiosity.

“What is it?” she quietly asked.

“Can you keep it for me?” Celestia spoke softly, but intensely.

“Yes,” the filly returned with the same tone.

“Will you not tell anypony?”

“I won’t tell anypony.”

“I'm not sure,” Celestia said mock hesitation, the playfulness of it completely lost on the filly. A hidden half smile was on her lips. “Do I have your oath?”

This seemed to make it real for the little pegasus, promising a secret that was both gravely serious and wonderfully exciting. “You have my oath!” she proudly exclaimed. Her shout echoed through the hall.

“Shh!” Celestia put one hoof to her lips. “Nopony must know.”

Cream quickly brought up a hoof to cover her mouth. She nodded. Her eyes were wide.

“Okay, here it is,” Celestia said. Her voice dropped once again to a conspiratorial whisper. Cream listened in with rapt attention. “I don’t know how to fly, either.”

She let out a quick gasp, and covered her mouth again. She eyed Celestia with the same look of childish wonder as before. Some grown-ups can’t fly, too? She slowly lowered her hoof.

“You don’t? Truly?” she asked in quiet astonishment.

“Truly,” Celestia said. “I earned this injury crashing just the same way you did.” She lowered her head to show Cream the bruising abrasion she had earned earlier that day. It was right next to her horn. “In all honesty, my fall was a bit more severe.”

“Wow.” The simple word was slow and drawn out. “Maybe, maybe when we see each other again, we can both practice flying!” she said excitedly.

Celestia smiled. “Maybe.”

They walked on through the moonlit palace. For all her youthful ignorance, Cream held more purpose in her stride than Celestia. She knew without a doubt what her end goal was. This kind stranger would help her find her mother, and then everything would be alright. There was no question. Celestia’s goal, on the other hoof, was much more vague. Find Lucky and Clover, and then what? Talk to them. About what, a doctor with a mild case of anxiety? Nevertheless, they continued on.

Whenever they reached a crossroads, Celestia always went in the direction that Cream chose. They were as lost as ever, but in the spirit of companionship, neither one was uneasy. If they ever were, it was a playful fright, one that never lasted. They talked about each other. The conversation was not very intellectual with one of the participants being a four year old filly, but it was a conversation Celestia enjoyed nonetheless. They talked about their mutual lack of cutie marks. They talked about her mother, who she discovered was actually the representative of the weatherponies, and managed affairs from cities like Cloudsdale and Windsoar. She, and by extension, her daughter, was here at some sort of garden party full of important ponies. A midnight gala, Cream had called it. She had gotten bored, so she wandered off and became lost.

Her father was a sky captain in the Maiden’s Battalion. When Celestia mentioned she had mentioned she knew Lucky Break, Cream’s eyes widened.

“You know the Breaker?” she asked.

“The Breaker? Who’s that?”

“That’s him! That’s his name!” Cream said excitedly. “He’s only the second best soldier ever!”

“Why is he called that?” she questioned. “And why is he the second best?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He breaks things, I guess. And don’t you know?” she continued, “He’s the second best because the best is obviously the Maiden!” Her voice lowered, losing some of its foalish enthusiasm. “Or, she was the best.”

She went silent for a small, contemplative moment before returning to her excitement. “But you know him!”

“Yes, he’s a…” Celestia trailed off, thinking of the proper word. “He is an acquaintance of mine.”

Cream sighed in a dreamy approval.

They continued to walk and talk, not noticing the halls around them get brighter as the hanging lanterns became more frequent. At one point, the two walked past a pair of unicorn sentinels. Celestia gave them a passing but friendly nod, forgetting to ask directions. The two responded to her courtesy with a blatantly awestruck stare. One of them cursed under their breath. The other shuffled away a step, and then another, until he lost all subtlety and galloped away at top speed. His partner followed suit, leaving their post completely abandoned. By the time Celestia remembered to ask for their aid, they had already rounded the corner and were out of sight.

“Wait!” she called after them, much too late. “What is the matter?” she muttered.

“Aw, don’t mind them. They’re just scared of you,” Cream said, waving a dismissive hoof in their direction.

“Scared of me?” Celestia asked disconcertedly. “Why would I frighten them?”

“I don’t know!” Cream said, just as bewildered. “They’re just being big dummies. You seem fine to me. You know, for a monster, you’re really nice.”

An electric jolt shocked Celestia from head to toe, and her blood turned to ice. A monster? “W-what?” she whispered, taking a step back.

“Yeah! You’re not scary at all!” she complimented.

Celestia did not know what to say. She stood and stuttered, trying to force words onto her lips. “Why would I be a, a mon-”

“Cream Sky!”

Celestia was abruptly cut off. The voice, full of both anger and relief, had come echoing from the opposite direction down the hall. They both turned to face it. Cream instantly knew who it was, even before looking.

“Mommy!” Cream Sky instantly launched off the ground, frantically “fluttering” the whole way to the figure that stood at the end of the hall. “Mommy, mommy!”

Her mother braced herself. With a free hoof, she caught her daughter in mid-air and cradled her to one side, slowing her momentum. It was a deft maneuver, one that had no doubt been developed and employed over many similar instances. The mare smiled, and set her daughter down.

“Where were you?” she asked, her smile quickly transforming into a motherly scold. “I told you to stay in the garden!”

“But I was bored!” the filly said exasperated, with breathy emphasis. “And so I left, and I… got lost…” She trailed off. “And then that kind lady helped me!” the filly exclaimed. She pointed an excited hoof towards Celestia, who had already begun to walk toward them.

“Cream, what have I told you about wandering off? And about talking to strangers?” her mother quietly disapproved.

“But mom, she’s not a stranger!” she complained, ignoring the first question. “She’s Celestia!”

By now, Celestia had nearly closed the distance. “Good greetings,” she said politely and formally, completely switching from a motherly tone to a diplomatic one. “You must be Amber Sky! Your little filly is so polite.”

“Oh, certainly, especially when she neglects to do as she is told,” she said, shooting one last glance at her daughter, who bashfully avoided her gaze. “My apologies for any inconvenience she caused. You have my thanks for helping return her.” Amber looked up from her daughter. “You must be Celesti- ah!”

Celestia blinked. “Um, yes,” she said uncertainly, almost phrasing it as a question. “As I said, thy daughter Cream, she is quite…” she trailed off. Amber Sky stood as rigidly as a statue, gazing at her with wide-eyed shock. Her expression gradually became one of true fear.

“Are you… well?” Celestia asked, concerned.

“You-!” she suddenly burst, “You’re-! You-!” Her tone was strange, loud but incoherent, as if she was trying to shout but could not find the words. “Y-yes, I am quite- I mean, we really must be- there was no need to-” Finally, she abandoned her attempt to form a complete sentence, electing instead to voice a short, frightened wail. She scooped up her confused daughter and galloped away at top speed, swiftly spreading her wings and taking to the air, the low clearance of the ceiling notwithstanding.

Celestia was stunned, her body frozen in place. A part of her felt the urge to give chase, to overtake the fleeing pegasus, pin her and angrily demand an explanation. Her injured leg even jerked forward, tugged on by the invisible string of instinct. And yet, the function of her waking mind rendered her completely immobile, still processing this most recent happening in the series of strange events that had been the past three days. There was a threshold, Celestia knew, a barrier that had not yet been breached. Before it, she was composed, rational, and dignified, if not a bit curious. Beyond it…

She shook her head, and the cogs of her mind unstuck themselves.

“Wait!” Celestia cried. She started forward with a half-hearted trot. “I beg of you, wait!”

It was too late, and she knew it. Cream, still firmly secure in her mother’s embrace, managed to crane her head over her shoulder. Looking back, she caught Celestia’s gaze. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment of time, but Celestia could still clearly see a youthful apology. Cream extended a single hoof as if to bid farewell, but before she could wave, the pair of them banked sharply around a corner and disappeared from sight. Nearly as quickly as they had vanished, so too did the frantic wing beats fade into silence.

Celestia limped to the corner, and peered cautiously around it. Of course, there was nothing.

She did not know what to think. The doctor’s reaction had not been unique. Literally the first person she had met had run away out of sheer terror, discounting Cream, who, Celestia supposed, was too young to understand why. She was not the only one. But even she, an innocent four year old filly, had told her she was friendly, but in doing so, proclaimed Celestia to be… what was the word she used again?

A… monster…

Celestia shook herself again. This had to be some kind of sick joke. Someone was setting her up. She was not a monster! If someone were to ask her, she would judge herself to be harmless! A poor, clueless mare in a strange and foreign place, with no friends or family to speak of! At least, that was the way she felt.

She swallowed her sadness, and turned her distress into motivation. She would figure this out. She would discover who was behind this and make them stop.

Lost in her anxious musings, Celestia had not noticed the halls were no longer silent. Now bringing herself back to reality, she heard a sound in the background, the pleasantly persistent din of noise that could only be a crowd of ponies conversing. It was just barely on the hanging edge of her hearing, but she thought she could pinpoint its general location. She strained her ears, and picked a direction.

She moved through the halls with a sort of motion that was only one step above wandering. The calm commotion grew louder and louder, until finally, looking out on of the windows, she saw it. One story below her, on the ground floor, there was a party. It was hosted in a lush garden, brightly lit and beautifully arranged. Rows of neatly planted flowers of all colors perfectly complimented the masterfully trimmed hedges and perfectly aligned trees. In the center was an enormous marble planter box, made into the shape of a sun. The flowers inside were, appropriately enough, sunflowers. The resulting image truly did remind Celestia of the sun, though she imagined the effect was somewhat dampened in the dead of night. Still, the pure aesthetics were enough to ease her distress, if only by a little.

The festivity being held in the garden was of equal quality. A crowd of ponies engaged in various activities, but most just ate, talked, and mingled. Not one of them was dressed in less than their finest. Magical lanterns were in no short supply, being strung to and fro through the open air, leaving every inch of the place bathed in light. Tables and pavilions were set up here and there, each holding some new delicacy or confection. Above it all hung a large banner which read “Midnight Gala”. This must have been the garden party Cream was talking about.

Celestia would have been averse to showing herself at a gathering of such fine ponies, especially since she was unwashed and without clothing, had a certain fine red officer’s jacket not caught her eye. On the edge of the crowd, a stallion moved with purpose, stopping only for brief greetings, politely conversing but obviously not wanting to linger. Could it be? The grey mess was completely absent, and the orange mane had been modestly styled, but the expression could only belong to one pony.

Lucky Break, only a floor below and relatively small distance away, walked towards the far end of the garden and disappeared behind a pair of grand double doors. All apprehension lost, Celestia frantically scrambled to find the staircase and door that would lead her to the garden. She rushed down a flight of stairs and burst through an exit, not even bothering to acknowledge the pair of guards that stood on either side of the door. If they had said anything to her, she did not hear it.

The clamor of the swinging doors drew the attention of some of the closer ponies. A silent murmur rippled through the crowd, echoing her clamor. She did not notice, keeping her eyes dutifully trained on the doors where Lucky had left. He was out of sight, the doors still swinging back and forth from recent use. She slowed her gallop to a brisk, purposeful trot.

She studied the building he had entered. It was the base of a lofty tower, perhaps the one of the tallest there was, which Celestia considered an impressive feat, considering the multitude of imposing towers constructed in the whole of Canterlot. Though it was technically connected to the palace, it seemed oddly isolated from the other structures. Peering through the low clouds, Celestia thought she saw a giant telescope protruding through an opening in the domed roof. So, not just a tower, then, but an observatory. A balcony protruded from one side. On it, a simple spyglass rested on a tripod.

In her haste and divided attention, she did not notice the crowd around her until she gently collided with another pony. It was only a harmless bump, but she returned her gaze to ground level and quickly apologized.

“Oh, forgive me, sir,” Celestia said.

The stallion, dressed in an exquisite blue tunic, gave her a swift, nonchalant glance and pardoned her. His tone was effortless and quick. “’Tis no problem at all, miss…” he stopped, looked back to Celestia, back to his friends, and back to Celestia again. The remainder of his forgiving phrase shriveled and dried in his mouth. Celestia had already moved on.

The crowd’s murmur grew from whispered queries to muttered acknowledgements.

Celestia was curious about the observatory. Perhaps one of the partygoers would not mind a polite question or two? She stopped and picked a pony at random, a solitary unicorn mare lounging at a table, daintily sipping from wine glass.

“Excuse me, milady,” Celestia politely inquired, trotting to the opposite side of the table.

“Yes, dear?” The mare’s voice echoed into her cup, her head tilted back mid-drink.

“Wouldst thou be kind enough to tell me of that tower?” Celestia motioned to the observatory.

“Oh, that?” the mare said, magically swirling her drink and taking another sip. She did not bother to look up. “That is the Canterlot Observatory, and Clover the Clever’s chamber. I suppose that is ‘Master-Adept Clover’ to you and I. A magnificent building in my humble opinion, but the old mare hardly ever comes out. She did not even attend our lovely festivity, though it takes place on her very doorstep! To be fair, she has seen many winters.”

Celestia looked back up at the tower with renewed hope. This was where she need to be. How fortunate!

The murmur of the crowd was growing into a persistent conversation, with a very particular topic. Celestia did not notice.

“For what purpose is the telescope?” she idly added, already half-knowing but not caring all the same.

“The smaller, or larger?” the mare asked. Celestia had not even thought about it.

“Both? Is the spyglass important?”

“The larger is for gazing at the heavens, making maps of the stars, and doing whatever it is old wizards do in their idle time. The smaller,” her voice became the conspiratorial whisper of a gossip, “They say she can see for miles across the land, through wood and stone alike. That she may view scenes and scenery at her leisure. I believe it to be nonsense, but who knows with these mystic types.”

Celestia gave an intrigued hum, and stared back up at the tower.

“Art thou a recent arrival? Thy questions strike me as obvious. My name is-”

Celestia jumped and swiveled her head immediately back down as the sudden noise of shattering glass coincided with a terrified shriek. The table was covered in jagged shards and red wine. The mare wore a face Celestia was all too familiar with.

“You, you are… you are…!”

“An alicorn?” Celestia offered. The mare responded with a shy squeak, and fell backwards over her seat. Celestia rushed over to the other side of the table, and offered a hoof to help her up. She cowered from it, and when Celestia withdrew her help, she frantically crawled away.

The murmur of the crowd was no longer quiet, nor inconspicuous. The background noise had become a persistent dull roar of ponies talking, a few excitedly, some angrily, and most fearfully. There was no ignoring it. Celestia was acutely aware of the collective voice and the subject of its discourse. She just could not believe it. The doctor was one thing, and the mother of a lost child another, but this? She could hear not-so-subtle voices, all talking about her.

“What is that…?”

“This cannot be real…”

“Surely this is a jest…”

A curious crowd drew close, forming in a circle around her.

“…look at those wings.”

“…and that horn!”

“Her flank is markless…!”

They came closer, but still kept a cautious distance. Celestia briefly considered ignoring them, but knew it would not work. There were too many. She walked forward, toward the observatory doors, but the crowd did not part for her.

“…is she?”

“Could it be…?”

“An alicorn…”

“Pardon me,” Celestia insisted at the crowd, toward nopony in particular. Nopony pardoned her. “Please, excuse, me!” No one excused her. “Move!” she desperately shouted. Nopony moved. A foreboding sense of claustrophobia set in. A bead of sweat trickled across her brow. Her pupils dilated, her eyes shot back and forth. The crowd, though not necessarily violent, felt to her like a horde of manticores; not half as deadly, but just as intimidating.

“An alicorn!”

“A monster!”

The crowd seemed to echo this word. “Monster!”

“Get away! Get away, all of you!” Celestia shouted, railing against the multitude. She began to back up. She absentmindedly bumped into the table and knocked it over, spilling wine and breaking glass all over the ground. She fell with it. She thought she might have cut herself on some glass, but was not certain.

“Monster!”

“Somepony call the guards!”

“Monster!”

“Stay away from it!”

“Monster!”

“No!” she cried. “Leave me alone! Go away! Leave me be!” Still on the ground, Celestia curled into a tight ball and shut her eyes as tightly as possible. It was too much. She buried her face into her hooves, hiding it from the terrible collective stare of the crowd. “Leave me alone,” she whimpered. “Leave me alone.”

“Alicorn!”

“Monster!”

“Oi!”

A deep voice came booming across the garden, loud enough to shake the ground, and commanding enough to shock the riotous crowd into silence.

“Yeh bloody vermin, back off! All o’ yeh!” The voice was familiar, but Celestia did not dare open her eyes. The sound of marching hooves echoed in the night, the kind of heavy thud that only military horseshoes made.

“By order o’ the Guard, this courtyard is to be cleared at once! All nonmilitary personnel will depart hence with all haste! Those who do not cooperate will be handled with appropriate force! Leave now!” Celestia heard hooves shuffle awkwardly around her.

“Eh? They’re not bein’ very hasty, are they Captain?”

“No, sir.”

“Lemme be clear, then! The party’s over! If yeh ain’t wearin’ armor, make yerself scarce or I’ll boot yeh the whole merry way to the locker! And I have very firm boots, don’t I, Captain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Aye, gilded in steel an’ set with diamond, they are! So unless yer achin’ fer a new bruise or two, scram!”

The slow shuffle instantly became a mad scramble of hoofsteps fading into every direction. Despite her closed eyes, Celestia could practically feel a pressure lifting as the crowd dispersed.

“Shall I create a perimeter, sir?”

“Aye, Captain, make it so. Nopony gets into this courtyard or the observatory tower without my personal say so. I don’t care if the damned unicorn Princess ‘erself shows up, you tell ‘er to take a hike.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s gonna be a mess o’ onlookers an’ eavesdroppers. Sweep the area, make sure nopony sticks their nose where it shouldn’t be. If yeh find anypony…”

The orders continued, and Celestia stopped listening. She could barely comprehend things as it was. What had just happened? The crowd, all those carefully dressed, perfectly groomed, utterly civilized ponies had just… had just turned on her. Like she was some kind of bizarre creature. Like she was some kind of monster.

She did not cry. She could not. It was not for any kind of inner strength or natural serenity. The shock was just too fresh. A warm front of anger met with a cold front of anguish, the collaboration resulting in a twister of completely muddled emotions. Celestia sat in the very center, but there was no eye in the storm. Her waking mind heard noises, voices, but she either did not notice or did not care.

Eventually, a bass, rumbling voice sounded right beside her ear, rousing her from her coma.

“You. C’mon, yer comin’ with me.”

Celestia opened her eyes to see the stern face of Apple Crumble, scowling down at her. The next half hour was hazy and unmemorable. She was helped up, led to the tower, checked by a doctor for cuts, and asked to remain put. That command, at least, was easy, the shock still immobilizing her. Her hooves could have been chained to the ground for all she knew, or cared. The next thing she knew, she was alone in a small room, reclined on a comfortable couch. In the back of her mind, she seemed to know that she was still in the tower.

“No tears. Count me impressed.” Crumble’s gruff voice came from a corner of the room. Celestia craned her head to see him. He walked toward her, eyeing her as he went. It was not the uncomfortable observation of her unique “condition” she was used to, but rather a kind examination, like a father trying to read his daughter’s emotions.

“So, I reckon you’re no basket weaver,” he rumbled. At this, Celestia actually laughed. It was a short, choking bark of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

“No,” Celestia weakly mumbled, “I'm not.” She let her head fall back to the couch.

Crumble flashed a quick, concerned smile. “I also reckon yer wantin’ to see Master Clover?”

She nodded.

“Are yeh sure? Are yeh well enough?”

Again, she nodded.

“Why?”

It was the dreaded, unavoidable question. Why? Celestia pondered that as well. Why did she have no cutie mark? Why did she want to see Clover? Why did those ponies proclaim her a monster? Why, why, why, why, why?

“I don’t know,” Celestia quietly admitted.

Crumble gave a low, throaty growl. “Yeh make a fine argument.” He paused, and struck a contemplative pose. “Wait ‘ere,” he commanded after a moment of silence. He left the room. Eventually finding the willpower, Celestia rose and examined herself. She was more or less in the same condition she was before, dirty and bruised, plus a few new cuts. Another five minutes went by, and Crumble returned.

“I’ve convinced the guards to let yeh through,” he relayed, “but they also warned me. It would seem Lucky’s not in the best of moods at the moment. Yeh may want to wait.”

Celestia immediately shook her head. “No. Now. I want to see them now.”

“All right, then,” Crumble said, “Right this way.” He motioned toward the door with a hoof, and led the way. They climbed a set of long spiral stairs. With Celestia’s injured leg, it seemed to take an eternity. Finally, they reached the top. Crumble acknowledged the guards, and motioned through at the set of double doors that presumably led to the observatory proper.

“Right through there,” he directed. “Whenever yer ready. I’ll be downstairs if yeh need me.”

Celestia nodded, and watched him walk back down the stairs and out of sight. She looked back to the doors, and took a deep breath. The emotional whirlpool was still raging, but she managed to lock it in the back of her mind, at least for the time being. Now was not the time for doubt; now was the time for answers. Truth was the only thing she could take comfort in. She walked forward, motioning to the guards to open the doors. They did. She did not even have time to step through.

“I do, because it is. That creature, that alicorn that calls itself Celestia is a tool in the clothing of a mare! She may move to the music, but this is merely a marionette’s farce. Your hoof is steadier, but if you refuse to grasp the strings, then I will. When this war is done, and we are victorious, the kingdom’s gratitude shall not fall upon the sword, but rather the one wielding it.”

The voice of truth, the very same truth she had so desired, rang with the timbre of godly condemnation.

“That mare is a weapon, and naught else!”

**********

Celestia paused, listening to the final scratching of Twilight’s quill. She had no idea her student was such a quick writer. The times were few and far between when Celestia had to stop and give Twilight an opportunity to catch up. More often, her reason for stopping was to answer one of Twilight’s questions, which were both insightful and frequent.

Twilight finished, and looked expectantly at her mentor, who was idly gazing out of the east-facing window. It was another few seconds before Twilight broke the silence.

“What happened next?” she eagerly queried. The Princess turned to face her.

“That’s enough for now, I think,” she said serenely.

Twilight was struck with panic. “Princess, is everything alright? What’s the matter? D-did I do something wrong? You can trust me, I promise!”

“Of course I can trust you, Twilight,” Princess Celestia gently assured. “Look outside, would you?”

Twilight hesitantly looked at the window and back to the Princess, who motioned back to the window. Twilight slowly rose from her seat and shuffled towards it. Her legs and back, she noticed, were extremely stiff and sore from sitting in the same, rigid, hunched-over writer’s posture all night. They cracked and popped as she moved.

Peering through the window, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Below them, the mostly empty streets of Canterlot were beginning to fill with some early risers. In the far distance, the eastern mountains stood proudly over the edge of the Whitetail Woods. The horizon was painted with the magnificent orange of a sun not yet risen.

“Oh.” A sudden realization dawned on Twilight. They had been talking all night long.

“I must raise the sun. Afterwards, I must attend to my daily duties.” Celestia looked into the distance, contemplating the day ahead. “Don’t worry, Twilight,” she added after seeing her student’s dejected expression, “we will talk again, soon.”

Twilight eagerly nodded. “I can do more research until then.” She let out an involuntary, poorly concealed yawn.

Princess Celestia chuckled. “Yes, well, don’t push yourself too hard. You’ve been a very busy student.” She rose from her seat, and headed towards the door. “I’ll let you collect your things. You’ve been an excellent listener. I’ve never told anyone this story before, and I just… I just want to say…” she spoke with an uncharacteristic hesitance.

“Thank you, Twilight.” She took a deep breath, and looked back at her student. “Don’t forget to get some rest.”

Her words fell on deaf ears. Twilight was already fast asleep, head and body slumped unceremoniously on the writing desk. Celestia smiled. She returned to her student and gently levitated her onto one of the comfortable couches. She examined her student one final time with a mother’s vigil and a teacher’s pride. For all of Twilights personal accomplishments and professional accolades, Celestia still saw the little filly she had tutored not so many years ago. What a wonderful filly she had been. And here was the Princess of the Sun, a timeless immortal of magnificent grace and untold power, telling her dark, muddled fable of a history to a mare who was practically an infant in comparison to herself. The thought made her giggle.

The Princess of the Sun exited the room, eager to bring forth the warming light to both her kingdom and her beloved student.

Additional Research: The Tragedy of Hieyuma

It was a full week before Celestia extended another invitation to Twilight. During that time, Twilight had regrettably returned to Ponyville, but not without a collection of every single book on the subject of ancient Equestria, all taken from the royal archives. The number of priceless tomes she had borrowed was close to triple digits, a feat that would have been impossible had she not been the Princess’ own student. If somepony else wanted to learn about ancient history, Twilight supposed, they would just have to wait. She had a project to finish.

And what a project it was! What had started as an ambitious curiosity had become both a massive intellectual undertaking and an intensely personal biography. The chance to document the Princess’ own life. What scholars and historians and writers alike would do to take on such a task themselves! And here was little Twilight Sparkle, librarian and student. The challenge this whole project presented made her feel like exactly that: a student. She was constantly learning new things and relearning old ones. Tidbits of trivia, tiny details that had been so easy to miss, accumulated to form the grand, ancient world of Equestria, a world she only thought she knew. If she was at a roadblock before, she had burst through it as quickly and vigorously as Rainbow Dash through a cloud.

In all reality, the Princess’ story, while Twilight enjoyed it immensely, had not provided her with very much new information. It had been interesting, sure, but she did not necessarily need the details of Canterlot’s old architecture, or the process of military succession. In the grand scheme of Equestria’s history, these were minor things. Nevertheless, Twilight’s research was progressing at an astounding rate, considering the standstill she had been at before. She did not understand why, until she sat and thought long and hard about it. What it had provided her was…

…Oh what was the phrase? Twilight mused on it until she finally settled a word. Context. Set in the proper frame of mind, Twilight was able to draw simple connections, ones she had missed before. Of course, connections begat connections, and what she had considered to be minor details had revealed themselves to be vastly important pieces of the magnificent Equestrian puzzle.

Twilight had sequestered herself to her room in the library. During the day, her only company was the poor dragon, Spike, who was running ragged after helping Twilight find books, put them back, cross-reference information, and deal with visitors she herself did not have time to aid. During the night, even the nocturnal Owloysius seemed to tire of her constant work. Twilight stopped for little more than to eat, drink, and sleep, and even those were kept to the minimum required. Her friends were brushed off or ushered away. Twilight Sparkle was not in at the moment. She was far, far away, perhaps not in space, but certainly in mind. She had reached a veritable nirvana, an erudite bliss that could only come from such a zealous pursuit of knowledge.

But alas, all the scholarly fervor in the world could not divine truth without additional written evidence or, in this case, verbal testimony, and eventually Twilight hit another end, stuck on a very particular subject of curious implications.

She was more delighted than a filly on Hearth’s Warming Day when Spike burped a letter from Princess Celestia, inviting her back to Canterlot, and to her study. Twilight was even more delighted to find the Princess had arranged for private transportation, a spacious chariot drawn by four royal pegasi guards. The train would have been tedious, especially with the churning ocean of books that was her travel case. The guards, she could tell, would have preferred otherwise, but they had the discipline to leave their opinions unvoiced.

She left Spike behind this time, in order to keep the library in operation. Neither of them were particularly sorry for it, Twilight reasoning that he could take care of himself as he had many times before, and Spike simply being glad for a break from the research. As the chariot departed, Twilight could have sworn she saw him collapse in exhaustion after waving a weary goodbye. Twilight knew she should have been just as tired, but she felt no such way. No, she was wide awake, academic enthusiasm still shaking her limbs.

**********

The Princess had scheduled the appointment, but had also given a few days’ notice, and therefore a few days of planning. It was she who met Twilight in the study. Celestia nodded to the guards, walked through the doors, and entered the study.

It was as cozy as ever, but this time, there was a slight variation on the theme, courtesy of Twilight Sparkle. The study was comfortable in the same way a library was comfortable. Books were neatly aligned in a tall pile on one edge of the writing table. Beside that was a wheeled cart, generously stocked with texts of all sorts. Textbooks, spellbooks, histories, biographies, dictionaries, guides on military strategy, guides on metal smithing, guides on medieval basket weaving, and atop it all, one very peculiar book on mythology.

Twilight, not one to easily forget procedure, had also prepared a kettle of tea. It rested on a protective cloth coaster, next to two fine teacups. Celestia smiled at such an impressive adherence to tradition. It had no doubt been carefully prepared, added with exactly the correct ingredients, in exactly the correct amounts, mixed in a very specific manner, and heated to just the right temperature. The whole scene positively radiated with Twilight’s organizational touch.

“Hello, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia happily greeted.

“Princess,” she smiled, “Sorry, I am a little early.”

Word for word, it was the same apology she had given a week before, the same apology she always gave. She was always early.

“No need to apologize,” Celestia gently countered. Ah, tradition. “I can see you’ve been doing some research.”

“Oh, just a little,” Twilight modestly admitted.

Celestia walked to the writing table, and took a seat. It seemed Twilight had taken the liberty of replacing her elevated stool with a comfortable, reclining chair. Most likely, it was because most of the time, Celestia simply spoke while her student wrote. Twilight herself still sat atop a lightly padded stool.

“Did you take my advice?” Celestia asked, concerned. Twilight was struck with panic. She knew she had forgotten something!

“What advice, Princess?” she asked frantically.

“I asked that you not forget to get some rest,” the Princess said soothingly, clearly seeing her student’s panic.

“Oh!” Twilight said, chuckling with relief. “Yes, of course I did, Princess.”

Maybe Twilight believed so, but Celestia could see she had not rested an adequate amount, if at all. How else could she have read all these books already, and why else would there have been dark circles around her eyes? Her poor student had a sincere air of eagerness about her, held together only by a unique sort of adrenaline that stemmed from intellectual pursuit. Her whole body seemed to droop with fatigue, but her eyes were lit with a bright readiness.

“Are you quite sure, Twilight?” Celestia pursued, “We can reschedule if you’re not feeling-”

“No!” Twilight interjected. “Um, I mean, sorry. Uh, I mean, no, I’m fine. We can continue.” True, she knew she was tired, and true, they could reschedule, but Twilight was sure her curiosity would not allow her to sleep. By default, all her idle time would be devoted to research, and what fun was there in researching a dead end? Well, some, but not enough.

“Well,” Celestia hesitantly considered, “if you’re certain.” She leaned back in her chair. “Now where were we…?”

“Actually, Princess,” Twilight again interrupted, “I have a few questions before we begin. If that’s alright, that is.”

Celestia smiled. “Of course.”

“Good!” Twilight happily clapped her hooves together. She began shuffling through an intimidating stack of papers. “Now, let’s see… huh, um… not this one… aha!” She triumphantly brought one forth.

“So, to start…” Twilight looked down the page, scrolling through her notes. “Here it is. Earlier, you said that Clover the Clever told you Discord could only be defeated magically, and that even Lucky agreed with her. Right?”

Celestia nodded. “Correct.”

“How did you know that?”

“An excellent question, Twilight,” the Princess said. Twilight smiled, pleased for having asked it. “We learned from the Tragedy of Hieyuma Empire.”

“Also, what, exactly, is the Hieyuma Empire?”

“They were a kingdom, far to the east; the very first to encounter Discord’s hordes, and the very first to fight the War of Madness. The creatures that lived there were very different from ponies. They were magically inept, physically weaker than a pony, and not a single one could fly, not without help, at least. But, for all their downfalls, they made up for it in one area: their unrivaled intelligence.”

Though Twilight would never admit it, she was one of the smartest ponies Celestia knew. Perhaps, given time, she would be the most knowledgeable pony in all of Equestria. Beings of “unrivaled intelligence”; the sentiment struck a chord with her. Celestia could tell Twilight would very much like to meet one.

“Their natural cleverness, combined with an affinity for creation and a dexterity that enabled said creation, made for a unique, frightful ingenuity the world had never seen before, and still has yet to see again.”

“But Princess,” Twilight questioned, “what are they?”

“What were they, you mean,” Celestia corrected. When Twilight tilted her head in question, she followed with, “I’m afraid they are gone, now.”

Twilight drew a short breath. “You don’t mean…?”

“Indeed. The War of Madness drove them to extinction.”

Twilight reeled at the statement. For all her research on the lost empire, she had not once considered that. It was the worst possible fate she could think of, which is perhaps why she had not thought of it.

“Okay, then,” she said slowly, a hint of lament hidden in her voice. “What were they?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Twilight?” Celestia asked. A strange book floated down to the table, enveloped in the Princess’ magic. It came to rest in front of Twilight, who seemed to shy away from it. It was a professionally written, official mythology, or, at least, as official as such books could get. There was a bookmark protruding from the top.

“It’s going to sound dumb,” she protested.

“That’s alright.”

“I don’t think I’m right.”

“Tell me anyways.”

Twilight hesitated for a moment more. Slowly, she flipped the book open to the bookmarked page. She took one distasteful look at it, before looking up to Celestia, who waited expectantly.

“Hummans?”

Celestia expressed a small, sideways smile. “It’s pronounced, ‘human.’”

“Hue-men,” Twilight repeated. After she said it, her eyes grew wide. “So, wait… you mean to say… they… the empire… Lyra was… humans exist?”

Celestia nodded.

“What… but… but how?” Twilight stuttered incredulously.

“The book you have there was made a little over one hundred years ago, but even at the time of its printing, humans had long since become a myth. And not even a notable one if the modern mythology books’ exclusion of them is anything to go by. Actually, I’m surprised you made such a distant connection. How very clever of you!” Twilight would have been flattered, but she was still in shock.

Celestia continued. “In their own language, the word for their species translated as ‘Wise Pony’. Except, not pony. It was a word that denotes their own form. ‘Wise Ape’ I suppose would be a more accurate phrase. In any case, they had a unique word for themselves and their kingdom. However, ponykind, not having much contact with them, and therefore not caring to have correct usage, dubbed them the ‘Hieyumanites’, and their kingdom, ‘Hieyuma’. I’m still not sure where that moniker originated.

“Eventually, for ease of use, the phrase was shortened to ‘Hieyumans’, and then, to ‘Humans’. By then, of course, they were long gone.”

Twilight was speechless. A mythological creature had, at one point, existed. The whole time, she had supposed that they were just a strange, artistic translation of monkeys or apes, made to have shorter hair and bigger brains. How many other beings of myth were more than just imagination?

“How?” Twilight eventually asked. “How do you know?”

“As a part of the token forces Equestria offered in the early days of the war, a detachment of mages were sent to Hieyuma. We knew they would appreciate the magic, however little it was. Clover the Clever, along with Arch-Mage Midnight Shimmer, before she became Arch-Mage, was among them.”

This was almost too much. Clover the Clever, the legendary mage, fought alongside humans, a previously fictional species? The thought was absurd, unimaginable.

“It was at the final battle. The humans pushed the hordes back all the way to the border of fog surrounding the Astral Mountains, the place where the beasts had emerged. They aimed to drive them back into the fog, thinking that it might choke the beasts as it did them. At the least, they thought it would teach them a lesson, make them fear to return, as it were. They were so close, Twilight. So close. The dragons aided them immensely, and even the griffons lent a helping claw. If Equestria had but sent a proper force…”

She trailed off, considering what might have been. “Both Midnight and Clover loved the Hieyumans. They learned their language, practiced their customs, and even made friends among them. Clover was absolutely enamored by their relentless pursuit of knowledge. Midnight was fascinated by their inventions. They were both there, at the final stand, at the tragedy. I was told that they marched bravely, and that they fought heroically.”

Celestia paused, considering her next words. “I was also told that even their most genius of works, and their most brilliant of engineers, could not turn the tide.”

**********

It was mid-afternoon, but it could have been dusk for all of the battlefield gloom. Grey darkness closed in from every side. The miserable clouds overhead exerted an intangible pressure, steadily coasting across the sky in a depressing overcast formation. A fog of war rose from the ground, swirling with mud-borne vapor and smoke. To the east, and perhaps the most foreboding, the black mist brewed and churned in a constant state of unrest. Smoky tendrils of darkness lapped at the ground and seemed to reach menacingly toward them, but the wall never moved. Beyond it loomed the vague outline of the accursed Astral Mountains, barely visible through the barrier.

The misery was pervasive. The cloud barriers that surrounded them were nearly opaque, almost completely blotting out the sun. The only evidence of light was a single bright spot in the sky, and even that was more a symbol of despair than hope. The once grassy field they marched through had long since been turned to a lifeless desert of filthy mud and craggy rock, and though it stretched for many miles on either side, there was a pressing sense of claustrophobia, of suffocation. If ever there was purgatory, the caretakers of such a domain were no doubt closely observing, taking furious notes on how they might mimic this place. The battlefield conditions could be summed up in a single word: depressing.

Why, then, were his spirits so high?

“Company halt!”

Joseph Baker, observing from a small, elevated hill, could hear the distant shout of the commander, ringing clear across the chaotic din. It was impressive, really. After almost a full day of battle, the commander’s barking voice was hoarse and long past its prime, but it lost neither clarity nor volume.

“Ready arms!”

The men responded with vigor. A cacophony of metallic clicks and clacks sounded inconsistently through the ranks as shells were loaded and bolts were closed.

An intimidating rumble shook the ground. Through the fog, beasts emerged, charging with wild bloodlust. Manticores, timberwolves, and minotaurs all rushed in a chaotic wall of tooth and claw. The only crafted steel to be seen was worn and wielded by the sinisteeds, a creature that seemed to be a corrupted version of their pony cousins. They were, in Joseph’s opinion, the most loathsome creatures of the bunch. They were pitch black in color and had a complexion that seemed to be in constant decay. In combination with their insect-like wings and beady, reflective eyes, their perversion of the normal pony form was complete. Even their horns were physically twisted. Joseph knew his opinion was shared by more than a few. As they drew closer to Discord’s more “civilized” areas, he realized they actually made up the majority of the onrushing forces.

“Aim!”

Three rows of vicious weaponry were pointed downrange, the first kneeling, the second standing, and the third staggered behind them. Intermittently placed at fifty yard intervals were large, belt-fed machine turrets, manned by two soldiers each.

“Fire!”

The line erupted into a blaze of vicious, ear-splitting gunfire. Angry bullets flew downrange, forming a metal wall through which there was no bypass. Hot, unforgiving lead collided with warm and, in the sinisteeds’ case, cold flesh. All across the horde, there was an almost uniform shedding of blood and shattering of bones, as creatures of all shapes and sizes fell to the earth. Most were dead before they hit the ground. Cries of agony erupted from those that were not, being silenced a moment later as they were trampled by their vengeful brethren. When the three forward lines were depleted of ammunition, the commander shouted an order, and they practiced a deft maneuver, slipping back to allow another three lines of troops take their place. The raucous carnage continued.

The noise was only muffled echoes in the ears of Joseph, who watched his creations with delight. They were perfect, just perfect. The invention of the modern firearm, in which he had played no small role, was exactly what the Empire needed. The soldiers, those brave, brave soldiers, did the easy part. Point and shoot, and watch the tide turn. What Joseph saw was not a line of warriors fighting a war. He saw butchers, executing the hordes of Discord in the same way they might execute lambs at the slaughter. He saw the abominations bowing, not at the mighty hands of humanity, but at its mighty intellect. At his mighty intellect.

His ears rang in shrill protest, but to him, the high-pitched swan song accompanied the bass explosion of gunpowder perfectly. God’s own orchestra could not produce a more glorious and pleasing sound.

Eventually the symphony died down. The audience’s silence was the greatest ovation he could have asked for. A deep, running crimson trickled into the ground and mixed with the mud before them, the same color as theater roses.

So why then, with the foul weather, filthy ground, and putrid air, was he in such good spirits?

A final crack split the air as a sinisteed, still struggling toward them, was put to rest.

Oh, right. That’s why.

**********

“I don’t understand,” Twilight said. “What’s a… a ‘gun’?”

“It’s like…” Celestia mused, tapping her hoof to her chin, trying to find a proper comparison. “It’s like a cannon. Do you know what cannons are?”

Twilight nodded with hesitation. “Pinkie Pie has a party cannon.” Celestia raised an eyebrow in curiosity, and Twilight elaborated.

“She uses it to create instant parties. It shoots food and decorations and stuff.” She motioned a hoof in an arc through the air to demonstrate her meaning. “It uses magically compressed air at the base, and is activated with the push of a button. The mechanical action releases a lever, which interacts with a pre-prepared magic sphere of compressed air, signaling it to burst, which pushes party materials through the barrel, because that is the only direction it can move. The resulting force, pushed in one direction, is much greater than if it had burst normally. I still don’t know how she controls it with such precision, though…” Twilight caught herself rambling, and took an embarrassing moment to re-rail her train of thought. “Anyways, I know what a cannon is, but… I don’t think I’ve ever seen it hurt somepony, let alone kill them.” She shivered at the thought.

“Did you know Canterlot has cannons for defense?” Celestia asked.

“It does?” Twilight said, imagining the horrible Hieyuman weapons at the disposal of ponykind.

“Well, I should say it had cannons,” Celestia corrected. “They’ve been long since retired. It’s been centuries. They’re still rusting beneath the armory, I think, if you want to take a look later.”

“I will,” Twilight said. Weaponry never really piqued her interest, but this certainly called for an exception. “But I still don’t understand.”

“Imagine if you took Pinkie’s party cannon, and took all the party out of it,” Celestia said, Twilight listening with rapt attention. “Imagine if you removed all of the cake, the confetti, the decorations, all of it. Imagine if you replaced it all with bits of sharp metal, and increased the pressure one-hundred fold. And then imagine if you shot that cannon in the direction of a pony. What, Twilight, do you think the result would be?”

“It would… they would…” Twilight stuttered, grasping at words that would not come. She could properly imagine all of it, save for the end result. Her mind’s eye simply refused to conjure an image. “It would be awful!”

“Indeed it would,” Celestia nodded gravely. She rose from her seat. “Excuse me for a moment.” Twilight watched curiously as the Princess dodged through the maze of books and opened a small chest in the corner of the room. From it, she produced a smaller box, long and narrow, which she brought back to the table.

“I thought you might like to see,” she said, unhinging the dual clasps that kept the box shut. It creaked open. Celestia looked at the contents with a light mixture of mourning and distaste, before turning it towards Twilight. “This is the Hieyuman weapon. A gun.”

Twilight gazed at it, fascinated. Curiously shaped lengths of wood meshed seamlessly with intricate metalwork. Though the exact nature of its design was lost on her, it was obviously a masterfully crafted piece of machinery. She stared long and hard, trying to make a connection between Pinkie’s whimsical party cannon and this deadly weapon. Her heart did not want to, but her intellect got the better of her.

“It’s over a thousand years old,” Celestia informed, “It most likely would have rotted and rusted by now, were it not for the preserving spell on the box.”

The fact that it was an antique did not make Twilight feel any more comfortable around it, a sentiment the Princess seemed to share. Regardless, she continued.

“I was told there were many variations,” Celestia began, “but they all worked on the same principle. If I remember correctly, this was called a bullet.” A brass colored piece of cylindrical metal floated before them, suspended by the Princess’ magic. “It is a form of ammunition, akin to the bolt of a crossbow. They would open a chamber like… this…” a metal rod slid back, slowly and awkwardly, “and load the cartridge in like… like… this,” the bullet was forced into the gun, “and then slide the chamber closed again.”

Celestia struggled with the complicated gadgetry. Telekinesis could technically push and pull in whatever direction the user desired, but such small, delicate motions presented a challenge that frustrated even the Princess. What a strange anatomy the Hieyumans must have had, to operate such a construct. Finally, the bolt slid closed. Celestia sighed.

“The bullet is self-propelled, containing a powder that bursts, not unlike magically compressed air. The tip is then propelled toward a target, with deadly results.”

Twilight had supposed the lead cylinder to be just another component. The metal was no longer than the end of her nose! Surely a sword, or a spear, or indeed, a crossbow bolt would be more deadly?

“We can test it later, somewhere safe,” Celestia told her student, sensing her interest. “For now, let’s continue.” She began to tug back on the bolt, trying to disarm the gun. It was not working.

“Forgive me, it’s been a few… hundred… years!” The gun jerked in Celestia’s telekinesis, and the small room reverberated with a deafening crack, and lit with a bright yellow light, come and gone as quick as lightning. Several reactions happened at once. Celestia yelped, leapt out of her seat, and released her magical hold on the gun, eyes wide in surprise. Twilight shrieked, and fell backwards in her stool, papers flying out of her hooves. A pane of glass shattered on one side of the study. A second later, the guards burst in, spears at the ready.

“Princess!” one of them cried.

Both Celestia and Twilight, not expecting the guards, were startled again, and let out simultaneous shrieks of terror. The guards, not expecting such a response, howled in kind. There was a bright purple flash as Twilight reflexively teleported away from the room.

Royalty, especially those of Celestia’s rank and importance, were never embarrassed or flustered before their subjects. It was unbecoming. However, if ever there was a time when they were, it was now. Celestia explained to the guards, as calmly as she could, what had happened. After they left, she had to hunt for Twilight, who had disappeared from sight. It did not take long to find her, shivering in the castle courtyard below. It took a few cups of tea and many comforting words before Twilight recovered from her shock. Eventually, spurred by the Princess’ suggestion that they call it a night, Twilight insisted they continue.

**********

Joseph took a deep breath and sighed. The thick, battlefield air did nothing to relieve the tension. He was not normally one for such bloodlust, and neither was humanity at large. That was undoubtedly the realm of the beasts that fell before them. Yet the determined faces and subdued, fiery glee bespoke a carnal satisfaction in seeing their vengeance so fully executed. A righteous fury boiled in the heart of every patriot soldier, and enacting justice upon these abominations who so fully deserved it only served to raise the heat. Watching the hordes fall was exponentially inspiring, as the Empire’s armies grew more and more assured of their impending victory.

“Beautiful day for a battle, isn’t it, Midnight?”

Adept Midnight Shimmer looked to her friend and nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes! But I’ll be guessing the beasts do not think so!”

The unicorn spoke with a heavy accent, strange intonation, and incorrect conjugation, but she made her point nonetheless. In fact, Joseph found it quite endearing.

“The sooner we end this affair, the better,” Adept Clover said, somewhat antagonistically. Though she too spoke with an accent, it was much less apparent, and her diction was nearly perfect. She had taken the time to learn the language with greater precision.

“The beasts are deserving it, when they kill so many Hieyumans!” Midnight protested.

“Actually, it’s not, er, whatever that word is, it’s-”

“The Hieyuamns do not fight for vengeance,” Clover argued. “They fight because it is necessary.”

“It’s not-! Really, you two?”

“Speaks the pony who has not seeing her family killed. Discord will feel full wrath of Hieyumans! Right, Joe?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know where you came up with-”

“Regardless, the sooner this battle is over, the better. Right, Joseph?”

Joseph frowned at her statement, but nodded. Clover was actually a few decades older than him, and her wisdom, though outlandish at times, showed for it. “You’re both right,” he said, seeking to defuse the argument. “Soon, this war will end, and we can all go home.”

“And we had agreement, remember?” Midnight eagerly implored. Her young, pleading eyes looked fervently upwards. Even Clover seemed interested in his response.

“Of course I do,” he assuaged. “You can both accompany me back home, and we can all share a pot of my world-famous coffee.”

“I do not want silly drinks!” Midnight protested, “You teach us machines!”

“I must admit, I’m a bit more interested in the science than… hot drinks,” Clover added.

“Oh, but they are one and the same!” Joseph cried. A covert smile appeared on his face, fully knowing the two ponies could not tell if he was serious or not. “How do you think science gets done? Think: you’re cold, tired, and uninspired in the dead of night. Why, with just one cup-”

“Baker!” a voice interrupted. He wheeled around to see the commander, approaching him with a purposeful stride.

He smartly saluted, and the unicorns followed suit. “Commander,” Joseph acknowledged. “What needs fixing? Is it the artillery? It’s the artillery isn’t it? I told them, they can’t fire more than a few rounds per minute! The pneumatics are extremely sensitive, you know. I can’t believe they did it again. You can only put so much strain on such a small cylinder before it’s ruined. To be precise, you can only put-”

“At ease, Baker!” the Commander interrupted, fully aware of the technical rants the engineer could easily slip into. “No, the artillery is fine. More than fine, actually. I never thought I’d see the day, but the hordes are currently in a full scale retreat.”

“A… retreat?” Joseph repeated. In the early days of the war, retreating was something the Empire did, not Discord’s hordes. Even when they began to push back, the beasts fought, very literally, tooth and nail for every inch of lost ground. And now they were retreating? The unicorns behind him seemed to mumble the word as if it were foreign, though they knew its meaning.

The Commander nodded. His expression was stoic, but Joseph could see an excited giddiness was tugging at the seams. “Indeed. And once they reach the right distance, our artillery can-”

As if on cue, the cannonfire in the background became suddenly uniform. Responding to a radio cue, every single artillery gun fired at once. The subsequent downrange explosion was magnificent, loud enough to burst ears, deep enough to shake hearts, and bright enough to compensate for the sun’s absence. Seconds later, a squall of hot wind whipped past them, smelling of gunpowder and smoke. The group took a moment to appreciate the display before resuming.

“That,” the Commander said, pointing to the continuing explosions, “in combination with our guns in the trenches and barbed wire on the field is going to make sure we don’t ever see those ugly bastards again. Our biplanes, AA cannons, and dragon allies make the air an even worse option than the ground, and they know it. I hate to count my chickens before they hatch, but I think this battle is ours.”

They all allowed a moment of victory to wash over them. If this battle was theirs, then so was the war.

The Commander continued. “I want you to stay ready, but at this point, I don’t think we’ll need to make use of ‘Plan B’.”

“I’m glad, sir. I’ll admit, I wasn’t really fond of Plan B.” Joseph said. The unicorns nodded in vigorous agreement. “But what do you need me to do?”

The Commander allowed a smile to creep into the corner of his lips. “Son, you’ve been up for twenty-four hours. The only thing I need you to do is return to the field barracks and get some sleep. You’ll need it for the victory march back home.” He began to walk away. “Oh, and you can take the ponies with you.”

Midnight Shimmer and Clover gave each other sideways glances. It had been longer than twenty-four hours, they knew. They wondered how he was able to so consistently stay awake and stay productive. When they asked him, he had laughed, and told them all about “coffee.”

**********

The field barracks was a large compound of tents, tarps, and pavilions, arranged into neat rows and bisected by roads. Some tents were armories, some were kitchens, some were headquarters of strategy and planning, but most were living spaces, filled almost to overflowing with small bunks and personal baggage.

Night was falling, but the battle raged on. Soldiers slept all hours of the day, keeping the frontlines in good supply of fresh men. Entire battalions would descend upon the camp, fatigued and wounded, wishing their fellows good luck as they headed in the opposite direction.

There was the occasional pony walking about the camp, but they were few and far between. Midnight Shimmer and Clover the Clever had long since gotten used to being a minority amongst the crowded Hieyuman army.

The unicorns’ cots, though small for the Hieyumans, were more than adequate. Their bunks were only feet away from each other. They were surrounded by other Hieyumans of their same battalion, all fast asleep. Joseph was across the aisle, snoring loudly, feet dangling off the edge of his cot.

“Just think,” Midnight Shimmer said excitedly, her tongue running in native Equestrian. “The night will pass, and in the morning, the war will be won! I can hardly wait to study Joseph’s machines.”

On cue, a noisy automobile passed just outside of their tent. To Midnight, the black exhaust smelled like adventure and discovery.

“Yes, well,” Clover began, but paused. It was almost too good to be true. “Let’s hope so.”

“Your hesitance is misplaced,” Midnight chided. “Your caution, too. You and your ‘Plan B’. When would it ever come to such drastic measure? We are winning the war, not losing it!”

“I know, I know,” Clover admitted. “But it never hurts to be prepared. I must admit, I am… saddened to see it end this way.”

“End what way?”

A particularly loud explosion erupted in the distance, sending vibrations through the ground and shaking loose dust from the roof of the tent. Clover sank into her covers a little farther.

“Violently.”

Clover could not see Midnight’s face in the darkness, but they had been friends long enough for her to know when she was upset. The brief silence made it all the worse.

“I can scarcely believe it. Negotiations failed, Clover. They failed!” Midnight whispered. Her tone was angry and frustrated.

“I know.”

“Discord is hostile. His nature is in direct opposition with Harmony itself.”

“I know.”

“Your last resort strategy, ‘Plan B’, revolves around violence. And you are the one who planned it!”

“I know.”

“So how could this possibly end any other way? Have you a pacifist solution more effective than the machines of Hieyuma? An argument of greater pith than indomitable weaponry? Is there a better deterrence to the hordes than the fear of death? Well?” The whisper had turned into a hushed snarl. Some of the soldiers stirred at the disturbance.

There was a sorrowful silence. “I know not.” Clover’s voice wavered with slight emotion. Midnight Shimmer immediately regretted her criticism.

“Oh. Clover, I’m… sorry…”

Clover swallowed and cleared her throat before speaking. “Think nothing of it. War makes cynics of us all. And you’re right. It will all be over soon, and for that, I should be grateful.”

She curled over, pulling her scratchy, army-issued blanket tighter. They did not speak to each other for the rest of the night. Eventually, Clover fell into an anxious sleep, wistfully dreaming of times past, when Harmony was more than an intangible ideal, and when warring nations could be brought to peace with a little heart-shaped fire.

**********

“Joe! Get up, get up! Hurry and get up! Now!”

Something hard was dug into his side and shaking him. It was unpleasant. Only because of his extreme exhaustion was he able to ignore it. The harsh nudging persisted.

“Now, Joe! Now!”

Joseph’s eyes fluttered open, slowly and groggily. There was still sand in them. His limbs might as well have been pulled to the ground by thousand pound weights. It was a pleasurable pressure, one he was not inclined to strain against. He groaned and rolled in his cot. By the light of the dim, hanging lantern, he caught a glimpse of his wristwatch before closing his eyes. Four hours of sleep was not enough…

“Now!”

A pair of hooves smashed into his ribs. His eyes shot wide open, and he immediately clutched his side, groaning in pain. Midnight Shimmer’s frantic, apologetic voice yelled into his ear.

“My sorry, Joe! You must be getting up!”

Joseph struggled against his fatigue, half-heartedly pulling himself to a leaning position. He looked around. The tent was empty, save for Midnight, who looked back at him with wide, terrified eyes. An emergency siren was wailed in the distance. Soldiers shouted. The clamor of battle was much closer than it should have been.

“What’s-” he paused to cough. “What’s going on?”

“No time! Hurry!”

A field of magic enveloped him, and tugged him into the air, and planted him on the ground. He swayed back and forth, unprepared for the forceful handling. Finally, he shook himself, and confusedly began to don his gear, all while interrogating the distressed unicorn.

“What is happening?”

She did not answer. Her impatient gaze swiveled from the door, to Joseph, and back to the door again.

“Are we under attack?”

She looked at him, and nodded.

“When? How? By what?”

She fumbled with words she could not translate, and said something in Equestrian that Joseph could not understand.

“What?” he implored. After another struggle to translate a yet to be translated phrase, Midnight settled on a single word.

“Shadow,” she whispered fearfully.

He had grabbed his plate armor with the intention of strapping into it, but paused. “Shadow?”

The unicorn responded by swatting the armor out of his grasp. “No time, Joe! No time! Hurry fast!” She stretched forth a single hoof and tugged on his hand, urging him towards the door. He was wearing the same light green, battle-worn pants and shirt he had fallen asleep in. The only thing he had time to do was lace up his boots. On their way out, he managed to grab his trench coat. Miscellaneous tools of metal jingled in pockets as he swung it around his shoulders. A small revolver, secured to the inside of his jacket, bumped against his chest, an uncomfortable but reassuring gesture.

There were soldiers rushing in every direction. They were under attack, no doubt about it. Had the hordes actually managed to get past their seemingly unbeatable defense? How was that even possible?

“Where are we going?” he shouted.

“The army!” Midnight replied.

“You mean the armory?” he questioned.

She did not answer.

“Where is Clover?” Joseph asked.

“At the army!”

“You mean the armory?”

Midnight moaned in frustration and continued onward. They frantically weaved through crowds and between tents. The camp was in absolute chaos. They seemed to be trying to organize a proper emergency response, but every commanding officer was shouting different orders, and nobody knew what to do.

They crossed a road. Joseph looked towards the battle’s front. By the light of the moon, he glimpsed what he could only describe as a distinct lack of light. Lanterns and spotlights, no matter how bright, were cut off as a churning line of black approached them. Fleeing soldiers were swallowed and tents were eclipsed. It was more than a lack of light, he realized; it was a strong presence of horrible darkness.

A second later, it was out of sight. He did not have the time to comprehend it. Midnight had noticed it too. Frightened whimpers coincided with her tired panting.

They reached the armory, which was a large tent with one open wall. Inside stood a dozen or so Hieyumans. In the center was Clover, who seemed to be directing them all. Midnight Shimmer immediately ran and nearly tackled her with a desperate hug. She returned the embrace, and they conversed in rapid Equestrian. For all her eager youth, Joseph had never before seen Midnight this scared.

“Clover! What’s going on here?” Joseph shouted. Clover released Midnight from her embrace and looked at Joseph woefully.

“Plan B,” she said. Her tone was not scared or desperate. It was sad.

Plan B? Joseph thought. But that means…

Interrupting his thoughts, a sudden rumbling shook the ground. An enormous purple and green dragon had landed behind them. His head snaked under the canopy. Clover spoke with another rapid bout of Equestrian, to which the dragon responded methodically and, unless Joseph imagined it, apologetically. The Hieyuman soldiers watched in awe and anticipation. They all knew what Plan B entailed.

The dragon finished speaking with Clover, and turned to Joseph. “Sorry,” he rumbled. He reared his head back, and took a deep breath. Wisps of flame leaked from his toothy maw. Midnight clung to Clover, nearly choking the life out of her. A second later, he opened his jaws, and the entire armory was enveloped in a gout of emerald flame.

Plan B was extremely undesirable for two reasons. One, the enactment of the plan meant that they were losing the battle, and that they had fallen upon their last resort. Two, it involved burning to death.

**********

“The dragon… burned them to death?” Twilight asked. “What point is there in that?”

“Yes, it burned them, but no, it did not kill them,” Celestia said. “Think about Spike’s unique ability to teleport scrolls. As he grows older, his fire will get bigger.”

“He’ll be able to send bigger scrolls?” Twilight puzzled.

“Well, yes,” Celestia chuckled, “but there’s more to it than that. When Spike grows up, he’ll be able to teleport all sorts of things. Books, boxes, even small houses, if the fire was big enough.”

Twilight’s eyes widened in realization. “Could he send ponies?”

Celestia nodded. “Indeed he could. But before you get any ideas, Twilight, think about what first must happen. The object must first catch fire, and burn into magical ash. By its nature, green fire is extremely hot, and will eventually burn through even metal. If you wish to teleport a living creature, pony and otherwise, they must first burn to stubble. As you can imagine, it is extremely agonizing.”

Judging by the horrified expression on her face, Celestia saw that Twilight could indeed imagine it.

Celestia continued. “’Plan B’ entailed being teleported via dragonfire to somewhere beyond the Mist. If all else failed, it was their intention to send a team to go behind enemy lines and assassinate Discord.”

**********

Joseph burst into existence. Surprising himself, he landed squarely on his feet. Though the feeling was gone, his skin still seemed to crawl with memories of the brief but horrible pain he had just endured. He fell to his knees, folded his arms, and shivered.

Joseph knew the plan. They all did, even if not much attention was paid at its proposal. Eager for victory, one hundred souls had freely volunteered, including Clover, Midnight Shimmer, and himself. Had the scheme needed more, they could have easily been found. While they offered in earnest, nobody, not the volunteers, the strategists, or even the architect of the plan itself, ever thought they would see it put in motion.

He looked up. Of those one hundred volunteers, only a dozen had actually made it. Of those dozen, only a single one had seemed prepared. And she was nowhere in sight. The soldiers around him were beginning to rise to their feet, shaking and sick from the experience they had just endured. Most of their faces were pale. One of them vomited. Midnight Shimmer was also struggling to rise to her hooves. Joseph shook off his mental anguish, stood, and shuffled over to help her up.

Scattered all around them were boxes of weapons, crates of ammunition, and barrels of gasoline. Unused artillery shells seemed to be in special abundance. To one side of them, only fifty feet away, was a sheer cliff wall.

A dark chuckle reverberated through the open air. It was gentle, distant even, but it seemed to make the air quiver with agitation.

“I thought I smelled smoke,” came a disembodied voice. It held the same distance, but was no less foreboding for it. “And where there’s smoke, as they say, there’s fire. Though in light of my newest, most favorite enemies, I think a new proverb would be in order. ‘Where there’s black smoke, there’s gunfire.’ Eh? What do you think?”

Nobody responded, except by frantically gaining their bearings and scrambling for their guns. Joseph slowly drew his revolver, but did not move. Midnight stood close to him, pressing as hard as she could against his body. She whimpered in fear, and was mumbling something in Equestrian. Joseph did not understand it, but heard it repeat. Was it a prayer?

“Nobody?” the voice said, disappointed. “Okay, how about this. ‘Where there’s green smoke, there’s assassins.’” It spoke viciously.

Again, nobody dared to say a word. The air hung thick with anticipation. Finally, Joseph spoke up. “Show yourself!”

The voice seemed perturbed. “Oh, phooey. You creatures are always so boring.” It made the word drawling and negative, as if being boring were the worst thing in the world. “Always eager to get right down to business.”

There was a flash of light. Joseph wheeled around. Before him stood a being of personified chaos, in more than just form. It was something subtle, as if there were liquid entropy were leaking at the seams, waiting to burst forth and drown them in anarchy. It was frowning in disappointment.

“Strange, considering your business is, in this case, oblivion.” Every gun was pointed at the creature.

“Identify yourself!” Joseph shouted. At this, the creature smiled.

“So rude, Joseph Baker! You stand on foreign soil, and still you give orders! To the monarch, no less!” Its tone was stricken with mock hurt. “Well, I shall forgive your ignorance. Let it never be said I was an unjust despot. And besides, you already know me, I think, name, rank, and title. I am Discord!”

His voice echoed off of the cliff wall, and through the hearts of the soldiers. This thing was Discord. They knew their mission.

“Oh, that was boring, too,” Discord sighed. “Usually there’s lightning and thunder and howling beasts and chocolate rain and all sorts of special effects! It’s a shame you appeared so close to the Sanctuary.”

Joseph took charge. “Form up! On me, form up!” The men, desperate for direction, immediately ran to Joseph and formed a loose line beside him. Midnight backed away.

“Oh, please,” Discord said haughtily. “I thought we could have discussed this. You are usually such rational beings after all.”

“Discord, fiend of the hordes, you have been charged of genocide, torture, and crimes against humanity and nature! Such unlawful and unnatural misdeeds will not go unpunished, and by the order of the Empire, you are to be put to death.”

Discord stared, his expression incredulous. Nearly shattering their already paper-thin resolve, a second later, he burst into a fit of insane laughter, and disappeared in a flash of light. The laughter did not stop. Their gazes swiveled, looking for the source. Eventually, it died down, and there was another flash of light behind them. Set up against the canyon wall, all of the boxes and barrels had been stacked into a giant pile. Discord sat atop it as though it were a seat of sovereignty.

“Oh, woe is me!” he cried melodramatically. “The band of heroes is come to do me justice! I am a helpless target upon my throne!” He swooned in his chair, one claw upon his forehead.

“Enough!” Joseph shouted. “Do you have any last words?”

Discord put a claw to his lips and mimed a zipper closing across them. An actual zipper appeared across them, sealing his mouth closed. Joseph blinked in confusion. Discord shrugged, and reclined in his seat.

“Aim!” The soldiers aimed. “Fire!”

Gunfire erupted from the line. A couple of them had standard issue, bolt-action rifles. Many had submachine guns. One of the larger soldiers held a belt-fed turret in both hands, yelling ferociously as he squeezed the trigger. Joseph aimed his revolver, and fired a shot.

Dust kicked up from the wall, and obscured their target. “Enough! Cease fire!” Joseph yelled after a few seconds. There was silence. The dust hung in the air for an unnatural amount of time. Finally, it settled.

Discord was still there, alive and perfectly healthy, lounging in the same position he was in before.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, unzipping his mouth. “Were you done?”

The soldiers simply stood, mouths agape.

“Yes? Well then, allow me to retort,” he said matter-of-factly. “I will begin my rebuttal by letting you in on a little secret.” He sat upright. “I cannot be killed.”

From the base of the makeshift throne, a box flew open, and a rifle floated out. Affixed to the end was a bayonet.

“I cannot be put to the sword.” Without warning, the bayoneted rifle sailed through the air at supernatural speed. To his left, Joseph heard a throaty gurgle. He turned. It had caught the soldier next to him square in the throat. The man’s eyes went wide with surprise, before lifelessly rolling backwards in his head. He fell.

“The gallows shall never see me swing.” A few of the wooden boxes ripped themselves apart. In an instant, a gallows had been constructed to Joseph’s right, complete with a noose and an unfortunate victim who never even saw it coming.

“You would find greater success in trying to slay… a shadow.” One man turned and ran. The rest followed suit. All of them were fleeing, save for Joseph, who stood rooted to the ground, and Midnight Shimmer, who cowered in a fetal position. There was a sudden, uniform cry amongst the fleeing soldiers, followed by silence. Joseph glanced back. He could see the flat landscape for miles. His men were nowhere.

Discord let loose a vicious cackle. It was maddening laughter, constantly changing in pitch and volume, but never losing its horrible intention. Joseph stood, feeling lost and out-of-body.

“Oh, oh,” Discord began, wiping a tear from his eye. “You Hieyumans, are so… so funny! You try and bring sophistication to weaponry and order to war. You create this dream of chivalry for your people and spur them to action. Does a weapons engineer have a more or less correct view, I wonder?” He tapped a claw to his chin. “I hope you realize, Joseph Baker, that this romantic vision is a fallacy. I know. War is not a noble effort. It is a game, remorseless and brutal. Whatever you think of my warriors, in battle, there are always two lines of bloodlusting beasts, not one. Two beasts ensure a battle. One ensures a massacre.”

Joseph was hardly listening. His mind was working faster than it ever had, trying to work out a solution. He was clever, but he was not invincible. Midnight was crying on the ground behind him.

“Can’t hear me? Overcome by failure? Oh, it’s so terrible when plans go awry, isn’t it?” He paused for a moment, waiting for a response. He did not get one. “Wrong! It’s wonderful when plans go awry! Ah, but I hope not all my encounters turn out to be such utter failures. I don’t want the game to lose its challenge, you know.”

“No.”

“Hmm?” Discord hummed, delighted to finally get an answer.

“You’re wrong,” Joseph numbly said.

“And what,” Discord inquired, a smile on his face, “am I wrong about?”

“It’s not a complete failure. Not yet.” Joseph drew his pistol to eye level, and aimed directly for Discord.

“Again? Well, if you must,” Discord sighed. “Proceed.” He waved his hand across his stomach, where appeared a red and white target.

He set his sights on the dead center of the target, and slowly put pressure on the trigger. Discord rolled his eyes.

“Could you hurry up? This is fun and all, but-”

He was cut off by an enormous explosion. His throne was on fire. A barrel of gasoline had exploded.

“What-?” he began, but as Joseph shot at a second barrel, another globe of fire exploded directly into Discord’s horrified face. From there, the explosions became a chain reaction. He took only a moment to grimly admire his work, before turning on his heels and running in the opposite direction, scooping up a startled Midnight as he went. Artillery shells burst into balloons of shrapnel, while tanks of gasoline blazed into volcanic eruptions of pure heat and fire. It was louder and more forceful than anything he had ever seen or felt.

Joseph and Midnight went unharmed for another miraculous five seconds. He hazarded a glance behind him. The blast was so strong, the cliff had begun to tumble and cave. Anything that had been left undetonated was buried under literal tons of rocks and rubble.

After what seemed like an eternity of retreat, they stopped. The cliff was obscured in a cloud of brown dust. Joseph squinted, scanning for movement.

“It work?” Midnight shakily asked, jumping out of his arms.

“I’m not sure…” Joseph murmured.

“Maybe we should go investigate,” Discord suggested.

They jumped at the sound. He was standing right behind them, steadily peering into the distant cloud, a claw shielding his eyes. As soon as they noticed him, he put a claw over his mouth in mock surprise.

“Oops!” he said bashfully. “Guess not.”

The two backed up in terror. Joseph was left speechless and dumbfounded, not because his last ditch effort did not work, but because he was finally out of tricks. His entire life, he could always rely on his quick wit and blessed fortune to make things go his way. Now, he had nothing.

“Well, it’s been fun, but we really must end this. I’ll be frank. One of you will leave this place alive. I need a messenger to relay something to Equestria, to tell them that they are next. And,” Discord added, “to ask them not to try such a foolish thing again. It really is off-putting. But whom shall I choose?”

He held out a pointing finger and covered his eyes. “Eenie, meenie, mienie, you, Midnight Shimmer,” he declared. “You speak fluent Equestrian. The engineer, here, does not. Besides,” he whispered, switching languages, “you seem much more frightened. Relay that emotion for me, would you please?”

Midnight made no indication that she heard him, her face frozen in a terrified stare.

“But of course, you can stay to watch your friend die first,” said Discord, chuckling darkly. He turned to Joseph, waving a revolver in his claws. Joseph reflexively checked his holster pocket for his pistol. It was gone.

“I know what you're thinking,” Discord murmured gravely. “‘Did he fire six shots or only five?’ Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself,” he giggled, breaking form for only a moment. “You designed this one yourself, right? A .44 magnum, the most powerful handgun out there. I imagine it would blow your head clean off. Now, Joseph, you've got to ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’”

There was a silence. Joseph had no idea what he was talking about. He had only fired three shots. Of course there were bullets in the chamber.

Discord grinned. “Well, do ya, punk?”

Joseph shook his head, half in answer, half in disbelief. No, he did not feel lucky. Discord pulled on the trigger. The hammer cocked and the chamber began to revolve. Joseph closed his eyes in anticipation…

“No!”

The shot never came. Midnight had jumped in front of him, and Discord eased off the trigger. He laughed, and addressed the unicorn in her native language. She responded, shakily, but full of conviction. Discord guffawed at whatever she had just said, but she persevered nonetheless. As she continued to speak, his face became less mocking, and more interested. He responded with something that sounded like a question. She gave an answer. He countered with a proposition. Were they… negotiating?

They went back and forth, until eventually, the frightened Midnight Shimmer nodded her head, and mumbled something. Discord roared with his most frightening laugh yet, and responded with a note of finality. He turned to Joseph.

“Well, well, it looks like you have someone to thank!” he said, pointing to Midnight. “This little mare just saved your life.”

Joseph cast a nervous, questioning glance at Midnight, who looked away with what might have been shame.

“You can both go! Oh happy day, all is well! Well, except for your friends of course, but what can you do?” he shrugged. “Anyways, you had best be off! Time waits for no man, and no mare. Oh! And I suggest you steer clear of your precious Empire. My… friends will have descended upon it right about now. Their extinction is imminent.” Joseph’s eyes widened with panic.

“Lucky you! You get to carry the history of an entire race! You must feel so proud.” Discord sighed contentedly. “Well, my time here is done, and so is yours. I hope I do this right. I’m not quite as experienced as that dragon of yours. Arrivederci!”

Joseph did not have time to respond, as Discord blew a small stream of emerald fire, first at Midnight, then at himself. His lower leg caught fire, and he fell to the ground, ripping at his pants. It was no use. The flame, extremely hot and intensely painful, had already spread to his flesh. He convulsed in agony as it slowly crawled across his skin, and burned his body to ash.

Discord watched their suffering with childish glee.

VII: Cheer Up, Silly

“That’s… awful,” Twilight lamented.

“Indeed it is, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia said, gravely nodding, “War is a brutal affair, and don’t forget it. Only in the most dire of situations, and as the very last of all options, should it be resorted to. It does not matter that our enemies were ‘beastly’. If there were a peaceful resolution, we would have found it.”

Twilight paused, a hesitant question on the edge of her lips. She had to ask. “The humans… are they really all gone?”

Celestia hesitated, choosing her words carefully. Twilight recognized her tone as a cautious, gentle letdown. “There was talk of survivors, ships that sailed across the seas in order to get away from the war, but they were most likely desperate rumors of ponies that wanted to believe there was still hope. Of course, the corners of the map have yet to be filled, but I’m afraid the chances of their survival are quite slim. It pains me to say, but the humans have been gone from this world for over a thousand years.”

Twilight shook her head. “I just can’t believe Discord would do all of that. I mean, he obviously wasn’t harmless, but killing? Torture? The annihilation of an entire civilization? That’s more than mischief that’s, that’s… brutal! That’s insane!”

“Insane. Hmm,” Celestia contemplated the word. “Actually, Twilight, I think Discord was very sane.”

Twilight shot her teacher an incredulous look. “What do you mean?” she asked, her tone disbelieving and slightly accusatory.

“Do not misunderstand me, Twilight, what Discord did was horrible and absolutely wrong. It was no coincidence that one of his many nicknames was ‘Evil Incarnate’. However,” Celestia said, shifting to a contemplative posture, “he was… polite. Very well mannered, outspoken, and quick-witted. He was always open for negotiations, if he thought it would benefit him. Were he a normal pony, he would have been a master on the floor of debate. He was very good at manipulating people by twisting logic and pushing the correct emotional buttons.

“Discord had one goal: to shake the world apart, and bring about absolute chaos. On this, he would not waver. But to get there, he made very specific plans. To us, they seemed disjointed and nonsensical, but they always came together in the end. Patterns, it seems, exist even in chaos.”

Celestia glanced at her pupil, who still could not believe Discord had ever been a diplomat, a strategist, and, most of all, a psychopathic murderer.

“But he seemed so playful!” Twilight objected.

“Yes, he did have his fun,” Celestia agreed. “To him, it was all a game, with pure chaos as the winning condition. But do not be fooled. His deeds go far beyond those of a mischievous prankster. I have often wondered, but it is my guess that he was still weak from the thousand years he spent in stone. Ponyville tasted only the smallest fraction of his power. Had he been allowed his freedom for much longer, it would have been immeasurably worse. I imagine Ponyville would have become unlivable, even with the aid of the Elements.”

Twilight reeled with wonder, a reaction that was quickly becoming a regular occurrence during her sessions with the Princess. There were so many things she never knew she never knew. For a scholar like Twilight, it was humbling.

She had many more questions. What exactly were sinisteeds? Why were the minotaurs working with Discord? What was this “shadow”? Where was Clover when “Plan B” had ultimately failed? Did it fail because she was gone? What became of Joe-seff? She was equally curious about all of them, but none struck her with the same eagerness as:

“What happened next with you and Lucky?”

**********

Lucky took a few quick steps forward, but was met with an invisible wall of indecision. Celestia’s lamenting sobs echoed through the hall, reflecting upon the bitter grief of a broken heart. She tried to smother her emotions, but it was too much, resulting in hushed cries that very clearly betrayed her sorrow.

It was not until Celestia’s irregular hoofsteps had completely faded that Clover voiced her rebuttal. It was not the soft wisdom that Lucky had come to expect from the old mare, but harsh criticism.

“Brute!” she declared. Her ancient voice wavered with angry accusation. “Ruffian! Fool! You immoral lout of a stallion! You stupid, stupid colt!”

Lucky had no answer. He stood motionless, facing away from Clover. His face was unreadable.

“You say she is a weapon. Tell me, Lieutenant, does your sword cry tears? Does your lance seek for meaning? Do you utter nightly assurances to your switchblade, that its heart may stay happy and its edge may stay sharp?” Clover’s tone was dangerous and condemning. “Since you have nothing to say, I should guess not! That sound, Lieutenant, was the keen of a bitter heart, not the soulless clatter of metal!”

Lucky’s only reaction was to take another step forward. He looked as if he were lost in a dream. The guardsponies were standing just outside the door, and though it was their job to remain unfazed, they had completely foregone their stoicism. Never in their life had they seem Clover rail against another pony like this. She was always so calm, and even when it behooved her to chasten another, it was always with a tranquil correction. The guards’ mouths were agape, and their gazes swiveled between Clover, Lucky, and the stairwell hallway the alicorn mare had fled through only a moment ago.

“Celestia will never aid you, now. Were I that mare, I would scarcely bend over to retrieve a lost coin of yours, let alone charge into battle at your command!” Clover’s expression was a vicious snarl. It looked odd on the face of one so old, but was all the more intimidating for it. “If anyone is a tool, it is you. The spread of disharmony by the home’s hearth is no different than by the battle’s front. That is exactly what Discord wants. Unfeeling, uncaring tools!”

Clover began to walk toward the door to her balcony. “You have much to think on, Lucky Break. The Maiden would have condemned such conduct.”

At this, Lucky hung his head, his ears flat. “Get out of my observatory,” Clover growled.

The guards made a hesitant motion toward Lucky, meaning to escort him from the room. Before they could reach him, he legs became unstuck, and he shuffled out on his own accord. His gait was stiff and slow.

The observatory doors slammed behind him. Lucky looked wearily back. The guards shot him mean looks, threatening to forcibly remove him should he not continue moving. He would have returned the anger, but the indignant fire in his belly was burnt out, doused by an ice-cold splash of anguish. Melancholy steam rose steadily from the ashes. He turned away and slowly exited the area.

He felt ashamed. He had just broken the heart of a poor, unwitting mare who had done him no wrong. How could he?

No! She had done him every wrong! There was no greater misdeed that could be done to a pony than Celestia had done to him!

But her sins were committed unknowingly. For that, should he bear a grudge?

Yes! Sins are sins, regardless of the intent! Justice demands.

No. Clemency is requisite for the oblivious sinner. Mercy implores.

But he had no need of mercy! He would not beg the sympathy of Discord’s beasts, nor should he expect it from them. No doubt they returned the sentiment. He was no saint, he was no knight, he was no paladin. He was a soldier. Brutality was his business. Mercy had yet to slay a single enemy. Why should he vest in such a useless notion?

‘Daylight.’
‘She confided in me for this very purpose.’
‘She knew you would be like this.’
‘Such bitterness.’
‘Do you remember her last request?’

Impossible.

‘Impossible? Surely you do not think that, Lucky.’
‘The Maiden would condemn such conduct.’

Lucky reached the bottom of the tower with a headache. Pacing at the end of the spiral staircase was Apple Crumble, anxiously mumbling something to himself. It relieved Lucky to see a friendly face, though he wondered why Crumble was here. Lucky stepped off the stairs, and looked to Crumble.

“I did not expect to see you here. Good greetings,” Lucky said, trying to summon a sense of normalcy to his tone and composure.

“Oh, good greetin’s indeed,” Crumble grumbled back. “Yeh villain, what yeh done this time, eh?”

The insult, Lucky could tell, was not in jest. “What do you mean?” he asked, his composure deteriorating as quickly as he had constructed it.

“Yeh know good n’ well what I mean,” Crumble snapped. “I know that mare didn’t come down those stairs bawlin’ on account of Clover not fetchin’ the righ’ flavor o’ tea. Now, I don’t care if yeh tell me or not, but yeh’d best go an’ apologize, yeh scoundrel. Otherwise, her tears are likely to dehydrate her.”

“You… you don’t…!” Lucky stuttered. “You cannot speak to your commanding officer like that!”

“Yeh’re not my commander,” Crumble growled dangerously. “Not yet. Lieutenant.”

They stared each other down with determined, angry expressions. Eventually, Lucky gave a grunt of furious frustration, and stormed out of the tower, and past the line of guards in the courtyard outside. Curiously, they were all soldiers of the 21st. They cast him scrutinizing looks as he stomped away.

**********

Squinting through a thick film of tears, Celestia had galloped away as fast as her injured leg would allow. She exited the tower, and easily rushed past the line of guards, who stood with vigilant attention towards the outside, not expecting somepony to come from the other direction.

The courtyard exited into one of the palace’s main halls, and from there it was a fairly straightforward path to the palace exit. Some of the ponies from before still lingered, and watched her tearful flight with curiosity, but none of them dared to follow. She burst out of the palace doors, and fled into the city.

It was past midnight, and even most of the late workers had turned in. The streets were calm, save for the disturbance of a single, sorrowful mare. Celestia turned this way and that, weaving in and out of roads and alleyways, following no direction but “away”. Finally, she gave into the pain of her injury and the exhaustion of her lungs, and collapsed in an abandoned alley, and cried.

Her heartfelt lament had reduced to private, choking gasps, but they were no less mournful because of it. What was she? An alicorn, certainly, but what more? A tool. A marionette. A weapon. A monster. She cried harder.

Eventually, she could cry no more. Her tears had simply run dry. An emergency mechanism in her mind has caused had her to go numb, and she suddenly felt extremely tired. Slumping against the cold white stone, she allowed sleep to overtake her, already picturing the maddening, pitying strangers that awaited her in her dreams.

**********

The dream seemed to last forever.

And why shouldn’t-

“Hey!”

**********

Celestia woke with a start. “Huh…?” she wearily mumbled.

“Hey, you!”

Celestia sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around. There was nopony.

“H-hello?” Celestia weakly called. Her voice was small and fearful, terrified at the prospect of company. She could not bear the thought of being tormented by the scorn of yet another pony.

“What are you doing here?” the voice inquired. It was clear and high-pitched, and obviously feminine. A sudden thought struck Celestia. Was she trespassing?

Celestia quickly rose to her trembling legs, and stuttered a hasty apology. “O-oh, please forgive me, I, I just t-thought I could…” she trailed off, as she realized she was apologizing to the empty air. She turned a full circle, and still saw nopony. “Pardon, but where… are you?”

“Right here, silly!” Celestia staggered forward as the voice startled her from directly behind. Celestia lost her already unsure footing, and tumbled to the ground.

“Oops! Are you okay?” A pair of enormous, light pink eyes completely filled her vision.

“O-oh, I-”

“Here, let me help you!” the stranger said. Celestia felt a tingle on her back, and there was a sudden rush of motion. A gust of telekinetic power swept at her off of her legs, brought her to a shaky stand, but not before spinning her around a full circle and a half while in midair. Celestia dizzily steadied herself against a wall.

“Sorry,” the voice apologized, “my magic is a little swirly sometimes. Well, all the times, actually.”

Celestia gently shook her head, blinked the remainder of weariness out of her eyes, and raised her head to view her company. There was nopony.

“Um… hello?” she called.

“Right here!” The response had again come from directly behind her. Celestia again jumped in surprise, and wheeled around. “Tee hee! You’re so funny.”

A young unicorn mare stood before her, younger than even herself. By the lamplight, she could see the mare’s coat, which was a bright cyan. Her mane was a saccharine mix of purple and pink, and her tail likewise. They were both rife with curls and twists. On her front, she wore a white apron, messily splotched like an artist’s palette with a rainbow of colorful stains. Curiously, the unicorn’s horn was somewhat different, though Celestia could not put her hoof on exactly how. Eventually, she realized it. All unicorns had a natural, smooth spiral formation on their horn; this mare’s was positively “swirly”, like two narrowing strands of licorice wrapping around each other.

However, most noticeably of all, featured on the mare’s face was a huge, happy smile.

“Uh,” Celestia dumbly started. She had no idea how to react. “Thank you…?”

The mare’s smile faded, and she gasped. “Wow,” she said in slow amazement. Celestia immediately despaired. She knew that look. The stranger had spotted her wings and horn. Sure enough, her next words confirmed Celestia’s fears.

“You have wings… and a horn!” she marveled. Celestia turned away and dropped to the ground, curling against the rough stone. She did not have the strength to run any further. Let the mare have her fun. She emotionally braced herself. A whimper escaped her lips.

“That’s so amazing!” the stranger exclaimed.

Celestia recoiled, curling tighter against the stone, and…

“Wait,” Celestia cautiously said, raising her head. “What?”

“Yeah! Your wings are so pretty!” she said with delight. “And your horn is so elegant! And your coat… well, it’s kind of dirty, actually. But if we got it clean, boy would it shine!”

Celestia took another look at this new stranger. Though she was no doubt an young adult mare, her tone betrayed a child-like animation, only aided by her small stature. Her smiling expression was a pure distillation of enthusiasm itself.

“You’re not… scared of me?” Celestia timidly asked.

Her smile faded into a look of honest confusion. “Scared of you? Why would I be scared of you?”

Celestia shuddered. “Because I’m…”

“Do you think I should be scared of you?” she asked.

“N-no!” Celestia cried indignantly. “Or… yes? I don't know…”

“Well is it yes, or no?” she demanded. “Should I flee to safety?”

“No, you don't need to need to flee,” Celestia murmured. It almost sounded like a plea for company.

“Do you intend to hurt me?” the mare asked, almost indignant.

“No, I will not hurt you,” Celestia softly replied. “I’ve never hurt anypony…”

“You look harmless to me,” she insisted. Her face scrunched into an expression of utmost concentration as she surveyed Celestia. She had no idea what the filly, no, the mare was looking for. Her scrutinizing gaze played up and down Celestia’s features one last time before she spoke up.

“Yep! Completely harmless!” she happily pronounced, the smile returning to her face. She giggled. “I've decided I don't need to be scared of you. There, that was easy!” She said it as if breaking good news to a best friend.

The declaration felt almost cleansing, the way she had so simply exclaimed it, as if it were one of the world’s simple truths. Roses are red. Violets are blue. Celestia is harmless. She could not believe it was true. Not that she refused to; she simply could not. Her mind did not allow for it. Celestia had been convinced of her status as a something less than a pony.

“My name is Cotton! Can we be friends? Oh, I would just love that!” the mare said. Seeing the dejected look on Celestia’s face, she added, “Oh, or we could just be acquaintances first. You know, wave to each other in town, say hi at the sweet shop. And then I would invite you to my birthday party, and we would chat, and BLAM-O! We’re friends!”

Cotton paused and tapped a contemplative hoof to her chin. “Nah, that takes too long. We should just be friends now. Much simpler.” She nodded with a content smile.

Celestia was stunned. None of what this mare was saying made sense to her. “B-but… but…”

“But what?” Cotton asked. She scowled, and wagged a disapproving hoof at Celestia. “Oh, don’t you tell me we shouldn’t be friends, either. Nonsense!”

Celestia stuttered her response. “But-”

“I will not hear it!” Cotton interrupted.

“But I-”

“Nope!”

“But I’m a monster!” Celestia blurted out, crying and shouting simultaneously.

The shout echoed in the silence. The moment Celestia said it, she deeply regretted it. Cotton was aghast, the smile completely gone. Celestia drooped her head. She really was a monster.

And then, Cotton burst into laughter.

“Oh, you silly! Don’t you know? You’re not a monster, you’re an alicorn!” She giggled and clutched her side, as if it were the most absurd thing in the whole world. The peals of her wholehearted laughter were like clear, ringing bells, practical medicine to the ears and soul.

“B-but… all those ponies… I’m so different. Everypony hates me.” Celestia closed her eyes, and looked away. “He hates me.”

“Because you’re different? That’s not a very good reason,” Cotton said, shaking her head. “I’m different from you. Do you hate me?”

“No, but-”

“No buts!” Cotton interjected. “No buts, butts, or bhutts, which is a traditional griffin candy imported from... never mind.”

Celestia’s weak argument fell by the wayside. Her expression seemed to be not one of acquiescence, but of defeat. She did not agree with the cheery stranger, but had simply given up on arguing about it. She was so cold, and so very tired. Celestia collapsed to her knees, and lay unmoving upon the stone.

“Are you okay? You look cold,” Cotton asked. Celestia did not respond. “The stone is a little hard to be sleeping on. Do you have a place to stay?”

“No, but-”

“No buts of any sort!” Cotton cried. “You can stay with me!” She trotted to Celestia and extended a helping hoof. The alicorn cringed away. She was still conflicted, both with herself and with the thought of being in the presence of anypony.

“Surely you don’t prefer the wet streets over a shelter?” Cotton asked. “Wouldn’t you like to sleep in a warm, cozy bed instead of upon this cold stone?”

“Yes, however-”

“Great!” Cotton rejoiced. “Follow me!”

Another twister of magic lifted Celestia off of the ground and sent her spinning to her hooves. She had no time to protest before a leg wrapped around one of her own and pulled her away. She was practically dragged into the street. Cotton was ecstatic. It seemed extremely out of place, given the circumstances and the ungodly hour of morning.

“You’re going to love it! I can start a fire, and we can roast marshmallows, and tell ghost stories, and you can try my signature candy, and… oh!” Cotton paused, looking over at the speechless, stumbling mare in her grasp. “You probably want to sleep, right? You should sleep. We can do all that stuff in the morning! Although, marshmallows aren’t good as a breakfast, and ghost stories aren’t any fun in the light. Oh, oh! I know! I can tell ghost stories while you sleep! I’ll whisper though. Because you are sleeping, obviously.”

Celestia could barely keep up with her pace, let alone her rapid speech. She was still wondering what a “marshmallow” was. Cotton kept talking, her mouth an endless source of why they would enjoy themselves. To Celestia, it was a confusing but blissful background noise.

Cotton led them to the edge of the city, and then outside of the gate. Celestia was surprised to see a mutual acknowledgement between her and the guards, and was even more surprised when they lowered the gate for her. The guards even seemed glad to see her, a sentiment which she returned full force. She bid them a happy farewell as she led Celestia outside the walls.

When asked by Celestia, Cotton assured her, “My house is just outside the walls. No more room in the main city, you know. It is a small ways, I promise. Oh, this is going to be so fun! We can stay up all night, and talk about stallions we like, and oh wait, you need your sleep. Well, I’ll talk about stallions I like, and you can just sleep.”

Celestia was already practically asleep when they arrived. A smiling Cotton opened the doors to a modest home, and introduced her to a bed that was indeed warm and cozy. Celestia thought she might have said more, but did not know for sure. She lay down, and was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

VIII: Always a Reason

“I hate you. You know that? I hate you so much.”

A dramatic mural of orange and red was painted over the horizon. Magnificent slivers of morning light slipped past the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the eastern mountains, and punctuated the dark sky with the first signs of a hidden sun. Sunrise was always a beautiful ritual and a glorious work of art. Canterlot, high atop the mountains as it was, was the perfect viewpoint. The sunlight would hit the high towers first, and gradually flow downward like a celestial waterfall, slowly but steadily bathing the whole city in golden light. The vista could be seen from nearly anywhere, and the citizens never tired of it. Cool nighttime air clashed with the sun’s warming rays, resulting in a peace and comfort that only springtime mornings could bring.

Lucky Break had no eye for the glory to the east. He stood still, fixedly concentrated on what was, to him, a work of art that far exceeded the beauty of the morning sun. By comparison, it inspired him to many more times the strength, courage, and fervor than the sun ever could. Would that he could weave it into every proud banner that waved above Canterlot. Would that he could put it into words, and preach its gospel to the streets. Would that he could project it onto the sky, and inspire the minds and souls of the ponies nationwide with the similar zeal.

And yet, for all its splendor, and for all its inspiration, to Lucky, it was a symbol of the utmost unhappiness. It filled him with despair and directionless retrospection, replaying a million what-if scenarios in his mind’s eye. It filled him with the kind of anger that the victim of an unjust punishment felt. It filled him with love, loss, and the terrible ache of longing.

It was, carved into a marble headstone, the simple depiction of a rising sun, a replica of Daylight’s cutie mark.

Lucky’s angry snarl faded into an expression of despair and defeat. “I hate you,” he murmured.

The graveyard was silent, save for the peaceful accompaniment of nature gently playing from the trees and shrubs. It was a pleasant place, perhaps the most tranquil in all of Canterlot, set on a plateau that was both high and distant. It was the largest natural area in the city, the rest having been requisitioned for buildings, walls, and towers. Even then, it was small. Most graves were located outside of the walls; only the honored dead were buried here.

The peace was lost on Lucky. His mind broiled and churned with an erratic turmoil of emotions that left him unsure of how to proceed. The only thing that stayed constant was the hurt.

“I… I…” he stuttered, shifting away from anger. “I brought some flowers.” He craned his head back and retrieved a small bouquet of sunflowers, and dropped them unceremoniously to the ground.

“I know it’s a bit late,” he said, tentatively nudging them forward with his nose. “Given the circumstances, I don’t know if it’s even appropriate, but… but what would they say about the Lieutenant who didn’t grieve his Commander?”

A serene wind blew through the cemetery. The leaves trembled, and whispered tranquilly in response. The unbound flowers were pushed a small ways.

“Or,” Lucky said, after a sad pause, “the pony who did not mourn his friend?”

The sun’s infant light eased onto the edge of the plateau, heedless of the stallion’s mourning. Somewhere, a short distance away in the city proper, the Daybringers stood proudly atop a Canterlot tower, dutifully pulling the sun into the sky. It was a ritual that was born long before them, and that would continue long after they were gone. It was a ritual that happened at precisely the same time, every day, for endless years. It waited for nopony.

The brilliance caught Lucky’s eye. He turned toward the rising sun, and immediately wished it were gone. It seemed sacrilegious to display such beauty in the wake of events so sorrowful.

“Daylight,” Lucky whispered, squinting into the light, and then back to the grave. His throat tightened. To his surprise and acute distaste, he felt moisture begin to condense in his eyes. He hurriedly rubbed it away with one hoof.

“If only you were here, Daylight,” he muttered. Lucky again examined the gravestone. It was very simple. A cutie mark. A name and a date of birth and death. In the place of her rank, it held her legendary title. In the place of an epitaph, it held the immortal battle cry of the Maiden’s Battalion.

Daylight
The Maid of Canterlot
27au --- 50au
Victoria intra bellum, Armonia postea.

“If only you were here,” Lucky repeated. “If only you still commanded the great ponies of our battalion, and not I. If only our chances of victory had lain somewhere besides mindless sacrifice. If only you had not died. If only those last words had remained unspoken. Daylight, I… I wish…” He choked on the words.

“Daylight…”

He cleared his throat, and paused, considering his next words.

“If only you were here.”

A sudden gust of wind, stronger than the last, blew through the grounds. It caught the sunflowers and began to carry them off. Caught unaware, Lucky yelped and scrambled to catch them. He was only able to clamp his hoof down on a single one, before the rest were carried away, over and beyond the city. Lucky looked frantically and despairingly after them. They were gone, disappeared into the morning twilight.

He lifted the single flower he had saved, and examined it. In pinning it to the ground, he had crushed the stem, and ripped off a few of the petals. It was now stunted and ugly. He peered at it for another second before throwing it angrily to the ground.

“Oh, this is foolish,” Lucky muttered. “This is foolish. I'm talking to a headstone. Am I some mewling colt, crying for his mother?” His voice was throaty and heavy. “I am Lucky Break, and I will not be held prisoner to pointless emotion. I will lead the Battalion, first to battle, then to victory, and then Harmony, too.”

His voice had lowered to a mournful but venomous growl. “Though I've never been farther from Harmony myself. I have you to thank for that, Daylight. I will do all that is in my power to avenge your death, and nothing more. Justice demands it. I'll apologize to the mare. I'll beg her to aid us. I will put on sackcloth and ashes, and come crawling on my knees if it needs be.”

Lucky paused, not savoring the thought. “But I do not grant favors to traitors and deserters. May your request languish in the uttermost corner of my mind. May it die forgotten.”

He picked up the stunted sunflower, and turned away. “After all, what use is loyalty to the dead?” he bitterly whispered, as if he did not want the gravestone to hear it. The wind blew, and Lucky threw the flower into the air. It sailed away easily into the breeze.

**********

The dream seemed to last forever.

And why shouldn’t it?

There she was again, stuck in the horrible dreamscape that she feared. A million unfamiliar faces came and went. They danced around her, each holding its own unique expression of pity or apathy. Lucky Break appeared, again holding an expression of accusation. She knew it would do no good to speak to them. She was mute, and they were deaf. She knew better than to scream.

She did anyways.

And then, it changed. Something shifted, and somehow, she knew she was elsewhere. In the distance, a shadow flickered to life. It was undoubtedly a living thing that had a paradox quality of both substance and formlessness. She had no idea what, or who, it was, but she knew that she feared it, and absolutely, unequivocally hated it. Its wavering form seemed to crawl towards her. That alone set her heart on fire.

Hatred. Hatred. Hatred.

**********

“Hello?”

A voice drew Celestia out of her sleep. Her head ached.

“Hello-oooooo,” the voice persisted in a singsong tone. “Wake u-uuuuuup!” Celestia groaned a soft objection and stirred, sinking deeper into blankets and sheets.

“Don’t be like that, silly.” Celestia felt gentle nudge, poking her in the ribs. “The sun only comes out once a day!”

Celestia responded by turning away, awkwardly flipping to face the other side of the bed. She remembered the other night. The pony trying to rouse her… what was her name again? Oh yes, Cotton.

“Don’t make me get angry,” Cotton threatened. It did not sound very threatening at all. “I can get pretty angry when I’m angry.” Celestia did not respond. The thought of breaking her blissful half-wakefulness seemed impossible.

“Very well. I warned you.” Celestia heard hoofsteps walking slowly away. She gratefully settled into her covers and rested. Strange, though, since the way she had been talking, she had been sure Cotton would do someth-

“Hiiiiii-YA!” Without warning, the bed was hit with the full-bodied force of another pony. Celestia’s eyes shot open in surprise. Removing her head from under the blanket, Celestia saw Cotton standing above her, a menacing glare in her eye. Cotton raised one hoof, ready to strike. She swung her hoof towards Celestia, who cringed in anticipation. It made contact with her ribcage, and Celestia…

…burst into laughter. She laughed and laughed, rolling back and forth, unable to control herself. Her eyes were shut tight, and her mouth was contorted into a hysteric grin. Piercing jabs of sensation pinched at her ribs and stomach. Was Cotton… tickling her?

“No!” Celestia managed to cry in between uncontrollable giggles, “No! Stop! Stop it! That tickles! Cott-oooooon!” She waved her hooves fruitlessly in the air. The barrage remained undeterred. Eventually, Celestia, hopelessly tangled up in sheets, rolled off the bed and crashed to the floor below.

“Ow!” she exclaimed, a residual smile still fading from her lips. Cotton’s face appeared, upside down. It was more serious than a Canterlot guard’s.

“Tsk, tsk. I told you,” she said disapprovingly. “The things I do for other ponies. Yeesh!”

The disoriented Celestia did not respond, still recovering from the surprise attack she had just suffered. A dumb, confused smile was still painted on her face.

After a moment, Cotton’s expression completely changed, as she adopted a jovial grin.

“Well, you’re awake now!” she said. “C’mon, get up! I have a surprise for you!” She skipped out of the room, humming a joyful tune as she went.

“A… surprise?” Celestia sluggishly asked. She was too late. Cotton was already gone. She must have assumed, correctly, that Celestia had been sufficiently awakened, and was too conscious to go back to sleep.

With some effort, Celestia untangled herself and slowly rose to her hooves. Her blankets fell to the floor like loose bandages. She stretched her wings, arched her back, and looked around. The room she had stayed in was much more visible in the light. Furniture lined the walls and knickknacks sat atop dressers. The walls were made of simple, unpainted lumber. Besides the mess of blankets that lay on the floor, it was very clean. Celestia had been expecting something… more, from Cotton’s home. This seemed too normal.

“Hey!” Cotton’s voice came from the adjacent room, “Are you coming? Hurry up, slowpoke!” Her impatience had come from waiting all of thirty seconds. Celestia quickly gathered up the blankets and heaped them on the bed, silently promising to arrange them later. She exited the room.

“You didn’t fall asleep again, did you?” Cotton called. “Don’t make me get angry! I can get pretty angry when I’m ang- Oh!” She spun around to see Celestia standing right behind her. “Good morning, sleepy-head!” she happily greeted.

“Good morning,” Celestia replied cautiously. She shuffled awkwardly, but Cotton seemed perfectly at ease. “That was quite the wake-up call.”

“Mm hmm,” Cotton nodded.

Celestia frowned. “Why did you…?”

“Why did I…?” Cotton repeated, trailing on the same note.

“Er, why did you… do that?” Celestia asked off guard.

“Because you needed to wake up, silly! The sun is out and the day is here!” Cotton rejoiced. “Plus you were tossing and turning, and you looked real grumpy.”

“The, uh… tickling, though? Why not just push me off the bed, or something?”

“Oh!” Cotton exclaimed in realization. “What better way is there to wake up than with a smile?” She giggled and grinned, as if to prove her point.

By not being pounced upon, for one, Celestia thought. She was about to put her thoughts into words, when she was interrupted.

“What is your name?” Cotton suddenly asked.

“What? Oh, it’s Celestia,” she said, realizing she had not actually introduced herself the night before. A sudden feeling of guilt swept through her. A complete stranger, somepony who had yet to even learn her name, had taken her in. She had sheltered a poor, whimpering monster in her own home. Celestia realized she must have slept on the only bed in entire house, if her quick sweep of the main room was accurate. There was a door to the bedroom, a door to a bathroom, and a door to go outside. Sure enough, on the floor in one corner of the room was a pillow and blanket, no doubt the makeshift bed that Cotton had slept in. Celestia ears flattened, and she hung her head in shame.

“Well my name is Cotton!” she exclaimed, leaving no room for Celestia’s despair. “And I am so lucky! Do you know why? Guess. No, I’ll just tell you! It's because I've made a new friend!” She smiled, and put a friendly arm around Celestia’s neck.

“Oh! That friend I just mentioned is you. You’re my new friend,” she whispered into Celestia’s ear. “I don’t know if I said that or not.”

Celestia quickly shook her head, clearing her sadness. “Well, no,” she said, “but I guessed.”

“You guessed?” Cotton said. “Of course you did! You are so smart.”

Celestia allowed a confused but genuine grin creep onto her face. The young mare was so cheerful! Elation practically leaked from her very being. Her happiness was infectious; when Cotton was smiling, and she smiled quite often, it triggered a nearly involuntary impulse to mirror her. When she was laughing, the sound seemed to hit ponies and echo right back, bouncing off of them with twice the strength.

“You said you had a surprise for me?” Celestia asked, seeking to move the conversation along.

“Oh, did I?” Cotton said. “I did, didn’t I! What was it again?” She sat on the floor and squinted at the ceiling in deep thought. Meanwhile Celestia wandered around the small cabin, though there was not much to see. The main room housed a small kitchen, a table with two chairs, and a plush chair that seemed to be the only padded furniture in the house besides the bed. On one wall, there was a full length mirror. The word ‘You!’ was carved into the wooden frame at the top.

Cotton dashed over to a kitchen cupboard. “Let’s see… it wasn’t that… or that…” she mumbled, pulling out an assortment of increasingly random items. Pots, pans, and miscellaneous things that had nothing to do with a kitchen sailed past Celestia, who had to dodge out of the way.

“No… no… heavens, no…” A candlestick, cloth mittens, and an eyepatch bounced to the floor. “Oh! Hey! I’ve been looking for this!” Cotton exclaimed, pulling out flexible rubber chicken. “But it’s not the surprise…” she tossed it away. It flew through an open window.

Celestia walked over to the bathroom door, and peered around the corner. Inside, she saw the most heavenly thing in the world: a basin of clean, hot water. Steam rose in curling wisps that seemed to beckon to her. She looked at herself, and back at the water. She could really use a bath. She almost stepped right in, before realizing it would be impolite to do so without asking.

“Cotton? Ow,” Celestia said as a ball of yarn hit her nose.

“Yes?” Cotton sang distractedly.

“I'm hesitant to ask, but may I use your bath? My coat is quite dirty, and-”

“That’s it!” Cotton cried. “Yes, you can take a bath! Of course you can! That’s the surprise!” Cotton rushed to Celestia, and ushered her to the bathroom.

“I can scarcely believe I forgot. Silly me! Anyways, here’s a towel,” she said, seemingly procuring a towel from nowhere, “and a brush, and a comb, and some shampoo, and a loofah! Loofah. Loofah. Loooooofah. Here’s a bathrobe, and some bath salts, and some bath bubbles, and some bubbly salt, and some food coloring, and of course, a scented candle. Did I give you shampoo already? Here’s some shampoo. Lllllloofah.”

“Th-thank you, Cotton,” Celestia said, her words muffled behind a leaning tower of bath supplies.

“You are welcome, Celestia! That’s what friends are for!” Cotton said, nudging Celestia with a wink. “Would you like any help?”

“No thank you,” Celestia managed. “I am fine for now.” One of the five loofahs fell off the pile. Cotton caught it with her magic, and sent it spinning back to the top.

“Okay! Call for me if you need anything, friend!” Cotton said, smiling. With that, she closed the door, and left Celestia to herself.

With a great sigh, Celestia dropped her pile into a heap on the floor. Without another thought, she slipped into the tub. She hissed in pain as the water touched her wounds, but soon she was comfortably submerged. She could imagine nothing in the world that could compare to the cleansing heat of the bath. For a long time, she forgot about cleaning herself, instead simply allowing herself to soak. Eventually, she forgot about everything: her bad dreams, the ponies at the party, and especially Lucky.

**********

Celestia stepped out of the room, clothed in a dripping, purple bathrobe. Tiny trails of residual steam followed her like smoke on dying fire. Cotton, hearing Celestia from the bedroom, skipped into the main room to see her.

“Did you love it?” Cotton asked eagerly. Celestia smiled, and shook off her bathrobe in response. Her coat, though still somewhat damp, was perfectly clean, shining with a gloss that had hitherto unseen. Her mane was unstuck and freely flowing. Cotton gasped dramatically, though Celestia got the impression she did not think it dramatic.

“You look beautiful!” she said. “Like an angel!”

“Oh, I doubt-” Celestia began modestly, but was cut off.

“Except your mane.”

Celestia blinked. “What?”

“Your mane!” Cotton said, pointing a hoof toward Celestia’s pink, flowing hair. “You forgot to brush it! I could have sworn I gave you a brush.” She made a motion towards the cabinet.

“Yes!” Celestia said, stopping her before she could try to search for it. “You gave me a brush, but it’s made for unicorns. I… can’t properly reach my mane with it.” She produced a brush with a handle that was too short. She could technically reach her whole mane with it using her hooves, but the action was strained and sloppy.

“What do you mean?” Cotton questioned, tilting her head in curiosity. “You have a horn, of course you can reach it.”

Celestia sadly shook her head.

“Oh, I understand,” Cotton said. Celestia nodded. “Your magic must be swirly, just like mine! That’s okay, though! How else do you think I get this manestyle?” She tilted her head forward and brushed through her mane with a hoof, showing off the wild purple and pink curls.

“What? No,” Celestia quickly corrected. “I have never actually used magic. I do not know how.”

“Really? Never?” Cotton asked with wonder. Celestia nodded. “Never ever?” Celestia nodded again. “You don’t know how?” Another nod. “How old are you?” She shrugged.

Cotton pondered for a moment, before clapping her hooves together. “Well, in that case, there is only one solution.”

“You're going to teach me magic?” Celestia said, looking at her in hope.

“What? No, silly!” Cotton giggled, waving a hoof at her. “I’m a terrible magician! I was just going to brush your mane for you!”

“Oh,” Celestia said dejectedly. “Okay.”

They arranged a pair of chairs, the only two wooden chairs in the house, and Celestia sat while Cotton brushed. There was silence, except for the long pulling strokes of the brush, and Cotton’s merry humming. She occasionally broke into quiet lyrics of the song, but did not sing it all.

“Cotton?” Celestia asked, breaking the peace.

“I heard her voice abroad… Yes?” she said, halting her quiet song for only a moment.

The question never came. Timid fear gripped Celestia, as she struggled with an important inquiry that was on the tip of her tongue, but refused leave. Cotton kept on humming.

“Hmm hmm, hmm hmm… I cheer’d my guest… Did you have a question, Celestia?” Cotton asked.

Celestia shook her head vigorously. “No. Well, yes, I did. But nevermind.”

Cotton continued her song, until a verse was finished. “Hmm hm, hmm hmmm, while I dream’d.” She pulled another stroke through her mane. “There! All done!”

With a quick whirl of pink magic, Celestia’s chair was spun to face the wall. A dizzying second later, Cotton was standing in front. With caution, she balanced the full mirror in between her and Celestia.

“How does that look?” Cotton asked with eager anticipation. After a few seconds of silence, she grinned, and answered her own question. “It looks wonderful, that’s how it looks!”

Celestia’s mane was, in all aspects, save for color, the exact opposite of Cotton’s. The unicorn’s was curly and short; Celestia’s was long and straight, holding an elegant, flowing grace that few mares could match. After the bathing and brushing, the dirt and grime had been completely washed away, replaced with a vibrant, healthy luster of pink.

Now cleaned and groomed, it was not incorrect to say that Celestia indeed looked “wonderful”. She possessed a simple, effortless beauty that was not very common. More than a few mares might be jealous at the sight.

Celestia’s gaze wandered past all of it, and went directly to her flank. Her horribly, excruciatingly blank flank. The pearly white of her coat seemed to accentuate the lack of color. She tried to draw her stare away, but in so doing, she caught her wings and horn. Her eyes flicked back and forth between them. What an unholy, unsightly combination.

“Why am I a monster?” Celestia suddenly blurted, eyes shut tight.

If Cotton heard her, and there was no reason for her not to, she made no sign of showing it, other than slowly retracting the mirror and leaning it against the wall. It was still reflecting Celestia. Cotton stepped forward and looked at Celestia with scrutiny. Then, without warning, her hoof shot forward and poked Celestia in the ribs. The jab was without pain, but seemed to jolt every ticklish nerve on her left side.

“Ah!” Celestia cried. Her eyes shot open and she leapt forward on her seat. That was not what she was expecting.

“Wro-ooooong question, silly,” Cotton said.

“What?” Celestia questioned. She had no idea what to expect from this young mare.

“I said it was the wrong question! It hardly makes any sense, you know. Try again!” Cotton demanded, a sly smile on her face.

“Try again? Why?” Celestia asked. Another hoof blurred through the air, and Celestia squealed as her left side was jolted.

“Wrong question again,” Cotton chimed. “You are not very good at this, are you?”

“But why did-” Celestia began, but was cut off by Cotton’s raised hoof, accompanied by a war face that, in any other circumstance, would have been comical.

“Oh, um, I mean,” Celestia began, quickly revising her words, “Why… why am I…” Cotton raised her eyebrows. Her stare moved closer, and her lips pursed tighter. “Why am I… a beast?”

“Wrong!” Jab.

“Why am I a demon?”

“Even wrong-er!” Jab.

“Why am I an abomination?”

“That’s the wrong-iest of all!” Jab!

Celestia squirmed and gritted her teeth. “Uh, uh… Why am I an alicorn?”

Cotton’s hoof twitched forward, but did not follow through. “Well… it is the wrong question still,” she said slowly and intellectually, “but it is a good question. However, the manner in which you ask implies improper direction. You seek for the wrong answer. I'll give this one a pass. Try again.”

“Why am I…?” Celestia stopped, and pondered. What did that even mean, she that she ‘implied improper direction’? That she ‘sought the wrong answer’? Celestia had no idea what Cotton was looking for.

Suddenly, a memory came to mind, something that Cotton had said the night before. “Don’t you know? You’re not a monster, you’re an alicorn!” Could that be…?

“Why do ponies treat me like a monster?” Celestia ventured, her tone weakly confident.

“Yes!” Cotton exclaimed, a grin spreading across her features. “Ponies treat you like a monster!” She clapped her hooves together in joyous congratulations. Given the phrase, it seemed extremely out of place.

“Is that… a good thing?” Celestia asked, completely unsure of how to judge her reaction.

“Oh, no,” Cotton said, the mirth immediately leaving her. “No, no, no, no, no! Ponies should always treat other ponies with respect and love. Nopony should ever be treated poorly because they are unique.”

“But why do they?”

Cotton tapped a hoof to her chin, considering her next words carefully. Eventually, she walked away from Celestia, and opened another cupboard, rummaging through the disorganized contents.

“For ages,” she called, adopting the tone of a storyteller, “alicorns have been considered bad luck and ill omens.” More items sailed backwards as Cotton looked for some unknown thing. Only her hindquarters were visible, moving back and forth as she dug deeper into what was beginning to seem like an endless space.

“Oh, huh,” Cotton said, withdrawing a red and blue ball. “So that’s where that was.” She bounced it to the ground, and it sprang back to her hoof with a hollow sound.

“But why?” Celestia pursued.

“Because bouncy balls are fun, silly!” Cotton giggled. She bounced the ball towards Celestia, who dodged out of the way.

“No, I mean-” The ball rebounded off of the near wall, and returned to hit the back of Celestia’s head. “Ow. No, I mean, why are alicorns bad luck?”

“Aha!” Cotton exclaimed, bursting out of the cupboard. In her hoof, she held a small book, thrusting it triumphantly in the air.

“What is that?” Celestia asked.

“This,” Cotton said, tapping the small, hardbound book, “is why they treat you so poorly.”

Celestia stared. “A book?”

“No, no, no,” Cotton said, shaking her head. “It’s what’s inside the book, silly.”

She trotted to her cushioned chair and sat down. She took a second to shift around and get comfortable before patting the pillow underneath her, a motion for Celestia to join her. Celestia looked hesitantly at Cotton, who, seeing her reluctance, patted the pillow harder. Finally, Celestia budged, and moved over to the chair, but sat in front of it rather than in it. Cotton rolled her eyes. A twister of magic engulfed Celestia, and she was sent head-over-hooves spiraling forwards. She landed upside down and backwards in the chair, snug against Cotton. The seat was really only meant for one, and their closeness showed for it. She waited for Celestia to adjust herself upright, and for her panicked breathing to slow, before beginning.

Cotton cleared her throat, and opened the first page of the small book. It had four ornate symbols. The first three, Celestia recognized as the coat-of-arms of the earth, pegasi, and unicorn tribes. The fourth was unfamiliar, though judging by its black, twisting design, there was no doubt it was supposed to be evil.

“Long ago, there lived four pony tribes.”

She turned the page. “First, there was the Earth-Tribe! These ponies were hard-working and industrious. With their unmatched strength, they worked day and night to provide all ponies with delicious food. Their farms were the most fertile in the land.” This page showed several happy earth pony farmers, who were all joyously tilling the ground. In the corner was the Earth-Tribe banner, a four-quadrant flag that featured the sun, the sky, a patch of tilled earth, and a field of sunflowers.

She turned the page. “Second, there were the Unicorns! These ponies were intelligent and crafty. With the magic held in their horns, they raised the sun at dawn, and raised the moon at night, providing the whole land with light. Their gemstones were the most brilliant in all the land.” This page showed a group of regal unicorns. One stood atop a ledge, raising the sun, while another was behind him, bearing an armful of precious jewels. In the corner was the Unicorn banner, a diamond-studded background with the head of a proud unicorn set in the center.

She turned the page. “Third, there were the Pegasi! These ponies were fast and nimble. With their wings propelling them through the skies, they controlled the weather, and brought rain and shine to the places they were needed. Their reflexes were the quickest in the land.” This page showed a trio of determined pegasi. One pushed a cloud forward, one seemed to be bending a bolt of lightning with his bare hooves, and another was simply doing a midair maneuver. In the corner was the Pegasus banner, a star-spangled flag that featured the head of pegasus with a strangely quiescent expression. Behind it was flared a pair of majestic wings.

She turned the page. “Fourth, there were the Alicorns. These ponies were wicked and vile. They were naturally lazy, and did nothing to help their fellow ponies. Many times, they even hindered ponies, and brought injury, disease, and disharmony to them. Their evil was the most loathsome in all the land.” In the corner was what Celestia supposed was the Alicorn banner. It was a combination of red and black, with the sneering expression of an alicorn in the center. The illustration seemed to imply untold malevolence.

She turned the page. “One day, a giant blizzard blew throughout all the land. It was very cold. It froze the earth ponies’ crops, blotted out the unicorns’ sun, and made wild the pegasi’s weather.

“The three tribes came together, and tried to think of a solution. The alicorns, however…

“…did nothing.

“Instead of helping to solve the problem, the alicorns flew away from the storm, and left their fellow ponies to freeze.

“The three pony tribes were glad that the alicorns were gone, though, because they did nothing but hinder. With the alicorns gone, they united to form the holy nation of Equestria!

“Soon after, they discovered Heart’s Fire, and melted away the snow.” On this page was a trio of ponies, one from each tribe. Floating above them was an enormous purple heart made of flames. Celestia thought one of the ponies looked like Clover, but failed to get a closer look before Cotton turned the page.

“Jealous that the pony tribes, now Equestria, were able to solve its problems without them, the alicorns flapped their wicked wings, and threw up a barrier of evil smoke, so that nobody could see their shame.

“Behind their wall of smoke, they plotted against Equestria, seeking revenge. Because they themselves were too scared to fight, they created beasts and monsters, including the fearsome manticores, and the hideous sinisteeds.

“They needed a leader for their horrible army, so pouring all of their evil into a single monster, they created Discord.” A hideous representation of Discord stood over a host of countless beasts. A vein pulsed in Celestia’s temple as she saw the evil, grinning demon. He was not hideous enough.

“They emerged through the smoke, and set straight to attacking Equestria.

“The land had never before seen such wicked beasts, but Equestria would never be defeated.

“Our brave knights charged against them, led by our many glorious heroes.” Leading the charge of a grand Equestrian army was a single mare, whom the page seemed to highlight with a bright golden outline. It was the same effect one might see on the depiction of a holy saint. Strange, Celestia thought, since military figures were not generally regarded with the same reverence.

“On the land and in the air, our knights fight the monsters. Far away, Discord huddles scared in his cave, for he knows he stands no chance.”

“Beyond that, the alicorns sit worried on their thrones, for they know the same thing.

“So long as Equestria stands united, and the army has its brave knights, the evil creatures know that Equestria’s victory is assured.” The book ended on a triad of ponies, one from each race, standing proudly, weapons of choice in hoof.

“The End,” Cotton finished. Her tone was almost melancholy. Almost. She gently shut the book.

Celestia did not know what to say. Neither, it seemed, did Cotton. Finally, Celestia broke the silence.

“I don’t understand,” Celestia said hesitantly. “What is this book?”

Cotton hopped out of the chair, allowing Celestia more room to breathe. “This book,” Cotton said slowly, waving the book gently in the air, “is what we teach our children. It’s a foal’s book.”

“A… foal’s book?” Celestia asked. Cotton nodded, an uncharacteristic seriousness painted on her face.

“I could show you a history. Professionally written theories. I have friends in the archives, I could easily request an in-depth study performed by the most prestigious scholars of Canterlot and beyond. But everything you need to know,” Cotton said, her expression sad, “is right here.”

“But I… I still don’t understand!” Celestia cried, frustrated.

“One part of this is true,” Cotton said. “Many, many years ago, two hundred and fifty years ago, to be precise, alicorns as a race actually existed. It is true that they left the tribes before the time of their unification, and that when Equestria unified and discovered their new home, it was shrouded in smoke. It is also true that beasts emerged from the same smoke.”

“So the alicorns created Discord?” Celestia fearfully questioned.

“Interesting question,” Cotton began. “Have you, Celestia, ever created a monster?”

“What? Why would you say such a thing?”

“Well? Have you?” Cotton pursued.

“Of course not!” Celestia exclaimed indignantly.

“Have you ever seen a monster being created by an alicorn?”

“No!” Celestia said.

“Well, neither have I. Did the alicorns create Discord?” Cotton asked hypothetically. “Well, maybe. But I don’t know for sure, and neither do you. Neither does anypony, anywhere!”

Cotton frowned. “But ponies can be silly sometimes. Fear leads to hate, and ponies needed something to blame all this nasty war business on, so we blamed the alicorns. It’s easy to accuse somepony when they can’t hear you.”

She shook her head. “Alicorns are just an old pony’s tale, but every filly and colt within every mare and stallion still fears them, if just a little. They are the monsters in your closet, the ghosts in the forest. Fables and folktales, obviously, but imagine seeing a fable walk right down the street!” Cotton giggled, motioning to Celestia, who did not find it amusing.

“But I’m nothing like those alicorns in the book,” Celestia mumbled. She was right; the alicorns depicted in the foal’s book had been hideous, menacing creatures. Their coats were black, their manes were crimson, and their eyes had been filled with animal bloodlust.

“Exactly!” Cotton said, smiling. “Those things are monsters. You are not one of them!”

Before Celestia could respond, a small, wall mounted clock sounded with a metallic ring. Cotton looked at it, and jumped.

“Oh my,” Cotton cried, “Look at the time! Oh, dear, this will never do!”

“What is the matter?” Celestia asked, a little worried.

“Oh, I have so much work to do,” Cotton fretted. “I'll never catch up. And then I’ll go out of business. And then I’ll lose my house. And then I’ll be homeless.” She gasped. “And then I’ll die!”

“What work? Can I he-”

“Oh, this is horrible!”

“Is there anything I can-”

“Wait!” Cotton cried, lifting a hoof in inspiration. “I know! Celestia, can you help me?”

Celestia rolled her eyes. “Well, I-”

“Excellent!” Cotton exclaimed, nearly tackling Celestia in a tight hug. “Oh, I knew I could count on you. I knew I it was a good idea to be friends! It always is.”

Celestia could barely respond. Cotton’s hug was choking the life out of her. “Cotton…!” she coughed.

“I know! I’m excited, too!” Cotton said gleefully. She released Celestia, who dropped to the ground panting. Cotton rushed to her bedroom, and returned with two clean white aprons.

“Here, put this on,” Cotton said, throwing an apron at Celestia while securely fastening her own. “Wouldn’t want your beautiful coat to get all stained again!” Celestia struggled with her apron, throwing it over her head. To her frustration, it caught on her horn.

“Actually, it might look kind of neat,” Cotton mumbled after a moment of consideration.

“What are we doing?” Celestia asked, still bucking her head back, trying to untangle the string.

“You’ll seeeee!” Cotton sang. “Oh, and bring the ball!” she said on her way out. She skipped away and exited the house.

“Why?” Celestia asked, finally getting the apron around her neck.

“Because they’re fun!” Cotton called back, saying it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

**********

Clover the Clever stood on the tower balcony, high above the city. Her neck was arched forward, and one of her eyes was shut. Operating through the Farsight Telescope was not a particularly daunting task, but anything could get strenuous if done for a long enough time. In Clover’s case, that period of time had been all night.

Through the magically modified telescope lens, she could see huge distances, around corners, and even through walls. There was not a thing in Canterlot that could escape her vision, should the Master-Adept wish to see it, though she never abused that power.

The Farsight Telescope was a device of her own invention, and she was incredibly proud of it. Never did the enchantment wear off, and not once had it gone awry. It always completed its function with precision and efficiency.

Until now. Under normal circumstances, Clover had only the need to visualize her target, and the telescope would swing to face their direction. From then on, it was a simple matter of peering through the right amount of wall.

However, to Clover’s frustration and annoyance, the telescope did not seem to work. She had whispered other names in order to make sure it was still working; Lucky Break, who was resting in his suite, Apple Crumble, who was happily greeting his wife who had stayed up the whole night to wait for him. When Clover concentrated on the young Celestia, the telescope frantically turned in every direction, so erratically that once it even hopped out of its fixture and nearly rolled off the balcony.

Clover had no idea what was wrong, but it left her with only one option: to find Celestia manually. It was sure to be a tedious task. The city was very large, after all, and the alicorn could have been anywhere. However, Clover was confident that she could do it. With enough searching, she was bound to be found somewhere. Clover grasped her telescope, and started, beginning in one corner of the city and sweeping to the other.

That was hours ago. The sun was rising, and the exhausted mage was beginning to have second thoughts. She had searched nearly everywhere. When she was not on the streets, she searched the inns. When she was not at any of the inns, she searched the dungeons, thinking it was possible that the guards had arrested her. When she was not there, she searched everywhere else.

The sun caught her eye through the telescope, and she stepped back. It was hopeless. She turned and walked toward the balcony door, intending to retire to her chambers. It was obvious Celestia was nowhere in the city.

Clover froze. Nowhere in the city.

She rushed back to her telescope as fast as her feeble legs would allow. She quickly and deliberately muttered the name of a very specific pony. The telescope swiveled southward. She peered through it, just in time to see a cyan unicorn in midair, pouncing on the bed an unseen guest. Clover zoomed in a little further. The bed’s surprised resident emerged from her covers only a moment she was brutally assaulted by a barrage of nonstop jabs.

Clover stepped back and sighed. Of course she was there. Where else would she be?

She allowed herself a sigh of relief.

**********

“Put the ball down, silly! We have work to do!”

Celestia absentmindedly dropped the ball. It unceremoniously bounced away. She examined the room with awe.

“What is this place?” Celestia asked with wonder.

“It’s my workshop!” Cotton happily replied, a wide smile on her face. “What do you think?”

Celestia was amazed. What Cotton’s house had lacked in flair, her workshop made up for in every way. Once Cotton had helped Celestia tie her apron up, she led them outside and around back. There, she had unlocked a secure pair of cellar doors, and led them down inside. If Celestia had been anxious about descending into the cellar, it was all dashed away by the sight of its contents.

“What is it you do for a living?” Celestia asked.

“Isn't obvious?” Cotton giggled. “I’m a confectioner!”

“A what?”

“I make candy!”

The room looked less like a confectioner’s workshop, and more like a laboratory of mad science. Ovens, furnaces, and stoves lined the walls. Countertops were covered in wooden bowls and glass beakers. They contained every color of the rainbow, and then some. Stacked high against one wall were ingredients of every kind, most of which Celestia had never before seen. For some reason, there seemed to be a large abundance of sugar; nearly half of the saccharine storage consisted of large, appropriately labeled white bags. Curiously shaped tools of unknown function lined a storage rack against another wall.

The walls themselves were painted with a light, teal blue, a slight variation on the unicorn’s cyan coat. Although there were a few shafts that Celestia assumed were for ventilation, there were no windows in the cellar. It would have been pitch black, were it not for the magical lanterns that lit up the room. Upon closer inspection, Celestia saw that while the glass lanterns remained still, the magelight inside each one was spinning, orbiting the center in a tight circle. The light completed one revolution for every one second. With every light in the room doing the same thing, it made for immensely curious, constantly shifting shadows. Celestia wondered if it would eventually give her a headache.

The most interesting thing of all, however, sat in the very center of the room. On a pedestal covered in strange knobs and buttons, was a large bowl. Celestia peered inside. The inside walls of the bowl were covered in a serrated pattern of circles. In the center was an elevated disc with a hollow interior. She had no idea what it was used for. She could not even guess.

“Are you sure you make candy?” Celestia asked.

"Of course I’m sure, silly! I’ve only been doing it for five years!” Cotton’s pleasant laughter echoed through the workshop. “Okay, okay,” she continued excitedly, “watch this.” Cotton approached the strange bowl.

“Boop, boop, boop!” Cotton said, making noises in conjunction with the noiseless button presses and lever throws. “Boop beep, whatcha! Celestia, would you fetch that bag of sugar for me? The one that’s already open?”

Celestia wandered over to a counter, where she saw an open bag. She looked inside. “You mean the one that’s already half empty?”

“No, it’s the one that’s half full,” Cotton replied without looking over, waving her hoof in Celestia’s general direction. Celestia looked back. There was only one open bag. She shrugged and hauled it over to the machine.

Cotton nodded in approval. “Okay, pour the sugar into the center disc, but make sure you don’t touch it with your hoof. It will get really, reeeeeally hot.”

Celestia cautiously nodded, and grabbed the bag in both hooves, carefully pouring a small amount of sugar before Cotton stopped her.

“Okay, stand back” Cotton warned, her excited tone and expression completely defeating the seriousness she tried to convey. Nevertheless, Celestia took a few cautious steps back. When she saw Cotton’s horn start to glow, she took a few more.

“So, you just gotta do… this,” she said, her voice straining, “and then heat it up, and… and then… and then whirl it around…”

Cotton stood with all four hooves braced against the floor. To Celestia’s surprise, the device whirred to life. Half a minute went by while Cotton muttered instructions to herself.

“There!” she shouted. She walked up to the bowl and looked over the side, horn still glowing. “Celestia, hand me a stick!”

“A stick?”

“Yes, yes, a stick! From right over there! Hurry!”

Heeding the urgency of her tone, Celestia grabbed a small, thin stick from where Cotton had pointed. It was about a foot long. She handed it to Cotton, who smiled her thanks. She dipped the stick into the bowl and slowly stirred it around, even though there was, as far as Celestia knew, nothing to stir.

For another half minute, Cotton continued to stir. Eventually, she stopped, removed the stick.

“Ta-da!” she chimed, presenting her creation to Celestia. Impossibly, on the end of the stick was an enormous wad of pink fluff. It looked almost like wool, or…

“I present to you, my, Cotton’s, very own Cotton Candy!” she brightly announced. “Go on, try some!” she said, enthusiastically pushing the treat into Celestia’s grasp. She looked at it warily.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Celestia mumbled.

“You’ll love it! I promise! Oh please, pleeeeeeeeease!” Cotton begged. Her pleading eyes were less deniable than a kitten’s. Celestia sighed, and bit into the mysterious candy, taking only half a mouthful.

Her eyes widened. It was delicious! Her features changed from reluctance to confused delight, and, as she took another bite, enjoyment.

“That is delicious!” Celestia exclaimed. “Did you create it yourself?”

“I sure did!” Cotton replied, her expression one of immense happiness.

“How?” Celestia asked, her voice muffled behind a mouthful of candy.

“Well,” Cotton began slowly. “I use a special kind of flavored sugar, one specifically engineered to melt at certain temperatures and a crystal size optimized for use with the machine, because, as they are poured into the central disc, the sugar is heated to a temperature at which it melts, causing it to be spun through the central disc’s holes via centrifugal force, or is it centripetal force? I can’t remember, anyways, the strings of molten sugar are frozen in midair and form a glass-like string product that sticks to the serrated walls of the outer bowl-”

She stopped, and took a deep breath.

“-at which point the confection is ready to be spun and served.”

Celestia looked up from her candy, muzzle covered in sticky pink sugar.

“What?”

Cotton laughed and shrugged. “Science,” she said simply. “I did come up with the idea, but I had some special help building the machine.”

“Where do you sell this?” Celestia inquired.

“At the Canterlot market. I have a stand there. I sell many different treats, but Cotton’s Cotton Candy always sells out the fastest,” Cotton said, with an obvious amount of satisfaction.

“Does the stand have a name?” Celestia asked.

“Cotton’s Candy.”

Celestia blinked. “You sell cotton candy… at Cotton’s Candy.”

“Yes.”

There was a brief silence. Cotton wore her usual smile.

“Fair enough,” Celestia said, taking another bite, and then scowling at the revelation that her candy was gone. She tossed the stick away.

“So, I know how it works…” Celestia paused. “So, you explained how it works,” she revised, “but how did you discover it?”

“Oh, that’s an excellent question!” she said, hopping with excitement. “It’s how I earned my cutie mark!” She stepped forward and showcased her flank. Celestia had completely failed to notice it before, but sure enough, there was a cone of Cotton Candy.

“But I can’t tell the story right now, because I have to get working. I’m running behind on production, you know.”

“Can you tell me while we work?” Celestia offered.

“Oh! Silly me, of course I can!” Cotton giggled.

After giving Celestia a few odd jobs and teaching her to perform some simple candy making operations, Cotton began her story, sometimes having to shout over the collective din of the stoves and ovens and candy machine in the center.

“When I was just a filly, I loved candy. I loved making candy, especially! My parents owned a cake shop, and I became an apprentice for them. I loved them, and they loved me too, but I was a bit more trouble than I was worth. The problem was my horn, you see?” She motioned to Celestia, who took another look at the unicorn’s strange horn. It was straight and unbent, but the natural spiral was exaggerated. It looked like it was wrapping around itself, giving it a swirled, bumpy appearance.

“I learned magic fairly easily, but it all came out wrong. Everything was all spinny and twirly-whirly. Instead of steady levitation, this happened.” She demonstrated by lifting a wooden spoon into the air. Instead of experiencing normal lift, the spoon seemed to spin around a center of gravity.

“It’s pretty slow now, but when I was younger, things use to spin so fast they were a blur. So fast I couldn’t control them. It was not only levitation, either. I use a fire spell to heat up the Cotton Candy machine,” a small wheel of flame appeared and vanished above them, “and a magelight spell to light up my workshop.” She motioned to the small revolving lights above them.

“And it’s always counter-clockwise, except on Tuesdays. Weird, huh?” Celestia nodded.

“Anyways, I caused problems around the shop. My parents were always very forgiving, but they never let me help with anything. Because they were both unicorns, the method in which they made their cakes involved a levitation magic. Whenever I tried, I always ended up stirring batter everywhere, or spilling an entire bag of flower. Once, I shaved the entire top half of my father’s mane with a spinning knife, just because I was trying to cut a cake. He was bald for a while. Aaaand…” she added with a bashful smile, “I wasn’t allowed to levitate sharp objects after that.

“Ponies treated me very poorly. When I was old enough to go to school, people made fun of my horn, and how bad my magic was. I had a few great teachers and friends that helped me, but… could you hand me that…? Thanks. I had a few great ponies help me, but it never drowned out the dreadful ridicule, and my parents’ love could only extend so far.

“One day, I returned home from school, feeling particularly horrid. At the time, I was a bit older, and had learned to control my magic a little bit better. One of the jobs I was allowed to do in the shop was the stirring. I was supposed to add something else first, but I accidentally spilled a bag of sugar into the circular cake mold. My mother happened to be very stressed and exasperated. This cake had been for an important pony, she told me, and she asked me to just stay out of the way.

“I was so mad, that I took the stirring spoon, and began to just stir the sugar. I stirred it, faster and faster with my magic, until- Oh, not like that Celestia. You have to wait for the caramel to cool a little longer…. Ahem. Um, where was I? Oh! I stirred it, faster and faster until the spoon broke. I just kept going, moving the sugar itself, and throwing a little fire in there, because why not?

“My father walked in, and yelled for me to stop. I did, and sugar went flying everywhere! Except, it wasn’t sugar. It was this!” Cotton held up a strand of pink fluff. “Well not this, exactly, but something like it. I thought my father would be angry, but he just laughed. Can you believe that? He laughed!

“’Why did you do that?’ He asked.

“’Because, all the kids at school make fun of me! They hate me!’ I said. I was on the brink of tears when he told me something I’ll never forget.

“’Do you know to make it better?’ he asked me. ‘Laugh.’”

Celestia was, by now, intensely interested. At this, she looked surprised. “You laugh? How does that make anything better?” she questioned.

“That’s what I asked him. Oh, careful Celly, don’t let them burn! Oh! Oh… too late. Well, anyways, he told me to laugh.

“’How will that make them stop?’ I asked.

“’It won’t make them stop,’ he told me. ‘To do that, you must stand tall, be brave, and you know what else?’”

“What?” Celestia asked, a hint of desperation on the edge of her voice.

Cotton smiled. “You must feel good about you,” she said, nudging Celestia’s chest with a gentle hoof. Celestia looked down at where Cotton touched her. There was a sticky pink glob Cotton’s hoof had left on her apron, but to Celestia, it was a great token of friendship.

“I let them treat me like a monster, Celestia. I believed them, too. I let them tell me about myself, things that were wrong and hurtful and untrue. I’m not saying you should never take counsel from friends when they only want to help, but never,” she said, poking Celestia’s chest again, “let anyone tell you that you are anything less than beautiful.”

Celestia looked up, her eyes wide and teary.

“I took his advice to heart and soul. I laughed, and eventually, ponies laughed along with me. I was so happy, I decided to try and experiment with the fluffy sugar. Eventually, I found how to recreate it. And ponies loved it! Instead of making fun of my horn, the complimented me for what I had accomplished.

“But you know what? I didn’t earn my cutie mark the day I rediscovered my special candy. I earned it before that, the day that I took my father’s advice. Neither my parents nor I had any idea what it was supposed to be, but it didn’t matter. I was happy, and I discovered it later, anyways.

“So laugh! Laugh at everything, and with everypony! I promise, it will lift your spirits, and eventually, those ponies will treat you exactly the way you deserve. It might seem bad. It might be bad. But even in the darkest of times, there’s always hope-”

Cotton was cut off as the cellar doors swung open. A stream of natural light flooded into the workshop. Echoing hoofsteps could be heard as a pony slowly shuffled down the stairs. A wide grin appeared on Cotton’s face, as she saw Clover the Clever step into the workshop light. Cotton turned again to Celestia.

“And there is always a reason to laugh.”

Celestia’s lip trembled as she stepped tentatively towards Cotton. Guessing her intention, she returned the distance, and the two met in a sweet, sugary, sticky, colorful embrace.

IX: Angels Can Be Replaced

For the longest time, Celestia’s eyes were closed as tight as could be. She buried herself into Cotton’s mane and sniffled, trying to banish her mixed tears of sorrow and joy. She was only somewhat successful. Cotton patted her on the back in a gesture of comfort. Pulling away from Cotton’s embrace was difficult, in part because it felt so deeply satisfying to be held by a friend. Any hesitation Celestia had felt about Cotton’s apparent eccentricity was dashed away as she hugged and was hugged in return.

It was also difficult to pull apart because they were literally stuck together, the adhesive syrup and taffy on their hooves and aprons acting as makeshift glue. After a long, sentimental moment of tranquility and empathy, they tried to separate, and found they could not. After a few long pulls, they eventually snapped apart, both giggling like schoolfillies as they tumbled backwards. Celestia fell into a bag of multicolored sugar. It burst open, sprinkling her with a fine coating of shimmering colors.

“I think I’m going to need another bath,” Celestia laughed, gingerly poking at the rainbow of stickiness on her coat and mane.

“I think it looks nice!” Cotton complimented, giggling at both herself and Celestia.

“Oh, but nopony wears candy like you, Cotton,” Celestia replied. It was true; Cotton looked completely natural covered in sugar and syrup. Of course, it was complemented by the fact that her cyan coat, in combination with her purple and pink mane, already gave the impression of sweetness.

“I agree with Cotton,” a voice came from across the room, wavering and formal. “You wear the confectioner’s cloak well, Celestia.”

Celestia jumped in surprise. Standing across the room was Master-Adept Clover, highest ranking magical official in Canterlot and witness to the previous night’s horrible, embarrassing events. She wore a tired, amused smile on her face.

“O-oh!” Celestia cried in alarm. She had been completely unaware of the mage’s presence. “Y-yes, well I…! Cotton helped me with…! That is to say…! O-oh, where are my manners?”

Celestia was unsure whether she should salute, or bow. In her panic, she attempted to do both, and tripped over her own hooves in the process. Cotton laughed as Celestia stumbled to the ground, and then scrambled back to her hooves, desperate to show proper respect.

“G-good greetings, milady… I, I mean, Master-Adept,” Celestia formally acknowledged. Her voice was quiet and humble. “Thy presence is most welcome. I most sincerely apologize for the events of last night. I prithee forgive me, t-they shall not be repeated.”

“Indeed, they shall not,” Clover mumbled angrily. Celestia took her anger to be directed towards her, and whimpered in reply.

“I-If thou wilt have me, I wish to ask of thee…” Her voice gradually lost volume, until it lowered to a nearly inaudible whisper. “I have some… If it pleases thee, I have… some… questions…” Celestia finished, timidly kicking at the floor. Beside her, Cotton’s giggles died down as she noticed Celestia’s discomfort.

“Your mane looks like a rainbow!” she declared, attempting to lighten the mood. “Ha! A rainbow mane. Could you imagine?”

“Cotton!” Celestia said through gritted teeth, “Show respect! This is the Master-Adept of Canterlot!”

“What?” Cotton said, looking from Celestia to Clover, and back. “Oh, I know that, silly! Hiya, Clover!” Cotton waved jovially at the old mare, who returned it with a modest gesture.

“Good morning, Miss Cake,” Clover politely greeted. “I hope things are well.”

“Oh, things are just stupendous!” Cotton said, grinning. “Celestia here was helping me make candy! She’s done such a wonderful job, I’m surprised she doesn’t have her cutie mark in candy making already.”

Celestia was suddenly very aware of the smell of burning toffee coming from the stove behind her. She blushed and sheepishly bowed her head.

“Er, yes… I mean,” Celestia stuttered, desperately searching for something properly intelligent and applicable to say, and utterly failing. "Cotton has done me a great service, and… and…”

“That’s quite enough formality, Celestia,” Clover chided sternly. Celestia immediately stopped, thinking she had somehow offended the Master-Adept. She shyly raised her gaze, shifting around a bit before looking at Clover. To her surprise, she was met with not a harsh expression, but one of tolerance and relief.

“Save it for the courtrooms, where it will do you some good. Here, you are among friends,” Clover said. The second she did, Celestia seemed to know it was true. Her voice, though old and trembling, spoke plain and simple truth. Indeed, the sound of age seemed to amplify the effect, empowering it with a veracious timbre that only the old and truly wise possessed. Celestia did not speak, but her fear was assuaged, if only a little.

“Miss Cake,” Clover said, turning to the candy-coated mare, who was tentatively licking the tip of her hoof.

“I taste delicious… Yes, Clover?” Cotton replied.

“I know you are busy, but may I borrow Celestia for a short while?”

“Oh, I’m not that busy,” Cotton admitted, lackadaisically waving a hoof towards her. “I’ve been way ahead of production ever since last night, when the royals ordered too much food for the Midnight Gala.”

Celestia blinked. “Not… busy?”

“Thank you, Miss Cake,” Clover said.

“Mm hmm.” Cotton nodded absentmindedly, already having resumed her candy making, working to salvage Celestia’s roasting toffee.

“I thought you said-” Celestia began.

“Celestia,” Clover interrupted, “If you would come with me.” She motioned to the cellar stairs. Celestia briefly looked back and forth, before heading towards the exit. She quickly trotted up the steps and outside, where it was still mid-morning. The air was mildly cool and very refreshing, especially after being overwhelmed with the sweet smells of candy in the workshop.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, rejuvenating breath, trying her best to become calm. The Master-Adept was nopony to be afraid of. She had done nothing to wrong Celestia. She certainly did not treat her poorly, like so many others had. That fact alone put Clover in good standing. The more Celestia convinced herself of this, the better she felt, and her nervousness gave way to cautious curiosity.

Celestia realized Clover was taking a while. Looking back down the steps, she saw the old mare only halfway up. Celestia briefly wondered if she should go help.

“Oh, phooey,” Clover muttered. She looked at a concerned Celestia. “One moment, dear.”

The Master-Adept’s horn began to glow. Celestia stepped back nervously. A moment later, a loud crack filled the air, accompanied by a blinding purple flash. Celestia jumped back in surprise, and then jumped forward after an identical crack sounded directly behind her.

“Oh, pardon me, dear,” Clover apologized, quickly brushing dust off of her cloak. “I did not mean to scare you.”

Celestia wheeled around to see Clover standing behind her. Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again, grasping at an explanation that was beyond her.

“What was that?” Celestia asked, her tact and formality lost.

“I am the Master-Adept, dear,” Clover simply said, “Second only to the Arch-Mage. You learn a thing or two in my line of work.”

“Second to who? Is ‘Master-Adept’ not the highest rank?” Celestia asked, the thought springing to her lips before she could stop it.

“Oh, no,” Clover shook her head. “The Arch-Mage makes decisions for the Royal Magi. I am simply her advisor. Though, keep in mind, rank is no substitute for experience.” She paused and smiled, allowing herself a moment of pride.

“In addition, as the title implies, I am also the Master of the Adepts. Or,” she added bitterly, “I was their master.”

Celestia was unsure of how to respond, so she said nothing. Clover continued.

“When you are as old as me, you find ways to supplement your weakness. My mind is undoubtedly stronger than my body.” Clover nodded, as if to assure herself it was true. She turned to Celestia. She stood fascinated, eagerly awaiting another action from the strange mage.

“You have questions, yes?” Clover said.

Celestia nodded.

“You are curious about your origins, yes?”

Celestia nodded again.

“It will have to wait.”

Celestia was motionless. “What?” she asked, almost sure she had heard her wrong.

“It will have to wait,” Clover repeated. “I am tired. Do you know I spent all night looking for you? You cannot run off like that, especially with your condition.”

Celestia’s wings fluttered self-consciously, and she drooped her head. “Forgive me.”

“No need,” Clover assured, “The fault lies not with you. You were ill-equipped for the events of the night previous. Lieutenant Break was acting quite foalish. As for the other ponies, well… they are simply not ready for you.”

Celestia nodded her head in defeat. In the background, they heard a small bang, and smoke began to ascend from the cellar, followed by a whimsical, “Rats!” The sound caused a question to occur to Celestia.

“I know I am an alicorn,” she began. Clover’s ears raised in interest. “I know what that means. Cotton showed me a book, a foal’s book. Alicorns are monsters.”

“Oh,” Clover said, “Well, surely then she told you that you are not a monster, and then raised your spirits with laughter.”

“Yes, she…” Celestia began, but paused. “How did you know?”

“At times, being the Master-Adept allows me to know more than even the most gossip-hungry barkeep,” she said, “But other times…”

There was another bang. “Nailed it!” Cotton distantly exclaimed.

“…you can just guess.” Clover smiled.

Celestia nodded in understanding. For all her unpredictability, there were a few things, it seemed, Cotton could be relied upon to do.

“But I still have a question,” Celestia continued. “Cotton is nice, and all, and for that I am supremely grateful. But…”

“But?” Clover prompted.

“But why was she not frightened at my presence?” Celestia questioned, genuinely curious. “She grew up with the same stories as other ponies, I imagine. My being an alicorn should scare her as much as it does anypony else. Did you tell her I was coming? And if you did, how does a mere confectioner hold favor with an Adept of the Royal Magi?”

“Hmmm,” Clover mumbled, nodding in approval. “Very astute observation, Celestia. It was my intention to ask her help in regards to you, our newest guest. She has a house outside the walls, and one that is quite secluded at that. I never had the chance to properly ask, but it seems she found you anyways. Cotton loves having guests, as I’m sure you are already aware. Until we were ready to formally present you to the public, it was my plan to keep you away from the public eye. Too late for that, it seems.

“And as for how a ‘mere confectioner’ holds my favor?” Clover added. “My dear, Cotton holds favor with everypony. She has nary a single enemy in the whole of Canterlot.”

Celestia believed it. “But why was she not afraid?”

“Because, my dear,” Clover said, “that is simply the way Cotton-”

“Because my friend-sense was tingling!” a voice came from behind her, interrupting Clover. Celestia hurriedly wheeled around. She saw nopony.

“Cotton?” she called.

“Right here, silly!” Celestia turned in another circle to see Cotton, standing in the direction she had previously been facing. Celestia allowed herself to only briefly question the occurrence before continuing.

“Your what?” Celestia asked.

“My friend-sense!” Cotton happily chirped. “I was on my way home from the Midnight Gala, when it tingled! I could tell somepony was feeling sad and needed a friend. And then I found you!”

“But… how? Why did you…?” Celestia asked.

“I told you! My friend-sense!” Cotton replied, as if it were inherently obvious.

“But…!” Celestia began. She caught sight of Clover, standing behind Cotton and shaking her head. It’s no use, she seemed to say.

“Oh, nevermind,” Celestia said. Some things, it seemed, were beyond explanation. “Thank you, Cotton.”

“It was nothing, really!” Cotton said. Celestia rolled her eyes, and smiled at Cotton’s absurdity. Cotton grinned right back.

“In any case,” Clover spoke, “I must inform you of a few things. First, if you still wish to speak with me, you must wait until tonight. I will send a detachment of guards to escort you here. They will be of the 21st, so there is no need to fear. The 21st division,” she added, seeing Celestia’s confused frown, “is also known as the Maiden’s Battalion. They are the most disciplined soldiers we have. They shall give you no grief.”

Celestia nodded. She had forgotten that the “Maiden’s Battalion” was not the official name of the group. Still, Lucky was practically in command of the division, and he had been awful. The brutality and utter callousness of his words still bitterly stung. Cotton’s timely intervention had surely helped, but even then, Celestia could not help but ponder the events. Every time she thought of that horrible declaration, another dash of salt was thrown onto an already open wound. That mare is a weapon...

Her heart painfully throbbed with betrayal and despair. And naught else.

“Celestia?”

She blinked away her daydream, and hurriedly looked over to Clover, who returned her gaze with an expression of concern.

“You do still want to speak, yes?” Clover asked, seeing Celestia’s hesitant fear. It took a moment of recovery, but Celestia eventually shook her thoughts away. She responded with a vigorous nod, simply hoping that Lucky’s soldiers were better mannered than he.

“Good. There is one more thing. We must still present you to the public eye. Ponies must be made aware of your existence if ever you wish to be met with respect, rather than fear.”

At this Celestia’s heart jumped. She did not want to leave the safety of Cotton’s house. Ever. The thought of facing the horrible taunts of the ponies was almost too much.

“I promise,” Clover said, seeing an objection form on Celestia’s lips, “it will be better once it’s all over with. And laughter,” she continued, seeing a second objection coming from Cotton, “in Celestia’s case, will only get her so far.”

She continued. “The meeting was originally scheduled to be held in one month, but after your appearance at a party filled to the brim with curious nobles, the council will no doubt be clamoring for an official hearing. I estimate a week.”

“A week?” Celestia despaired.

“Perhaps less,” Clover amended. Celestia’s heart jumped even further.

“Oh, don’t worry, Celly!” Cotton said, patting her on the back with a still-sticky hoof. “I’m sure you’ll make plenty of friends!”

A sudden gust of stiff wind blew through the fields. Clover turned around to peer into the wind. Their manes gently fluttered with the current. It settled quickly. It was a minor occurrence, easily forgotten had it not been for the items that had sailed in on the breeze.

“Sunflowers?” Celestia asked, looking at the scattered arrangement of cheerful, yellow flowers around her. “Are sunflowers grown here?”

“Not inside the city,” Clover muttered, looking in the direction of the breeze, at the walls of Canterlot. Cotton looked positively delighted.

“You see, Celestia!” she cried, picking up a number of the flowers and arranging them into a disorganized bouquet. “Flowers!” she presented them to Celestia, who took them with a timid smile.

“It’s a sign! I’ll bet each one symbolizes a new friend you’re going to make!” Cotton’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll bet they’re from a secret admirer!” she said, playfully nudging Celestia and winking.

“Yes, well-” she began, but paused. Another gentle breeze blew, and another flower fluttered towards her, almost seeming to materialize from brilliance of the eastern sun. Celestia reached and carefully plucked it out of the sky.

She eyed it curiously. It was stunted and smashed, as if somepony had accidentally, or purposefully, stepped on it. The stem was coming apart, and at least a third of the lovely yellow petals had fallen out. Judging by the large size and bold color, it had, at some point, been beautiful. Now, the opposite was true. The sunflower drooped, almost giving the impression of unhappiness, as if it were lamenting the events that left it ruined. It was unsightly, and yet…

“Perhaps,” Celestia said, adding the crushed flower to the bouquet.

**********

Canterlot City had lost its air of supreme majesty, replaced instead by an urban dreariness. Overhead was a large bank of overcast clouds. It was not scheduled to rain, but the pegasi weather teams had been assigned to push a set of storm clouds to a frontier settlement that needed the moisture. The city happened to be underneath the flight path. Not even the sun could salvage the glory of Canterlot, having been blocked out of the sky by the thick cloud layer. As of now, there was little evidence of the daytime, the only indication being a rapidly setting blot of smothered light, suppressed behind the greyness. Without something to reflect, the white Canterlot stone was inert, simply becoming another building material rather than the masterpiece of shining masonry it was meant to be.

Celestia’s opinion of the city had rapidly lessened since she arrived. Following the events of the previous night, she no longer saw it as a bastion of security, but rather as a prison, or a place of terrible judgment. The towering walls seemed as though they would come down upon her at any moment. She imagined this is what a spy felt like, infiltrating a camp, the enemy surrounding her on all sides, with vital information located at the furthest possible place.

From across the carriage, Cotton could see the anxiety clearly painted on Celestia’s face. She was looking intently at the floor, trying in vain to hide it. Cotton tapped Celestia on the shoulder. She looked up, and Cotton gave her an encouraging smile. She returned it half-heartedly, and it appeared to be more of an unintentional grimace.

“Hey,” Cotton said. “You’ll be fine.”

Celestia nodded. “Of course,” she said. She tried to be genuine, but much to Cotton’s dismay, she was obviously not convinced. Celestia returned her gaze to the floor.

The soldiers of the 21st had been courteous enough. Led by the familiar face of Apple Crumble, they had arrived at Cotton’s cottage with a nondescript, inconspicuous little carriage. Rather than armor, the guards drawing it had been dressed in the work clothes of a carriage puller. The small entourage that she assumed to be her guard had completely forgone armor, in favor of casual civilian clothing, or no clothing at all. Their weapons were small and hidden, switchblades concealed beneath sleeves and daggers behind cloaks. The only pony who had dressed in official armor was Apple Crumble. When Celestia asked, he had told her it was to avoid drawing attention. The ponies of the city were waiting for a royal carriage, he said, hoping to get a glimpse at the rumored alicorn. When she still seemed concerned, Crumble assured her further, telling her the Maiden’s Battalion was used to “unusual operations”. Some of the soldiers had unconsciously nodded in agreement, shooting knowing looks and sly smiles at each other.

They had come prepared, and given Celestia a black, hooded cloak with which to hide her wings. She gladly accepted it, firmly stretching the cape over her back and pulling the hood as far over her head as it would go. Her disguised guards eyed her curiously before she hid her features, but if they disliked what they saw, they did not voice their opinions.

Cotton had, of course, elected to join her. Crumble had protested at first, but the moment he realized who it was, they greeted each other as old friends, each inquiring about the other’s health, family, and fortune. Much to Celestia’s relief, he agreed to let her come, and she had stepped into the carriage, but not before cheerfully greeting every single member of the guard by name.

“She’s righ’, Celestia,” Apple Crumble spoke, breaking Celestia out of her daydream. He sat next to Cotton, his armor rustling as he shifted in his seat. “There’s a path fer carriages that goes straight into the garden. We’re gonna park righ’ on Clover’s doorstep. Nopony’s gonna bother yeh, I promise.”

“And if they do, they’ll get the iron boot!” Cotton cried, her face set with a comedic ferociousness. “Right, Crumble?”

“Steel, actually,” Crumble chuckled, playfully rapping Cotton on the head.

It failed to make Celestia feel any better. She did not want the threat of violence to keep other ponies in line. She wanted it to be natural. Cotton knew everypony in the guard. She and Crumble were practically best friends, the way they spoke with one another. If she happened to meet a stranger, she made it her immediate goal to know them. Celestia wished she could find camaraderie just as effortlessly.

Still, the events of that morning were clear in her mind. Stay smiling, stay laughing, stay positive, and everything will be fine.

The carriage rumbled on. Her guards, for the most part, remained unseen. Only once or twice did she see a familiar face. They moved with the crowds, inconspicuous and nonchalant as could be. Nopony, for even a moment, had reason to believe they were trained soldiers.

They reached the castle, where the guards seemed to be expecting them. Much of the guard dissipated, but some fell into line, surrounding the carriage in a proper defensive march. The arrived at the observatory tower minutes later. Somepony, a royal guard, opened the carriage door and motioned the passengers out. Crumble shuffled out, followed by a gleeful skip and remark of thanks from Cotton. Celestia took a breath, and followed suit.

**********

“Enter.”

A great pair of wooden doors swung open, groaning with effort and age.

“Celestia! Do come in, dear.”

Celestia, still dressed in her black, concealing cloak, timidly stepped through the great doorway, leaving Cotton and the soldiers behind. She threw back her hood, and, after shuffling forward to a respectful distance, dipped into a deep bow.

“Good greetings, Master-Adept Clover, and may the gods find thee well,” Celestia spoke, her voice small and contrite. “It is an honor to be in thy presence.”

“Oh, dear,” Clover said remorsefully. Immediately, Celestia panicked, worried she had done something wrong. “I thought I said no more formality?”

Celestia stood from her bow. “Oh! Oh, yes, you did, I just thought…”

“No need to be apologetic, Celestia,” Clover said. “Good impressions are important, extremely so in your case. But you need not worry about me. Your impression upon me is the best you shall make on anypony.”

Celestia was not sure what she meant. “Thank you,” she murmured, as if voicing the response to a question she did not know the answer to.

The room was lit with Clover’s magical lanterns. The enormous telescope in the center was collapsed into itself, and the roof was sealed, closed to the open air.

“Come,” Clover motioned, starting a slow walk towards a small door. “We can do better than these dreary chambers.”

Celestia followed after her, but kept a respectful distance. After a moment of walking, Clover turned back.

“Well, are you coming?” she asked, almost impatient. Celestia quickly nodded, and closed the distance between them. Together, they exited the tower, and stepped onto a modest balcony. It had two chairs and a couch, with a small table between them. On the table stood a kettle of tea, a wavering line of steam rising from the spout. Near the end of the balcony and sitting before the stone railing was a large spyglass, firmly mounted onto a tripod that was secured to the ground. It was a dark blue and set in a neat gold trim. The telescope was not ornate or decorated, but it did give the impression of high quality.

“Do you like it?” Clover asked proudly, noticing Celestia’s interest in the spyglass. “The Farsight Telescope, it’s called. I enchanted it myself. It can scry any location or anypony for miles. If you focus on a place, or a pony, and say their name, depending on their distance, you can view them with fairly decent clarity.”

Celestia approached it cautiously, and nudged it with a hoof. It swiveled on its tripod.

“You may try it, if you like,” Clover said, settling into a comfortable chair and pouring herself a cup of tea.

Celestia peered through it. There was no image, but rather a blackness, as if there was a lens cap on the other side. She checked. There was not.

Clover took a sip of tea. “No, my dear,” she instructed. “You must speak a name, first.”

Celestia took only a moment before she said a name, the first one that came to mind.

“Cotton Cake,” she declared, unsure if the telescope needed to be spoken to loudly. Apparently, it worked, as it swiveled around and pointed back towards the tower. Celestia moved to the other side of it, and squinted through it. She peered through sky and stone, and sure enough, she saw Cotton, playing a game of catch with Crumble. Where the red bouncy ball had come from, she had no idea. Crumble calmly tossed it to Cotton, who caught it with a whirlwind of magic, spinning it around a singularity of telekinesis. After a few revolutions, she released it, letting it fly in a beeline towards Crumble. It was much too fast to catch, and the ball hit the armored pegasus square in the face. Celestia peered another moment to catch Cotton’s expression of guilty concern, and Crumble’s good-natured, laughing response, before looking back towards Clover.

“That’s incredible,” Celestia said with genuine awe.

“Indeed it is,” Clover said, firmly aware of her own accomplishments. “But my magical ability is nothing, nothing, compared to your potential.”

Celestia blinked. Did she hear that correctly?

“What do you mean?” she inquired. “My magic is… well, it’s fairly poor.”

“I said your potential,” Clover patiently responded, “not your magic. Why don’t you have a seat?” She motioned to the chair opposite of her.

Celestia nodded, and sat down.

“Tea?” Celestia asked, shifting to get comfortable in her seat.

“Oh yes, dear,” Clover said, taking a sip. “I always prepare tea for my guests and students. It soothes the nerves, calms the senses, serves as a pleasant distraction.” She magically poured Celestia a cup.

“Plus,” she added, taking another sip, “it is tradition.”

“You have students?” Celestia politely inquired, taking a small drink herself. “Oh, this is good…” she muttered, after tasting the hot liquid.

“I used to,” Clover reminisced, “I have long since retired from teaching young magicians. I mostly aid in running the affairs of the Royal Magi. The late Adepts considered themselves my students, even though I never regularly taught them. Though, recent events have made me reconsider… I may yet have room for one more pupil…” She contemplatively tapped her hoof on the arm of her chair. “And I’m glad you think so,” she added, in reference to the tea.

“So what was this about my… potential?” Celestia asked.

Clover drank her tea, almost as if she did not hear her. After a half minute of tense, thoughtful silence, she set her cup down, and addressed Celestia.

“Your origin, Celestia, is somewhat… abnormal.”

The word “origin” made Celestia’s heart skip a beat. She leaned closer, listening with captivated intent.

“Do you know of the Maiden’s Battalion?” Clover asked.

Celestia nodded.

“Then you know three and a half months ago, Daylight, the Commander of the 21st, the Maid of Canterlot, was slain.”

“Yes, I do,” Celestia confirmed. “Lucky told me.”

Clover slowly nodded to herself. “Yes,” she murmured, “Of course he did.” She took a deep, rattling breath.

“Celestia,” she began, “You must understand something. Commander Daylight was an extremely important pony. She was the most successful military leader in ages. Certainly the most successful I have seen in my days. Her tactics and strategies were destined to constant success. Even in the face of hopeless odds, the gods seemed to favor her with the utmost of… luck. The loss of that brave pony was a grave loss indeed.”

“I do not doubt it,” Celestia said respectfully, “And I do not belittle her sacrifice, but surely there are others like her? A commander may be replaced. Right?”

“Interesting question. Are there others like her? Perhaps. But if there are, they have yet to make themselves known.”

Suddenly, a weatherpony flew by, passing only yards away from their balcony. It was close enough to feel the wind trailing from his wings. A startled Celestia nearly tipped over in her chair trying to wrap her black cloak around her wings.

“Peace, my dear,” Clover said calmly. “They cannot see us.”

“What?” Celestia exclaimed, still frantically trying to conceal herself. “He flew right past us!”

“There is an enchantment around the balcony,” Clover assured. Her horn glowed, and a nearly transparent film of purple magic made itself known. It shimmered in an orb around them, and became invisible as quickly as it had appeared. “For privacy. The only way anypony could hear or see us is if they landed on the balcony itself. When that is the case, I grant you permission to panic as wildly as you please. Until then, be still.”

Celestia ceased thrashing with her cloak. “Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly.

“Quite sure,” Clover said. Celestia nodded, but kept her cloak surrounding her.

“Where was I? Oh yes, your question,” Clover continued. “As far as succession, the arrangements have already been made. In three days’ time, Lucky Break will become the new Commander of the 21st, and unless I am mistaken, he will call Apple Crumble to be his Lieutenant-Commander. In the same ceremony, the Second-Lieutenant will become the first to fill the hole, and the Third-Lieutenant will become the second to fill that hole. Lucky will then choose a pony to fill the Third-Lieutenant, most likely a pegasus to replace Crumble and keep the leadership balanced. Whatever captaincy that pegasus is pulled from will also be filled. Military succession is always very clear and concise, based around professional opinion and factual merit. So to answer your question: yes, a commander can be replaced.”

“So what is the problem?” Celestia asked.

“The problem, Celestia, is that Daylight was much, much more than a mere commander.”

Celestia was silent, but tilted her head in curiosity.

“The problem is that Daylight was a hero. Based upon merit alone, she was the best of the best, but ponies do not care for statistics. They do not read battle reports, and they do not cite numbers in daily conversation. Why would they? They have something better.” She took a sip of tea, and refilled her cup.

“They have stories.”

“Stories?” Celestia questioned.

“Indeed,” Clover replied. “Daylight’s deeds ascended into legend, and they took her right along with them. She unwittingly became a romantic icon, the very symbol of Equestrian might and heroism. She was everypony’s beloved idol, and I do mean everypony. Every aspiring foal wanted to be her, every ambitious noble wanted to meet her, every ailing soldier wanted to hear her speak an inspiring word. And oh, was she inspiring!”

Clover looked to the overcast sky, seeming to grasp at straws for an emotion that was just out of her reach. “Her acclaim was not the result of accident. Daylight’s unique talents propelled her towards it. She was strong, and skilled. She was a good soldier. She was altruistic. She was certainly pretty, and very charismatic. But all of these things fall by the wayside. Ask anypony what they remember of Daylight. The person, not the legend. Ask them that, and they will tell you: ‘I remember her voice.’”

“Her… voice?” Celestia asked.

“Yes. Or perhaps, ‘I remember her heart.’ Or ‘I remember her spirit.’ Daylight’s power did not lie in the strength of her arm, or the cunning of her mind. Her strength was in her in exhilarating speeches, and brave actions. She served her country with fervency so great, it was impossible not to follow suit. Everything she did seemed to elevate the soul and lift the spirit, whether she was strategizing as a commander, fighting as a soldier, or serving as a citizen. After meeting her, no matter the circumstance, it was impossible to leave without a sense of purpose and patriotism.”

Clover fell silent, recalling a specific memory. “Indeed… she even managed to shake these old bones of mine a time or two.” She shook her head.

“In the name of the ponies she loved, and that loved her in return, she gave everything to her country. How could it be any other way? The fire in which her legend was forged was the very same fire in which her legend was undone. Her determination and exemplary altruism became her undoing, leading to her death in battle.

“Imagine the confusion. Imagine the horror. Heroes don’t die. That’s what makes them heroes, or so ponies think. If Discord is a demon, then Daylight was undoubtedly his angelic counterpart. And yet, here was their angel, fallen and slain, bleeding like a common mortal.”

“But wait,” Celestia interrupted. “Soldiers die all the time. Daylight made a heroic sacrifice. She died a martyr. Is that not the most inspirational act of all?”

“Excellent observation,” Clover remarked. “Some ponies saw it as that, the last testament to her glorious tale. But many more ponies saw only a tragic death. It would be as if I were telling you a story, and the protagonist died halfway through. Not everypony has the insight to see the poeticism that can only be read in between the lines. When the Battalion returned to Canterlot, carrying Daylight’s casket on their shoulders, despair gripped the nation. The day of that sad march was the day that ponies learned a terrible truth. Even angels can bleed.”

There was a long silence, as they both contemplated what had been said. Celestia finished her tea, and poured herself a second cup. Eventually, she spoke up.

“What does this have to do with me?” she asked, taking a drink.

“More than you might think, Celestia,” Clover said. “You, my dear, are Equestria’s bold new hero.”

Celestia stopped cold.

“I’m… I’m your new… what?” she stuttered, setting the cup down.

“You are our new hero,” Clover repeated. “If you so choose.”

“I’m… but you… I don’t understand,” Celestia cried. “How can I be a hero?”

“We will make you one,” Clover began. “Lucky thought of you as a tool, a weapon, as you so clearly heard him say. You ran, and afterwards, I convinced him otherwise. At least, I would hope so.”

“And what… what exactly did you convince him of?” Celestia asked incredulously.

“That you are a pony! A mare with feelings and fears!” Clover said. “Lucky and I both seek to end the war. He thought you to be a weapon to be used and kept sharp, but he’s wrong. A soulless weapon cannot inspire.”

“…cannot inspire…” Celestia mumbled. “Am I… a… am I a replacement, then? For this slain hero of yours?” There was silence. “Where did I come from?”

Clover did not answer for a long time, choosing her next words very carefully. Behind Clover, Celestia saw a red ball go sailing out of an open window, falling all the way to the castle grounds below. Cotton’s head appeared out of the same window, her expression frustrated and disappointed. She caught Celestia looking at her, and waved a happy greeting, before retreating back behind the window and shutting it emphatically.

“You were summoned.”

Celestia looked back at Clover.

“What?” she asked, unsure of what Clover meant, or if she even heard her correctly.

“Summoned,” she repeated. “At the behest of the Thirteen Adepts, under the highest orders of the Arch-Mage, and with the approval of myself, their Master, you were brought to this world through intense magic.”

Celestia was confused and dumbfounded. “I… I don’t…”

“After extensive research, we discovered a spell. Well, I should say, I discovered a spell. It had a most intricate pattern of magic and required a massive amount of energy, but any hardships that could be endured were well worth it, because the result of this particular sorcery was the summoning of an alicorn. I knew the truth about alicorns. We all did. At least, all the truth there is to know. We knew that the alicorns were not inherently evil. We also knew that alicorns were extraordinarily powerful.”

Celestia was speechless. Her mouth stuttered silent vowels, but did not form audible, coherent sentences.

“We were losing the war, Celestia. We still are. The thought of alicorn soldiers was very tempting for many. I reported my findings to the Arch-Mage, who reported it to the hierarchy. They demanded I perform such a spell immediately. I was hesitant to do so, but they were very insistent. The Arch-Mage and I tried several times to make it work, but each time we were met with… failure. I realized my own power was not enough. Performing, and subsequently failing, the spell so many times left me weak.

“So, we taught it to my students, the Adepts. They modified the spell so that multiple mages could participate, and set off to meet in Canterbury. Together, they would summon an alicorn.

“But somehow, Discord knew.” Clover’s expression took on a dark, almost angry look. “He sent his hordes to stop them. It was important enough that Discord himself appeared, wanting to make sure the job was done. He destroyed the entire town, killed Lieutenant Break’s small guard, and, in one fell swoop, he killed every single one of my Adepts. Only three ponies escaped from the carnage: you, Lucky Break, and Arch-Mage Midnight Shimmer.”

Celestia suddenly recalled visions of first memory. Midnight Shimmer was one of the Magi that stayed to defend her, but not the only one.

“She made it back to Canterlot, and told me what had happened, unaware of your survival. Now, she’s in seclusion. I do not know why, only that she’s engaged in ‘an effort of extreme importance to the war.’”

There was a long silence, as Clover gauged Celestia’s reaction. She sat, her face constantly shifting between confusion, to comprehension, to unhappiness.

“So, I’m…” she began, but shook her head, and started over. “So I’ve been summoned.”

“Yes.”

“Created.”

“No. Your essence, a presence that was uniquely you, was pulled from the cosmos, bound to fill a space in the material plane.”

Celestia sighed. That made absolutely no sense to her. “Do I have a past? I seem to know things, common knowledge and locations. I know how to speak, but not how to fly. I feel like… like I’m out of my own body. Oh, that makes no sense…”

“No, I understand. If you have any sort of previous experience, it is unbeknownst to me,” Clover mused. “Perhaps you do. In any case, you certainly have a future.”

“Do you plan to… to ‘summon’ more like me?” Celestia asked.

“We did,” Clover said, “but as of now, it is impossible. The spell is incredibly complicated and difficult to learn. Even after you are taught, it requires massive amounts of power and concentration. There are certainly powerful unicorns in Equestria. Were that the only requirement, I could easily find enough suitable candidates from the Maiden’s Battalion alone. But the kind of concentration required is something that very few ponies possess, something that is learned over decades of practice. Battle spells are wild and fierce. The summoning spell is very, very focused.”

“So… you cannot?” Celestia asked, seeking confirmation.

“With my Adepts gone, the only two able unicorns I can think of are myself, and the Arch-Mage. Our combined efforts would not be enough. I do not have the decades of time I would need to teach another unicorn the proper balance. I doubt I even have decades left to live. So no, we cannot.”

“I see…” Celestia murmured, trailing off into thought. “I was summoned…”

Clover saw the despair in her eyes, and spoke up.

“This revelation does not undo you, Celestia. Do not let it. You are no less tangible than I. You have fears, doubts, hopes, and dreams, just like everypony else. You are a real pony.” She put emphasis on every word. “This is something I know, and is something I would thank you to not forget.”

“But it’s all fake!" Celestia burst. "This isn’t my real self! I was brought here by… by…” She searched frantically for the word. “By sorcery! And who knows what I was forced to leave behind! I could have friends, I could have family! I... I...”

She trailed off, grasping the arms of her chair, desperately considering what else she might have forgotten.

At this, Clover scowled. A second later, and she vanished in a flash of purple light, and reappeared behind Celestia, who jumped out of her seat in fright.

“Am I fake, Celestia?” Clover demanded.

“No, but-”

“Is my body manufactured? Is my soul artificial?”

“No! But it’s not the same-”

“Nonsense!” Clover cried. “It is exactly the same thing. I was brought here, to this spot, by magic. A sorcery of modified ruminatics. That does not condemn my existence to be a falsehood. Neither does it yours, Celestia.”

Clover teleported near her seat, and shuffled back into it. “You are a magical being, Celestia. In a way, all ponies are magical beings, even non-unicorns. Especially non-unicorns, in some cases. Being special does not,” she said firmly, pointing a shaking hoof at Celestia, “make you less than equal. You retain your right to laugh, smile, and be happy. Don’t you dare let Cotton’s lesson and hospitality go to waste.”

A knife of shame twisted in her gut, but she was too panicked and angry to let it stop her.

“What of my past? They tore me from it, without my say!” Celestia accused. She was speaking in reference to her summoners, but Clover knew by her tone that Celestia prescribed just as much guilt to her.

“A judge does not assign blame until he knows the full trial,” Clover calmly said. “Do not accuse those whom you do not know to be guilty. We do not know if you have a past, and neither do you. Perhaps you do, perhaps you do not. In any case, they summoned you to save the lives of thousands. Would you hold a grudge for their intention?”

Celestia’s ears flattened, and she lowered her head in guilt. She relaxed back into her chair.

“If I have no past, then maybe I really am…” she paused, hesitant to say it.

Clover sighed. Would she not learn? “You are not fake, and you are not inferior. Many ponies will try to convince you of your inferiority. In the upcoming meeting, they will no doubt treat you as such. If you believe that before you even enter the courtroom doors, then you have already lost.”

Celestia took a deep sigh. Clover thought she might cry, and was surprised and impressed when she raised her head, sad determination in her eyes.

“I just… I know not what to do,” she quietly admitted. “Is that my sole purpose? To be your hero?”

“Your purpose,” the Master-Adept gently countered, “is whatever you wish it to be. Should you decide to help us, the road will be rough, but you will always have friends along the way. You would forge a legend, but you would not forge it alone. However, you are allowed to decline, and neither I nor anypony else will bear a grudge for it. An unwilling aide is hardly effective, and a soldier without purpose is no soldier at all.”

“But who am I to say no?” Celestia said. “What other choice do I have?”

“Who are you? My dear, you are Celestia,” Clover asserted, “and you have all the choice in the world.”

Celestia pondered, blankly staring at the dying wisps of steam rising from her tea. You have all the choice in the world. She certainly did not feel that way. Technically, it was true, in the same way that she had the choice to jump from the balcony and die upon the stone below. She was expected to fight. She was summoned for it. The Master-Adept wanted her to, and after properly learning of her existence, the whole of Equestria would as well. Even Lucky Break, in his own way, had affirmed and reduced her existence to that of a mere weapon.

And what if she chose not to fight? What then? Celestia could imagine with frightening clarity what would happen then. She would be treated the same way she had been treated before. An alicorn, a monster, who refused to even try and redeem her horrid nature by doing good deeds. They would consider her all the more monstrous for it. The Adepts’ sacrifice would have been in vain, and the blame would rest squarely on her shoulders.

Still, as Clover had said, an unwilling aide was hardly effective. Celestia was not unwilling, but she certainly was not excited about her options. Her gaze shifted back into focus as she settled uncomfortably in her chair. Her tea was no longer steaming, she realized. She did not lift her gaze from it.

Clover sensed her indecision.

“It is your choice,” she added, “Fight, or don’t. I will admit, though, we need all the willing hooves we can find, if we are to stop Discord.”

Celestia thought it was strangely out of place, the way Clover said it. She was right, though. Discord was powerful, deadly, and willing to do whatever it took to achieve his goal. His evil had claimed the lives and sanity of so many innocent ponies. Celestia supposed, then, that she could understand how ponies would take such drastic measures. Would she not also be ‘drastic’, were her family or friends taken from her?

And why, then, should she not be the same? Powerful! Deadly! Willing! Discord needed to be punished for his crimes. Revenge must be taken. A vein pulsed in her temple, and suddenly, the comment did not seem so out of place after all. Of course they needed willing hooves! How could they not, when so much was on the line? When the need was great, and the retribution was so very necessary!

Hatred.

“Celestia...”

Hatred.

“Celestia!”

Celestia’s gaze quickly lifted from her cup. “Huh?”

Clover leaned forward in her chair, half in concern, half in what seemed to be readiness. Ready for what? Celestia’s lungs heaved in and out. She realized she was out of breath. That was strange.

“Are you okay?” Clover asked, still frozen in her anxious posture.

Celestia adopted a strange, introspective expression, and leaned back, realizing she too was posed much the same way. “Yes, of course,” she breathed slowly.

Clover, only partially convinced, slowly leaned back in her chair, keeping a wary eye on her company. Celestia did not like it, but said nothing about it.

She grabbed her teacup, and slowly raised it to her lips. Her hooves were shaking, only enough for her to notice. She took a sip of tea. It was boiling hot, and burned her tongue. She set it back down, and cleared her throat, facing fully forward to address Clover.

“I will fight.”

**********

“Where did yeh get this thing, anyways?” Apple Crumble asked, shaking his head after being hit in the face.

Cotton looked from Crumble, to the bright red ball, and back. After a moment of contemplation, she shrugged.

“I don’t know!” she blithely declared, and tossed it back to Crumble.

“Eh course yeh don’t…” he murmured, catching it with a hoof. It was unprofessional, playing ball on castle grounds with a civilian, all while dressed in official armor. At the moment, he did not care. His guard was dressed in civilian clothing, their mission was technically off the record, and besides, acting the part of the gruff Lieutenant all the time was tiring. What better time to break that act than now? And who better to do that than with than Cotton?

He looked around, and realized his disguised guards were pursuing similar activities. A pair of them were playfully boxing, some were playing cards, and one was drawing on a piece of parchment with a charcoal pencil. It seemed to unnerve the observatory sentinels, who were on-duty and unused to seeing so many ponies out of official attire, especially in a place that did not receive much traffic.

“Catch!” Crumble yelled, bouncing the ball off of the floor and in the direction of Cotton. She deftly returned it. He caught it, and did the same. It went back and forth, each throw more creative than the last. Crumble began to use his wings to fly up and bounce it off the ceiling, while Cotton used her magic to throw unpredictable curveballs.

“Oh, hello Mister Break!” Cotton happily greeted. Crumble’s hoof had just barely released the ball, and sent it towards Cotton, who turned to make a last second catch.

“Cotton,” Lucky Break acknowledged.

Crumble swiveled in mid-air to view Lucky, still stepping off of the spiral staircase to the top floor. The guards immediately stopped their diversions, and the room fell deathly silent. In any other case, they would have drawn weapons and demanded the visitor to leave. This, however, was a high ranking officer. Technically, they were under orders to remove anypony not part of the mission from the area, but this was the stallion that would be their commander in less than a week. Nopony wanted to lose his favor.

Apple Crumble did not share that sentiment.

“Lucky Break,” he said, landing with a thud directly in front of the intruder, stopping his progress. His stature was imposing, and his wide wings were spread in an aggressive screen. “I’m under orders to keep a secure premises. Very important ponies only. If yeh’d be so kind as to remove yourself, ‘fore I resort to force.”

“Crumble,” Lucky said quietly. “Are we not friends?”

“Yeh’re impedin’ an important, highly classified operation,” Crumble boldly declared in response.

Lucky cast a flat, doubtful glance at the room, ending on a table covered in face down cards. He caught sight of one of the guards replacing one of his cards while everypony’s attention was away. “Highly classified, huh?”

Crumble irately growled. “What’re yeh doin’ here, lad? There’s nothin’ for yeh. That poor mare doesn’ need more of yeh’re grief.”

“I’m here to apologize.”

“’Less yer here to apologize, I suggest yeh… er, what?”

“I’m here to apologize,” Lucky repeated, slipping past Crumble’s block in his brief moment of surprise.

“Am… I s’posed to believe that?” he asked suspiciously, readjusting his position to again impede Lucky.

“I hope so,” Lucky said, “Otherwise I’m missing my meeting with the Chancellor Cookie for nothing.” He shuffled around Crumble, and walked to an open window.

“Lucky,” Crumble said, walking alongside him, lowering his voice to a grumbling whisper, “do yeh really want to apologize?”

“Come on, Crumble,” Lucky said, “Don't you trust me?”

Crumble growled dangerously. “Lucky…”

“Yes, yes, I really do,” he quickly said.

“Aw, it’s okay, Apple!” Cotton said, seeking to lighten the mood. “He can wait with us! Here, Mister Lucky, catch!”

She tossed the ball into the air in front of her, spun it up in a twister of kinesis, and sent it rocketing towards Lucky, who she did not realize was facing the wrong direction. Looking out of the window and away from her, it was bound to hit him in the head.

Cotton barely had time to cringe before Lucky quickly tilted his head to one side. The ball missed him completely, and flew out of the open window.

“My ball!” Cotton cried, scrambling to the window. She pushed both Lucky and Crumble away, and peered out and down. It had fallen too far to catch with magic. She scowled. To her side, she looked to see Celestia, giving her an odd expression. She waved and smiled, before retreating back inside.

“You were supposed to catch it, Lucky!” Cotton exclaimed. “That’s it. You have to leave, very important ponies only.”

“Please,” Lucky began, addressing everypony, but Crumble in particular. “Please, let me stay. I must have words with Celestia, and now is the only time I can do so before the council meeting. I admit I may have been…” He pawed at the ground with a forehoof and looked away, struggling to find the right word. “Harsh.”

Crumble raised an eyebrow. “Lucky,” he whispered, “even if I let yeh stay, do yeh think this is a good idea? She’s had quite enough hardship. She may not even listen to yeh.”

“I have to try,” Lucky said.

“Really?” Crumble skeptically asked.

“Yes, really.”

“Very well…” Crumble murmured. “But I’m staying righ’ here to make sure yeh give a proper apology. An’ if she don’t want to listen, if she wants to walk righ’ past yeh with ‘er nose in the air, then you gotta let ‘er. Got that?”

“Yes,” he said simply, nodding in consent.

“And no funny business,” Crumble added.

“Of course,” he agreed. Crumble eyed him suspiciously, before giving a defeated grunt and walking away. In all sincerity, Lucky did not plan on doing anything but apologizing. What exactly that apology would sound like, he was unsure. He supposed it did not help that his heart was not one hundred percent behind the notion of doing so.

Cotton tried to engage Lucky and Crumble in another game. Neither of them were in the mood.

**********

The doors swung open. Celestia strode out, pleasantly chatting with Clover. The two of them stopped cold when they saw Lucky, standing squarely in the center of the lobby. Immediately, the Master-Adept adopted an irate expression.

“Guards,” she said, calmly but with clear animosity, “Remove this pony from my tower at once.”

The two sentinels, tired of the chaos that had happened in their normally quiet tower, were happy to oblige. They made a motion towards him, weapons ready to be drawn.

“Wait. Wait!” Lucky said. The guards did not stop. “I have something to say, and after, you can throw me in the dungeon if you like!”

The guards kept advancing, and pushed Lucky back. He did not plead further, except with the anxiety in his eyes. They were almost to the staircase, when Celestia cried out.

“Hold there!” she exclaimed. Clover looked at Celestia, who returned with a distressed but curious expression. She had thought Lucky was the last person she wanted to see, but now that he was here…

Clover sighed, and made a quick motion with her hoof. The disappointed sentinels backed away slightly.

Lucky shoved them back, and approached Celestia and Clover with caution. He was very aware of Apple Crumble, whose stare seemed to drill into his skull from behind.

“That’s far enough,” Clover said after he was a small distance away. Lucky immediately stopped where he was. There was a silence, as Lucky waited for permission to speak.

“Speak, then,” Clover curtly granted.

Lucky cleared his throat. “Clover… Celestia. Good evening.”

They said nothing. Clover looked down on him with an air of contempt, while Celestia held only cautious curiosity.

“I came here to… Well, I wanted to say…” Lucky’s gaze nervously shifted as he searched for the right words. “It is fairly obvious, I suppose, but… I… I’m sorry, Celestia.” Lucky took a deep, apologetic bow, his eyes down and nose to the floor.

Clover’s gaze immediately shifted from contempt to surprise.

“I was wrong, and I misjudged you. A… recent occurrence had left me blinded by grief. It left my anger blinded as well, and I unjustly directed it towards you. Would that I could unsay those words…” he closed his eyes, and briefly shook his head.

“I hope my goals and intentions are plain,” he continued, “I wish to end Discord’s tyranny more than anypony alive. It was my intention to enlist your aid, but now, I fear the only favor I may ask of you is forgiveness.” He rose from his bow, and looked Celestia straight in the eye. “Celestia, will you forgive my foalishness?”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a long minute, Celestia searching for sincerity, and Lucky searching for an answer. Finally, Celestia broke their gaze and looked shyly towards the ground.

“Yes,” she meekly said.

The room was quiet. Lucky wished for the silence to end, and yet it seemed to form a muffling gag. Speaking through it was nearly impossible. Eventually, he was able to.

“Thank you,” he uncomfortably replied. After another pause, he added, “That is all.” Lucky turned away, and walked towards the exit, solitarily descending down the long spiral staircase.

**********

“So, that’s how it happened?” Twilight Sparkle asked, ceasing her note-taking. She eyed her teacher in wonder.

“How what happened?” Celestia asked.

“That!” Twilight cried, as if it should have been obvious. “You! All of this!” She waved her hooves nonspecifically in the air. “That spell is how you were born!”

After she said it, Twilight immediately withdrew. She knew she was not treating the subject with the respect or reverence it deserved. Her curiosity was a problem, sometimes. As they say, curiosity killed the cat. Or, in this case, curiosity got the cat banished and put in a dungeon in the place it got banished to.

“Well, yes,” Celestia slowly said. Twilight, a furious blush on her face, buried herself in her papers and took a few more notes. “You could say that.”

Twilight’s quill stopped. “What do you mean?” she quietly asked.

“I mean,” Princess Celestia said patiently, “it didn’t happen how Clover the Clever said. She lied to me.”

“Lied to you?” Twilight repeated dumbly. It was strange, outlandish even. One did not simply accuse a founder of Equestria to be a liar. Twilight knew that actual information on the foundation was scarce, but she also knew that Clover was good, and lying was bad. Clover the Clever could not be both a good pony, and also a liar. It simply did not make sense. In the mind of a pony who held Clover the Clever in the absolute highest regard, both as a historical figure and a personal hero, the two concepts could not be forced to reconcile.

“Indeed, she did, and I do not blame her for it,” Celestia said, seeming to read her pupil’s thoughts.

“But why?” Twilight asked, desperate for an explanation. Her innocent expression was, to Celestia, endearing. It was the expression of a filly who had just learned that many of her foalhood fancies were mere stories, fabricated and told by scheming adults.

“Because,” the Princess said, “that was what I needed to hear.” Her tone was contemplative, as if she too were wondering why it was necessary. Nevertheless, she continued.

“She told me the public story, the one that everypony else would eventually be told. At the time, I imagine the truth would have been too hard to bear, both for the public, and for me personally. Not to say Clover was out to completely deceive me. In fact, much of what she told me was the truth. But the best lies are truths, just sprinkled with deception. I had no reason to believe otherwise, and I didn’t learn the whole truth till much later.”

Twilight, for the first time, had no idea what to write. It was a lie, but it was not, but it everybody believed it, but it was only the public story, but it was necessary, and where did Cotton get that ball? Her thoughts, she realized, were becoming somewhat scrambled. She eventually just circled her notes on the Princess’ meeting with Clover, and put a large question mark.

“Had I been told the full truth,” Celestia continued, “I wouldn’t have been nearly as confident in myself. Had the full truth been revealed to the public, well…”

She took a sip of tea. It was delicious, the unique recipe just as perfect as it had been over a thousand years ago. The Princess set her cup down.

“I expect my day in the courtroom would have been even more unpleasant.”

X: Blight and Chairful

If Celestia had been somewhat anxious when entering Canterlot a week ago, now she was positively horrified. A meeting had indeed been scheduled, with the intent to discuss a matter of dire importance: herself. At first, it had been called in secret. It was to be a private assembly, in which her fate would be decided behind closed doors, between the frantic debate of an elite few.

Canterlot, however, was still a relatively small establishment, yet to achieve full maturity in keeping with its noble bearings. It had long since been declared a “Royal” city, an honor few places were granted. However, regardless of the title, the residents were still the same as they had been those fifteen years ago. Keeping secrets in such a place was no easy feat. The nobles interacted very closely with the townsfolk, simply because they were the townsfolk. To the surprise of no one, the time, location, and subject of the meeting were leaked. Amongst the curious Canterlot aristocrats, word spread as quickly and easily as wildfire in a forest of tinder. It burned through the townsfolk just the same.

It was the talk of the town, and why would it not be? An alicorn, a living, breathing alicorn had been sighted on the streets of Canterlot City! Politicians discussed how it would affect their standing. Shop owners wondered how it would affect business. Some parents were even afraid for their children. More than all this, though, was the simple gossip. Rumor and speculation flew from left to right, each more wild than the last.

“Is it a stallion, or a mare? Or a foal?”

“I heard alicorns don’t have genders!”

“What if the alicorn is an emissary from the Astral Mountains?”

“What if it wants peace?”

“What if it wants war!?”

“I saw it, last night! It had evil, glowing eyes, and teeth like daggers.”

“Is it true that alicorns have two horns? For twice the magical power?”

“Aye, and four wings, as well. And tall as timber, they are.”

“I hear they’re black as pitch...”

“And doubly foul! Mind your step around Canterlot today. Alicorn’s gonna snatch you up otherwise.”

“Vile creatures.”

It was a week after her conversation with Clover that the meeting was to be held. Until that time, Cotton had convinced Celestia to go into town, disguised, to help her sell her candy. Seeing she was still doubtful, Cotton assured Celestia that nopony actually knew what she looked like. The night she had been seen, she was covered in dirt, blood, and shrouded by darkness.

Celestia had eventually accepted, and at first she found it quite enjoyable. Cotton was beloved by all her customers. She knew each one by name, and held a brief but intimate conversation with everypony that came by. Often, it seemed that some ponies came by just to talk. Cotton was always happy to oblige. To everypony she conversed with, Cotton introduced Celestia as her “new assistant”, boldly declaring her to be “the best helper ever.” Celestia shyly but gratefully accepted the misplaced praise. If they knew the truth, they would not be so civil, Celestia knew. Regardless, she was glad to be meeting strangers who did not treat her poorly.

This had continued for a few days. Cotton would sell cotton candy at Cotton’s Candy, and Celestia would aid in any way she could. However, the object of the city’s curiosity was becoming increasingly apparent, and after hearing countless conversations of which she was the subject, Celestia had completely lost the desire to help. Even the most well-meaning of ponies could be caught up in the excitement. Cotton always gently debunked the rumors when brought up around her stand, but it was not enough to stop Celestia’s stomach from churning whenever she thought of the upcoming meeting. She stopped coming to town. Cotton understood, and told her it was okay to be nervous, and that perhaps she just needed some time.

Celestia needed more than that, though. Generations could go by, nations could be founded, continents could rise from the ocean, stars could take shape, shine, and pass away before there was time enough for Celestia to prepare herself for what news she would soon receive.

This was the second message she had received in the past week. It was Friday, the day before the meeting. Cotton had brought it home where Celestia sat waiting, browsing through her surprisingly intellectual collection of books. Cotton had handed her the note, while happily relating how her day had gone, purposefully neglecting to speak about anything alicorn-related.

The note was tied with a purple ribbon, sealed with red wax, and stamped with the royal insignia. Celestia had curiously and cautiously opened it, as if she were disarming a trap rather than opening a letter. She had subsequently been surprised while reading it, to find that it was an exact copy of the one she had received a few days prior. Her surprise had changed to horror as she continued reading. A single line had been added.

To the alicorn known as Celestia

Our kindest greetings,

Thy presence is requested at an assembly of some significance. We, the Nobility of Canterlot, have desire to treat with thee upon important matters involving the circumstances of our most sacred Equestria, and its relationship with thee.

The assembly shall be held on Saturday, the 21st of April, on the 50th year after our unification, in the Royal City of Canterlot.

The place of assembly shall be the upper district, at the Ponies’ Courthouse.

The assembly shall begin at noon.

The assembly shall be public.

Arrangements have been made for thy security and safe arrival. Our Royal Guard shall accompany thee. Master-Adept Clover shall soon speak to thee about these arrangements. Rest assured, thy safety is all but certain.

These arrangements are subject to change, according to the will and pleasure of the Nobility of Canterlot. Should the arrangements change, thou shalt be notified with all haste and expedience.

Our finest regards,

The Nobility of Canterlot

She stared fixedly at the scroll, reading and rereading that one, condemning line.

The assembly shall be public.

“Are you okay, Celestia?” Cotton called, flinging her apron towards a coat rack, and missing.

Celestia’s eyes only widened further. Her breathing was heavy, and in her head, she could hear their voices.

Monster! Monster! Monster!

“Celly?” Cotton questioned, raising a hoof of concern towards Celestia, who was beginning to hyperventilate.

She looked up from the note. Cotton’s mirror, the one that read “You!” at the top, stood in front of her. She saw herself, and for a moment, gazed at her own damning reflection.

Monster!

Celestia scrambled out of her chair and into the bathroom, tightly slamming the door behind her.

**********

The ceremony had just ended, and the nobles were beginning to disperse. In true military fashion, it had been orderly, uneventful, and utterly formal. He had mingled with the crowd for a while, as was expected of him, but they were leaving quickly, preparing to attend to much more interesting matters.

“Congratulations, Commander.”

Apple Crumble raised a hoof and firmly patted Lucky Break on the back. It was both a congratulatory and consoling gesture.

“And to you as well, Lieutenant-Commander,” Lucky responded, turning towards his friend. His tone was very obviously less than happy, but he did not do anything to correct it. Around Crumble, Lucky did not have to act. “Never thought I’d make it this far.”

“Aye,” Crumble nodded. “I don’t think anypony thought so.”

The two were similarly dressed, both wearing formal red commander’s jackets, Lucky’s appearing a bit more ornate, accented with a royal Canterlot purple. Each jacket sported the appropriate medals corresponding with rank.

Lucky uncomfortably adjusted his newest badge.

“The rank of Commander’s not one to be taken lightly,” Crumble said, “as I’m sure yeh know. But don’t yeh ever slack off, ‘cause if yeh do, I’ll be righ’ behind yeh to kick yeh into shape.” Crumble tapped the tip of his hoof to the ground, where his horseshoe rang with a brief metal clink.

Lucky gave the barest hint of a smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Could be worse, I ‘spose,” Crumble said, looking over the thinning crowd. “Any other day, yeh’d be the talk of the town fer weeks. Righ’ now, they’re all too preoccupied with this… this alicorn nonsense.” He shot Lucky a knowing glance, who returned it just the same.

“You’re right,” Lucky said contemplatively. “The appointing of a commander one day, and a meeting about a mythological creature the next?”

Near the ballroom exit where the ceremony had been held, a mare suddenly, loudly gasped, ‘No, really?’ Her friend nodded, and they resumed their conversation, excitedly whispering to one another.

Lucky and Crumble looked towards them, and then back to each other.

“I’m surprised they haven’t burst from overstimulation,” Lucky murmured.

Crumble nodded. There was a moment of grave silence, before they broke into hilarious laughter.

**********

“Aw, Celestia, come on out of there, silly.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Ple-eeeease?”

“No!”

Cotton frowned, staring at the closed bathroom door. She paced back and forth in deep thought.

“Why not? Can’t we talk?” she appealed.

Celestia’s answer, though muffled through the door, was clear. “No.”

There was no lock on the door. In reality, Cotton could have simply walked in and cornered Celestia inside. Of course, she would not. She wanted Celestia to come out on her own.

“Oh!” Cotton said, pointing her hoof in the air in a moment of brilliance. She raced to one of her cupboards, and, after a moment of searching, retrieved an item.

“I have cotton candy!” she chimed, her sing-song voice a mixture of enticing and pleading.

“I'm not a child, Cotton,” came Celestia’s terse reply.

Though she could not see it, Cotton waved the stick of sugary blue fluff back and forth in front of the door. “Come on. It’s blue flavored. Your favorite, right?”

There was a pause. “Hmph!” Celestia huffed. It did not sound as resolute as she would have hoped.

“I guess I’ll just have to eat it myself,” Cotton lamented, picking a piece off and popping it in her mouth. She relaxed onto her haunches, sitting in front of the door and snacking on the candy. She ate it slowly and luxuriously, piece by piece, smacking her lips together and chewing as loudly as she possibly could.

Eventually, the door slowly creaked back, opening only a small ways. One of Celestia’s eyes cautiously peered through the sliver of space. Cotton froze and looked back, a piece of cotton candy hovering over her open mouth.

“I suppose you'll find out eventually,” she quietly murmured. Cotton said nothing, but smiled, holding the stick of cotton candy toward the door in offering. It swung open a bit more, and Celestia timidly crept around it, and into the open room. She grabbed the candy and took a tentative, almost shameful bite. Her expression shifted from hesitance, to delight, and back to hesitance.

“May I?” Cotton asked, motioning to Celestia’s nearly crumpled letter in hopes of a trade. Celestia warily gave her the letter, and quickly took another bite, wondering if it was possible to drown her sorrows in fluffy sugar.

Cotton, who, to Celestia’s surprise, was a very fast reader, looked over the note, and gasped.

“They changed it!” she cried despairingly. “Oh, how could they?”

“Exactly,” Celestia said, hanging her head. “Now you understand-”

“The first letter said it was scheduled for the evening!” Cotton wailed, crumpling the letter and throwing it behind her. It landed on the hook of a coat rack.

“This is terrible! I had planned on meeting with Coffee! He was going to come over and calibrate the machine, and I was going to introduce him to you! Oh, I just can’t believe it. The nerve of those nobles.” She put a frustrated hoof to her face and disbelievingly shook her head at the ground.

“What…?” Celestia wondered, lowering her stick of candy and eyeing her friend with confusion. “No, Cotton. That’s not what I’m worried about. At all.”

Cotton looked up. “Huh?”

“The letter, read it again. They did not simply change the time of day. They made it public,” Celestia said darkly. “Everypony is going to be there.”

Cotton looked as though she were about to gasp with concern, but stopped. “And?” she said, motioning her hoof in a forward circle, gesturing her to continue.

“And… that’s horrible!” Celestia said. “The first letter said it was to be private, and that I would appear to everypony later, at a separate event!”

Cotton’s expression was frozen, trying to comprehend it. Eventually, she unfroze, and giggled. “Is that all? Oh, you silly filly, that’s no problem at all!”

Celestia could not believe it. Did Cotton really not see her dilemma?

“It is a problem! I'm not ready! Those ponies… the ponies will…” she stammered, her gaze worriedly shifting away, searching for the words. “They hate me!”

“What? No they don’t,” Cotton said, waving a nonchalant, dismissive hoof towards Celestia. “You helped me at my stand, and those ponies didn’t hate you.”

“They didn’t know I was an alicorn!” she exclaimed.

"And once they do, it’ll be just fine. Think about it, Celestia,” Cotton began, rising to her hooves and pacing back and forth, “you showed them your personality. You showed them you. You smiled, and they smiled back!” Cotton grinned as if to prove her point.

“To them, you were just another unicorn. Somepony they liked! So when they learn you are an alicorn, they will know that you aren’t evil, or a monster, or anything silly like that. They’ll know that you,” Cotton stopped in front of Celestia, poking her in the chest, “are you.”

“What about the ponies I haven’t met?” Celestia said, not daring to allow herself to feel relief.

“Oh, I’m sure word will spread,” Cotton said casually. She threw a hoof around Celestia’s shoulder. “Don’t be nervous Celly. I’ll be right next to you, every step of the way.”

**********

The next day, Celestia’s guard arrived, drawing an armored carriage, and guarded by no less than forty soldiers, all dressed gleaming in armor. Gone was the subtlety of the soldiers of the 21st. Replacing them were what Celestia guessed were the Royal Guard.

With their shining armor, their rigid, defensive formation, and the broad Equestrian flag hanging on the side of the carriage, any thoughts of not being noticed had been thrown out the window. Indeed, it seemed they had already attracted attention on their march beyond the walls. Curious stragglers kept their distance, looking to discover what the commotion was all about, hoping to catch a glance of the rumored alicorn. The only thing they saw was the guards and a pair of unicorns, one cloaked, and one engaged in a heated argument with a frustrated captain.

“What do you mean, I can’t come?” Cotton demanded.

“Sorry, Cotton,” he said defensively. “I’ve got orders. I am to take the… the alicorn only.” He nervously glanced at a devastated Celestia, before looking back.

“Please, Cloudhammer?” Cotton pouted, stomping a hoof on the dusty trail. “I thought we were friends.”

“Look, Cotton, we are…” the white pegasus captain shifted around nervously, glancing at his entourage of Royal Guards. They eyed him questioningly. He turned back to Cotton, and sighed.

“Orders are orders!” he exclaimed, leaning forward with wings flaring, a timbre of authority ringing in his voice. “The meeting is public, so if there is room, you may watch the proceedings from the stands. Otherwise, step aside, or I shall have you arrested for the obstruction of royal duties.”

Cotton did not back down. They both leaned in towards each other, until their noses were practically touching. It was a laughable sight. Cotton was still a young mare, but even for her age, she was somewhat small. Yet, despite her height, here she was, looking up to a military stallion who was by far her superior in size and strength, and doing so with a determination Celestia would never have dared. It was not until the captain’s eyes softened that she backed away.

“Please, Cotton,” he whispered uncomfortably, not wanting his soldiers to hear. Cotton slowly and hesitantly withdrew.

“Fine,” she huffed, not breaking their gaze until the last second. “They won’t let me go with you, Celly.” She turned to face Celestia, who she saw was already lost in a state of hysteria.

“What am I going to do?” she cried. “What am I going to do? Oh, they’re going to hate me, I just know it! They’re going to hate me, and call me names, what am I going to do?” Her breath became quick and distressed.

“Celestia!” Cotton said urgently, grasping her with both hooves, gently shaking her. She looked as though she was going to pass out.

“What?” Celestia said, her eyes remaining unfocused.

“Celestia, listen,” Cotton said. The tone of her voice drew Celestia’s attention. “You’ll be fine.”

Cotton’s tone was one of uncharacteristic calm and sobriety, which inspired something similar in Celestia. It did not completely overshadow her anxiety, but it did help.

“I’ll be waiting there for you. If you get nervous, just imagine them wearing socks. It always works for me.” Celestia gave a nervous, gasping laugh. Cotton smiled. It was a start.

“You’ll be fine,” she repeated.

Celestia took a moment to muster her determination. It was not much, but she supposed it would have to do.

“Okay,” she sighed. The two embraced in a quick hug.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Cotton murmured, as they released each other. Celestia only nodded.

“Alright, come on, alicorn,” the captain said loudly, becoming impatient.

“Hey!” Cotton exclaimed, spinning around and directing a furious glare at the pegasus. He shrank ever so slightly from her gaze. “She has a name, Cloudhammer!”

“Oh. Excuse me, miss,” he murmured, readjusting all fours to resume his imposing stature. For fear of Cotton’s temper, he kept his words formal. “I neglected to ask. Let us not be strangers. I am Captain Cloudhammer, of the Royal Guard of Canterlot. What shall we call you?”

Celestia looked to him, eyes filled with halting fear. She tried to summon a measure of confidence. She was immediately aware of the futility of her attempt, but Cotton’s boldness urged her on, like an unstoppable force pushing her against a nearly immovable object. If for no other reason, and with no other option, she would try to be brave for her.

“Well?”

She gulped, and spoke.

**********

“Celestia.”

“And, for the records of the court, please speak thy surname.”

She felt her mouth becoming dry and stale. “There is none,” she meekly mumbled.

There was a thick silence. Save for the loud scratching of the court scribe’s quill, and the reverent murmurs in the stands above, the room was gravely, anxiously quiet. The ponies above and around were waiting; for what, they did not know. The very nature of the meeting had yet to be revealed. Was it a diplomatic? Was it even friendly? Could they expect a proposal of peace from an unlikely ally? Or a threat of hostility from a probable enemy? Or, perhaps it was a trial, and the council would just as readily issue a sentence of death for this monster, a prisoner of war. Anything was possible, and if that white-coated, pink-maned, timid little mare was what they thought she was, it was all equally likely.

“C-e-l-e-s-t-i-a,” the scribe enunciated, speaking each letter individually. “Is this correct?”

Celestia gave an almost imperceptible nod, fixedly staring at a knot of pattern on the marble floor.

“And, for the records of the court,” the scribe slowly started, only half sure that she had actually affirmed his spelling, “please speak the date of thy birth.”

For a long time, Celestia was unsure of how to respond. She gazed at the twisting knot, squinting and searching for answers, as if the secrets of her life were held in its patterns. Was she, technically, only a week and a half old? If she told them that, Celestia knew they would think she was making a mockery of them. She looked up to the scribe, and just as quickly averted her eyes.

“I know it not,” she murmured, her gaze dropping even lower than before. The onlookers whispered to one another, while the scribe calmly resumed his writing.

For the citizens of Canterlot, a courtroom proceeding, especially one of this magnitude, was a welcome break in the mundane goings-on of everyday life. Celestia raised her head to cast another nervous, trembling glance around the courtroom. It was big, bigger than she expected it to be. There were two levels. The ground level, where she was, was where the action took place. On an open floor, there were over a dozen tables placed in a square formation, spaced out just far enough for privacy, and just close enough for conversation and debate. The chairs were all placed in such a way that everypony on the floor was facing inwards, towards one another. At the head of the square was a larger stand with a dozen seats, where sat the scribe, the governor of Canterlot, and the Royal Council.

The governor, a grey-coated earth pony with a bouncy beige mane, held herself with diplomatic poise, no doubt the result of years of experience. She was, Celestia had been told, akin to a judge, keeping order in the discussion and playing a large role in the ultimate decision. The Royal Council would vote on a course of action, while the scribe, a gangly white, bespectacled unicorn, would make a complete, written copy of the proceedings for later review.

On the tables placed around the room sat the nobles and their entourages, each with a different title and area of interest. There were representatives of all kinds. A young unicorn princess coolly leaned back in her chair, aloofly examining her company. An earth pony chancellor, wrinkled and ancient, patiently waited for the meeting to proceed. A military pegasus, dressed in traditional, pre-unification armor, sat with a stiff back, alert and ready. The Commander-in-Chief, an old but stout earth pony who acted as leader of Equestria’s combined armies, sat stoically at his table. Across the room from each other, Lucky Break was seated to Celestia’s left, and Clover the Clever to her right. One spoke for the elite of Equestria’s army, and the other, for the Royal Magi. They were positioned directly across from each other, and seemed to stare each other down. They showed no clear animosity, but the friction between them was evident nonetheless.

Besides that, there were other nobles, leaders and politicians and captains of industry, each of them itching to contribute to the upcoming discussion. All of the representatives had one or two ponies sitting next to them, fellow agents of their organization. For Lucky, it was his newly promoted Lieutenant-Commander. Clover sat next to two other unicorns, who were no doubt high ranking mages.

Celestia had nopony.

“And, for the records of the court, please state thy place of birth.”

Celestia’s gaze dropped even lower, until her chin was practically against her neck.

“I know it not,” she whispered. It was quiet, but not quiet enough to go unheard. The ponies around her again murmured conspiratorially amongst themselves.

On the first floor, elevated slightly above the diplomats and their tables, was a stand of benches. It completely encompassed the courthouse, and was packed to the absolute brim with curious townsfolk. It was similar on the second floor, where a balcony seated ponies in a full, three hundred and sixty degree radius. It was extremely crowded, and all of them sat haunch to haunch. The courthouse had opened that morning, and, starting the very second the doors had parted, ponies had been pouring in, eager to get a seat. It became so crowded and overflowing that the guards had to boot some very disappointed ponies out, so as to avoid injury from being accidentally pushed off of the balcony.

None of the spectators had any personal space, and none of them cared. It very much reminded Celestia of a griffon’s coliseum, and she was the unfortunate gladiator. Any second now, a manticore would spring forth from the gates, and she alone would have to fight it. The onlookers did not care for the outcome; they only wanted a show. Celestia thought she could understand their interest, but even still, it made her feel less like a pony, and more like… entertainment.

The scribe’s quill stopped as he finished writing his note. He shuffled a few pieces of parchment on his desk, before clearing his voice. The murmuring crowd immediately silenced.

“Governor Bottom Line,” he announced, “The last of the marks have been made, and all those in attendance have been accounted for.”

For speaking to a pony that was right beside him, the scribe spoke much louder than was necessary. Celestia knew he was addressing not just the governor, but the crowd as well. For them, it brought about a still excitement. For Celestia, it brought on a shock of fear, as if a bucket of cold water had just been dumped on her head. It was starting. The meeting was actually starting. Her body shook, and her teeth chattered. She whispered Cotton’s words to herself. “You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine. Imagine them in their socks. You’ll be fine.” It was not working.

The governor gave a small nod, and the scribe continued.

“Allow me to introduce the representatives,” he began, bringing his list up and pushing a pair of glasses further up onto his nose. “Princess Obsidian, of the United Council. Chancellor Cookie, of the United Council. Commander Cyclone, of the United Council.”

He paused after each one, allowing the pony to stand and be acknowledged as their name was called. “Commander-in-Chief Hatchet, of the Equestrian Army. Daybringer Flashbang, of the Order of the Sun. Nightbringer Wisp, of the Order of the Moon. Commander Break, of the 21st Mixed Unit Division. Master-Adept Clover, standing in place of the regretfully absent Arch-Mage Shimmer, of the Royal Magi.”

The list went on as the scribe continued to announce names and titles, none of which were familiar to Celestia. She stopped listening, instead focusing on calming her devastated nerves. She tried to pretend she was somewhere, anywhere but here. She attempted to call to mind pleasant memories. There was not much to draw from. She searched the room once again, looking for Cotton. She was nowhere to be seen. In the crowd of one thousand ponies or more, spotting her was impossible. Perhaps she did not get a seat.

“Miss Celestia.”

She snapped back to reality. Her name had been called. She looked away from the crowd, and toward the representatives. She inhaled, exhaled, and gently folded her hooves on the table in front of her. Everything was okay. “You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine.”

Celestia caught the governor casting her a strange look, as if she was waiting for something. Her name had been called. What did that mean, again? All eyes were on her, and they were all waiting. Was she supposed to say something?

“Um…” Celestia choked. Was it hot in here? She began to feel sweat form on her brow. She looked left and right, wondering what she was supposed to do. After what seemed like an eternity, Clover caught her attention across the room. She frantically motioned upwards with her hoof, and mouthed some word Celestia did not catch. After a moment of pressured contemplation, she realized it. She was supposed to stand.

“Oh!” Celestia barked, louder than she probably should have. She quickly bounced out of her chair, and stood. In doing so, she knocked it over. It fell to the ground, and clattered against the stone floor, echoing in the silent chamber.

“Oh,” Celestia quickly turned, fumbling with her chair. “Er, pardon me, just… one moment…” She picked it up, dropped it, and picked it up again. Her trembling hooves could not get a proper grip on it. Finally, she set it up, and turned again to the governor, bumping into the table as she did so. She steadied the table before it could fall, gave a frantic, polite bow, and returned to her seat.

There was once again silence, but the echoes of her blunders still rang heavily in Celestia’s ears. The deep, crimson shade on her cheeks bore a powerful testimony to her embarrassment. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Her face scrunched into a tight, pained expression, recoiling from an emotional judgment she could practically feel.

Governor Line tactfully continued, pretending not to have noticed the disturbance.

“My thanks, Scribe Blot,” she said, nodding to him. “And my thanks to all who have found time to attend this day. Especially to thee, Celestia, our honored guest.”

Staring intently downwards, Celestia did not see the governor’s graceful motion towards her, and barely heard her greeting.

“Word has no doubt reached the ears of those invited, but to the rest of our company,” the governor said, motioning to the stands above, “the significance of this meeting will no doubt come with immense shock.” There was a trace amount of sarcasm in her otherwise diplomatic tone, barely detectable, but still there.

“We have, in our presence, a very special pony. Words fail me. Celestia, if thou wouldst be so kind,” she said evenly, “aid in the divining of my meaning. I prithee, remove thine cloak.”

Celestia’s eyes snapped open. This was it. The moment she had been dreading. The manticore was emerging from its cage. She stood, and reached with both hooves to the clasp around her neck. They were trembling, and fidgeted furiously with the chain. Her breath stuttered in and out through her nose, and sweat dripped down her brow, as if the room were simultaneously stifling hot and freezing cold.

The clasp came undone. Her black cloak fell from her shoulders. Her wings briefly fluttered at the contact. Celestia braced herself.

There were gasps and exclamations of surprise, fear, and affirmation. The courtroom, both the spectators and the diplomats, broke into an excited buzz of conversation. Celestia could not bear to look up, to affirm what she already knew: all eyes were on her. She had wings, and a horn. This was no trick of the light, no thrice-recycled rumor, no foal’s fairy tale. Before them stood a real, live alicorn.

Celestia heard somepony say it, very quietly, very distantly, but very distinctly.

“Monster.”

“Order!” the governor shouted, loudly stomping her hoof into the table. “I will have order!” The crowd quieted, though not quite to same the level of silent, anxious breathlessness as before. Murmurs and whispers still rippled through the stands.

“Now!” the governor boldly began, regaining control of the courtroom’s attention. “Now, this is a very special occasion for us. An alicorn has not been sighted in over two centuries. The opportunity to reconnect with our vanished brothers and sisters should be a joyous occasion! This happy day gives us a chance to show them just how much Equestria has grown in their absence.”

From one of the tables came a haughty snort. Governor Line shot the noble a quick, disapproving look, and continued.

“It has come to my attention that a few of thee may have doubts about our guest’s intention. To assuage thy fears, she shall speak a few words to us.” The governor motioned to Celestia. “If thou wouldst be so kind?”

Celestia’s gaze remained plastered to the floor, but she slowly rose, and cleared her throat.

“My thanks,” Celestia said in a tiny voice. The governor nodded, and sat.

“B-brothers and sisters,” she began, stooped and cringing, “I come unto thee with open arms. I bring nothing… nothing…” Celestia stopped, trying to recall the words of her recited speech. “I bring nothing… but the sincerest tidings of peace. I understand your hesitation, but I hope… no…” she shook her head. “No, uh… um… I understand your reluctance, but know that my only desire is thy understanding of my goodwill. Alicorns do not have the greatest of reputations, but as their sole representative, I give unto thee a promise, that I shall change that unfortunate fact.”

Becoming more confident in her speech, she looked up. She immediately wished she had not.

“I extend a gracious hoof…” She froze. Everypony was looking at her! And not a single gaze held empathy. Soon, they would call her names, mock her where she stood.

“I extend a gracious hoof…” What came next? It was the last line, and she had forgotten it. She backed up a step, and then another. Her eyes began to tear up. This was terrible!

She was on the verge of bursting into tears and running out the door, when she spotted somepony. A sliver of cyan wriggled through the balcony, and popped into the front row. It was Cotton, a paintbrush in her mouth. She held a slab of wood, which she struck with furious, speedy brushstrokes. She quickly scrutinized her handiwork, before turning the sign around and holding it over the railing. She rapped on it with her hoof, displaying it to Celestia. In large, bold lettering was a brief, shortened sentence, keywords to the next line.

“…I extend a gracious hoof of camaraderie and peace and only hope thou shalt do the same and thanks to thee for thy time,” Celestia blabbered, finishing her sentence and sitting down in the same stroke. She shot a look of unrestrained gratitude to Cotton, who returned it with a wink and a smile, before burying her head in her hooves.

“We thank thee, Miss Celestia,” the governor graciously said. “Keep this in mind, as we proceed-”

“Oy!” came a voice from across the room. A unicorn at one of the tables, a richly dressed businesspony, stood up. “’Ow come she can’t ‘member her age? Or place of birth? That’s right fishy, if you ask me!”

“Know thy place, Lord Pick,” the governor sternly chided. The authority in her voice was enough to make him sit. Empowered by his boldness, another rose.

“Does she mean to make war with us?” a pegasus noble asked.

“Wast thou not listening?” the governor scolded. “She said so herself, she means only to-”

“Will she be a citizen of Equestria?” another asked.

“That is not the point of this meeting-”

“That creature does not deserve the same rights!”

“Remain seated, all of you-!”

“The alicorn speaks naught but lies!”

“ENOUGH!”

The crowd was suddenly silenced, as Governor Line’s voice boomed throughout the courtroom. It was unnaturally loud, so much so that Celestia’s ears rang from the noise. Some papers had been blown off of her desk, a result of the pressure that followed her shout. No doubt the sound could be heard to the ponies waiting outside, and for miles beyond that. The governor stood with her hooves on her table, staring down each and every noble until all was quiet.

She sighed, putting a hoof to her face. “In the interest of time and clarity, allow me to read what exactly the situation is.” She cleared her throat and motioned to the scribe, who handed her a roll of parchment. She unrolled the scroll, and began to read.

“An alicorn is a creature with the body of an earth pony, the horn of a unicorn, and the wings of a pegasus. Before thee stands one such creature, and, within the boundaries of Equestria, she is the only one of her kind. Her name is Celestia. She means no harm, and shall enjoy fair treatment and equal rights as a full citizen of Equestria.

“Through means of magic, Celestia has been summoned to us, to aid us in our hour of need. Magic, unpredictable as it is, will have left her with little knowledge of her own self. Her memory may fail her, but I give my utmost assurance to anypony who reads this, her intention is true. Indeed, it is perhaps the truest any intention can be.

“Once summoned, Celestia is to assist in the war. She is to be given high authority, and to be hastily elevated in a chain of command.

“Most importantly, she is to be taught about herself. If she is to efficiently serve her country, she must learn to understand and control her powers. They are well beyond the grasp of any unicorn’s, both in greatness and in scope. Her value lies in more than simple war-magic.

“Celestia shall be the greatest possible asset to our cause, and will be treated as such.

“Gods bless our sacred Equestria,

“And Harmony guide our steps.”

The governor paused, allowing the message to sink in.

“Signed, Arch-Mage Midnight Shimmer.”

She set the scroll down, and looked at the courtroom, both at the spectators and the diplomats.

“That,” she aggressively began, addressing everypony, “is what this assembly is about. Not about the nature of our guest, or her intention. Thou art to assume what is written here. The purpose of this meeting is to decide the fate of Miss Celestia. If anypony has a problem with that, allow us a favor, and make thyself scarce.”

Bottom Line was silent, as was everypony else. Nopony moved, not even to adjust themselves in their seats, for fear of it being mistaken as a motion of self-dismissal.

“Splendid,” Governor Line said, clopping her hooves together. “Then let us begin in earnest.”

The ponies of the courtroom allowed themselves a collective exhale, as the proceedings officially began.

“As per magical law,” the governor began, slipping back into her neutral, diplomatic tone, “a summoned creature, in particular, a creature summoned for the express purpose of battle, is treated as the property of the summoner. However, there are a few peculiarities to this case.”

“I’ll say…” somepony murmured. The governor ignored it.

“As many of you are aware, summoning is an extremely imprecise magic. In all cases, summoned creatures are merely manifestations of the summoner’s power, given form and pattern, but lacking true intelligence. All cases, save for this.” The governor vaguely motioned to Celestia, not wanting to throw much more attention on the already nervous wreck of a mare.

“Furthermore, Arch-Mage Shimmer is absent. In any other circumstances, we would await her arrival, but it would seem she is unable to attend. She is in seclusion, engaged in an effort that requires her utmost concentration. Therefore, it falls upon us to interpret the Arch-Mage’s instructions, and decide our next course of action involving our special guest.

“Before,” she quickly spoke, cutting off an eager noble who appeared to have something to say, “we begin, I would like to remind the court that the ultimate decision lies in the hooves of the Royal Council. Prior to that, we shall hear thy opinions on the matter. And before,” she repeated, stopping the same noble from speaking, “we hear anypony else, we have a prepared response, ready to be presented. Master-Adept Clover, if you would.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, as ponies guessed on what Clover the Clever would say. Some made bets on the final verdict. Clover rose from her chair, and slowly made her way to the center of the floor. She stopped, and looked around with a careful gaze, waiting for silence. She ended on the elevated chairs, where sat the governor and council members.

“My thanks, Governor Line,” Clover said, her tone diplomatic and conservative. “And my thanks to the Royal Council. I prithee, hear my message.”

She adjusted her cloak, and began to pace. By the way she spoke, it was obvious that she had done this before. At her age, and with her prestigious rank, Celestia would have been surprised if she had not. She did not appear to enjoy it, but she certainly knew how to speak publicly.

“Allow me to bring to thy attention some truths, things I am afraid will be overlooked should I not,” Clover began, addressing the nobility around her. “Celestia is young. She is scared. Her intention is grand, but her power is grander. And I assure you, she does have power. It would be folly to shun her, but to be cautious about her potential is wise.”

She stopped her pacing, and eyed the council, briefly locking eyes with each one.

“These are thy fears, are they not?” she asked rhetorically. She resumed her pacing.

“And so, my request is simple. Let Celestia with me. Properly learned, hers is a power that nopony can match. Properly controlled, hers is the power of Harmony itself. Properly utilized, hers is a power to achieve victory.”

She extended an upturned hoof, a gesture of inquiry. “But I ask of thee, who shall teach her the skills that shall bring us victory? Earth-tribe warriors? Pegasi fighters? They lack the knowledge. The unicorn war-mages? They lack the precision. Could she teach herself? Perhaps, in the same way a unicorn foal teaches itself: unpredictably and, in some cases, dangerously.”

She turned, appealing directly to the council stand. “I am not foalish, and, dear council, neither art thou. I know that there are two options here. Only one will bring us victory. Consider my involvement in the Arch-Mage’s summoning. Consider my experience. Consider my age, if thou must. I am the only teacher with the knowledge to safely and effectively guide Celestia’s gifts. Leave her with me, and thou shalt know the fruits of patience and diligence. Send her to the front, and thou will only live to regret it.

“She is not a soldier, and I beg of thee, do not treat her as such.” Clover glanced at Lucky, who kept a neutral face, if his constantly stiff, lightly-scowling frown could be considered neutral.

“That is all,” Clover quickly finished. “I appreciate thy consideration.” She bowed as low as her old legs would allow, and shuffled back to her seat. The council members nodded in approval, sharing whispered opinions between each other. The spectators did the same.

“Thank you, Master-Adept Clover,” Governor Line spoke, breaking through the anxious buzz. “Before aught else,” she continued, cutting off a noble whose hoof was raised in declaration, “we shall hear another prepared response. Commander Break?”

The governor motioned to Lucky, who nodded in acknowledgement. Apple Crumble gave him a short, encouraging pat on the back as he rose from his seat, and trotted to the center of the floor.

“I shall make this simple and brief,” Lucky began. “I agree with Master-Adept Clover. I do.” He shrugged, his tone light and nonchalant.

Celestia, having hidden behind her hooves almost the entire time, raised her head in interest. Clover eyed him with an expression of caution. Even the council members did not seem to expect his response.

“I agree, Miss Celestia has power. Incredible power. Unpredictable? Maybe. Unrefined? Most certainly. Does she need tutoring? Absolutely.” Compared to Clover’s slow, methodical debate, Lucky was lively, full of energy and commitment. He elevated his voice, speaking not just to the council members or nobles, but to the crowd of townsfolk as well.

“Clover and I, we are not enemies. We both wish for the same thing. How could we not? We wish to end this war, just like everypony in this room. By extension, we want Celestia’s talents to be utilized the most useful way possible.” He paused, and glanced at Clover.

“There is one point, however, on which we differ,” he said, his tone dropping. He turned to the council bench. “My dear council members, let her with me. Under my supervision, she will prosper, and she will learn things far beyond the teachings of an old mare in a dusty classroom.”

He turned away, pacing back and forth, eying and gesturing to individual members of the nobility.

“‘Celestia is to assist in the war’,” he said, quoting the Arch-Mage’s letter of instruction. “Celestia will, therefore, become a soldier. And before any objections are made,” he added, “I am quite aware that there are more ways than one to assist. I would follow that up with this: does anypony suppose that the Arch-Mage put forth the effort to summon an alicorn so that she could become a basket weaver?”

He let his rhetorical question hang in the air for a moment before continuing.

“Sooner or later, Celestia will become a soldier. Even the esteemed Master-Adept will admit as much.” Lucky briefly met Clover’s scowl before turning away.

“So yes, the Master-Adept and I agree, Celestia has incredible power. Power that would be wasted, were it not used. Now is not the time for relaxing study sessions in the castle garden. Everypony must contribute, and Celestia’s contribution shall be made on the battlefield. With her consent, of course,” he added, eyeing Celestia, who shyly looked away from his gaze.

“I need not recite my qualifications to anypony here. My expertise is at least somewhat renown. I have been a member of Equestria’s most elite fighting force long enough to know that the best soldiers are not trained in the barracks. They are forged in the crucible of battle.” Lucky turned to the Commander-in-Chief, partially directing the statement towards him. He received a stoic nod in return.

“Of course,” he continued, “I will be cautious. I have trained many soldiers in my lifetime, and I know how to keep ponies alive on the job.”

He lightly smiled as he saw nods of concession come from around the room.

“Then explain Daylight!”

His smile was instantly gone, as he wheeled around towards the sound of the voice. It had come from a member of the United Council, the pegasus. To his dismay and anger, there were murmurs of agreement coming from the crowd. A brief, intense flash of fury crossed his face, before he smothered it in diplomatic neutrality.

“The passing of Commander Daylight was an unfortunate accident,” he said calmly, speaking directly to the pegasus. “The soldier’s way of life carries unavoidable risks. She knew that, as do I, as does everypony in this room, or so I hope. Risks that, unless taken on by brave ponies, would be the undoing of our nation. As for caution, Celestia will not be a part of the first charge, she will not be leading a battalion, and she will certainly not be fighting the enemy alone.”

He stared the pegasus down for another moment, who tried to remain unimpressed. Lucky turned away, taking a moment to breathe and regain his control.

“So,” he sighed, attempting to regain his previous vigor, “will you leave her with me, or will you leave her with Master-Adept Clover? The same question might be asked: will we win the war, or will we lose it?” He said it with a drop of venom.

“Magic without practicality ought not to be practiced, and this is exactly what the Master-Adept will be teaching Celestia. The idle pursuit of useless knowledge has no place, now more than ever. The war is raging and the danger is close. It is a small thing for Clover to sacrifice a hobby, when my soldiers are on the battlefront, sacrificing their lives.” Lucky spoke with zealous conviction. Celestia could see it in his eyes; he believed every single word he said.

“Nopony grieves the Maiden’s death more than I,” Lucky said, his voice lowering to a mournful tone. “It is saddening, to lose a hero, and a dear companion. In the wake of her death, what inspiration can we draw from? What can we even begin to do?”

His gaze slowly rose to the council seat, and his voice gradually rose in clarity and volume. “I shall tell thee,” he murmured, “We can fight. We can win! And Celestia can help us do that. Who better to inspire the soldiers of Equestria than the most powerful soldier of all?”

He took a courageous step toward the council, seeming to embrace his own declaration. “Allow her with me, and thou shalt have thy hero!”

He fell silent, letting the excited crowd do the talking for him. They chattered animatedly amongst each other, no longer bothering to police their noise. The way the volume was increasing, they seemed to be on the cusp of cheering.

“Order! Order!” the governor shouted, pounding on her stand.

“My thanks for thy time,” Lucky muttered, a half grin on his face. The governor had no chance of hearing him. He left the floor anyways, and quickly trotted back to his seat.

“I WILL HAVE ORDER!” the governor’s voice sounded, once again quieting the room through sheer loudness. “The council has heard its arguments, and shall reconvene in half an hour to relay its decision. Those wishing to leave for a brief recess may do so. Dismissed!”

**********

The recess, for Celestia, was no recess at all. Upon the insistence of whomever had made the arrangements for her security, she was to be under guard at all times. Celestia knew it was for her own safety. She recalled the angry accusation in their voices and honest fear in their eyes. Lucky may have spoken well, but she felt that, to the crowd, he was a more of a lion tamer than a civil representative. In that line of thought, as the royal guards closed in around her, Celestia got the unnerving sense that they wanted to give the impression of imprisonment, rather than protection. It was almost as if the spectators needed some assurance that she would not lash out at them, like some kind of wild animal.

Regardless of her close formation of guards, the moment she set hoof outside, they were swarmed by curious ponies. Nobles, townsfolk, reporters, and even other guards all pressed in to get a closer look at the alicorn, perhaps getting a chance to touch it to see if it was real. After a minute of this, Celestia saw the crowd would not back away any time soon, and frantically elected to go back inside. She waited another twenty-nine minutes in claustrophobic silence at her table.

She saw some of the nobles who had been on the floor try and approach her, but the guards would not let them past. For that, at least, she was grateful. Regardless of their intentions, she had no desire to talk to anypony.

The room began to fill back in, and soon, it was again packed to overflowing, resuming with its familiar dull chatter. The Royal Council was the last to appear, followed by the governor and her scribe. They took a seat, traded some paperwork, and prepared their notes. Eventually, the banging hoof of Governor Line rung throughout the room, calling everypony to silence.

“Order!” she demanded. Anxious to hear the verdict, the crowd immediately obeyed. “Welcome back. The Royal Council has voted upon a decision. However, they will still hear suggestions. If anypony has an opinion to voice, they may do so now, and we will take it into consideration. The floor is open.”

And they did have opinions. All of them. Housing, economy, politics; somehow, they were all affected by Celestia’s appearance, and every issue from every noble was brought to attention. A wide range of emotions stemmed from their questions and suggestions; worry, concern, outright fear, and even a few words of support from the old earth pony chancellor.

Celestia herself experienced all of these, and more. She was unsure of how to feel towards what was presented in the meeting, particularly towards the solutions proposed by Lucky and Clover.

Celestia wanted to help, she really did. With what, she did not know. Anything. Everything. Following the suggestion of Clover, she wanted to discover and experiment, to learn about magic, to master her own self. She wanted desperately to rid herself of the out-of-body sensation she felt whenever she tried to fly, or use magic, or a thousand other things. It was borne of a deep desire to prove to both herself, and to all other ponies, that she was not a monster. Accepting Clover as a teacher seemed like the perfect solution to that.

But then, she remembered. All it took was one stray thought, one errant daydream, and her mind was swept away, taken completely elsewhere. Memories of fire, chaos, and war brought her blood to a boil. Memories of him put a fire in her heart. She did not simply want to help; she wanted to fight. Her own interests could wait; there were things to be done! And what better way to quell the chaos than to travel with the Maiden’s Battalion, the greatest fighting force that ever there was?

Celestia silently groaned. She did not know who to follow, or what to choose.

“Order!” the governor yelled. “A decision has been made!”

Celestia shook her head. Of course, it was not like she had a choice.

“All arguments have been heard and discussed. After much deliberation, the Royal Council has come to a decision.”

As a summoned creature, she was, after all, somepony’s property.

“Though we value all opinions, and they shall all be addressed in their own due time, the decision was made between the two original appeals.”

Lucky Break and Clover immediately locked eyes. Their expressions were perfectly mirrored; on the face of each pony was doubt, worry, and dislike.

“The council has decided…”

Celestia could have sworn she saw sparks fly across the room, as the mage and the soldier engaged each other in a contest of wills, made manifest in a venomous staring contest.

“…in favor of Commander Lucky Break, of the 21st Mixed Unit Division.”

The contest shifted in favor of Lucky, whose features eased into a look of subtle triumph, while Clover simultaneously looked down, disappointed. The crowd began to mumble, and money began to change hooves.

“With,” Governor Line sharply interjected, immediately regaining everypony’s attention, “one provision.”

Lucky’s gaze immediately snapped to the governor, a sudden twinge of fear in his heart. Clover slowly, cautiously, hopefully turned to face the governor as well.

The governor cleared her throat, and unrolled a scroll. She began reading in a projecting, official tone. “Miss Celestia shall accompany the 21st Division, with Commander Break as her host. He is to ensure her education in the art of war, whether her tutor be himself, or another, equally competent battalion member. This is to be among the highest priorities. It is to be treated as a primary objective.”

That was nothing unexpected. Lucky stared intently at the scroll of parchment. One of his ears nervously twitched, anxious to hear the rest.

“Upon attaining a proper degree of excellence, both in leadership and prowess, Miss Celestia is to be given an appropriately elevated rank. This is to be at the discretion of Commander Break, but the title given shall be no lower than the rank of Captain.”

Clover listened closely, patiently waiting for the words she wished them to speak.

“If it is her desire, Master-Adept Clover shall accompany the 21st, to school Celestia in the ways of magic.”

Lucky’s gaze immediately dropped. He grimaced and slapped a hoof to his forehead in dismay and frustration. He made no effort to conceal a disheartened sigh. By contrast, Clover looked positively… peaceful, Celestia thought, with a trace amount of smugness slipping through as she answered in the affirmative when asked by the governor if it was indeed her desire.

“Very well,” Governor Line continued. “Master-Adept Clover shall accompany the 21st, and will aid Celestia in the understanding of magic, and, at her discretion, in other fields applicable to the task.

“The training of Miss Celestia is to proceed with all haste. Therefore, arrangements shall be made, and she shall begin on the morrow.”

The governor’s eyes reached the end of the scroll, and she set it down.

“Such is our decree. We shall reconvene at a later date. Until further action is required, this case is on hold, and this court is dismissed. Meeting adjourned!” She stamped her hoof on the desk in a gesture of dismissal.

Lucky’s face was buried in his hooves. Celestia could have sworn she saw Clover chuckle, just a bit.

**********

“How did she do that?”

Princess Celestia paused.

“How did who do what?” she repeated back to her student.

“You know,” Twilight Sparkle said, gently setting her quill down. “The governor, how did she… how did she do…”

Twilight vaguely gestured in the air with her hooves, trying to think of a proper way to explain. Eventually, she opened her mouth as wide as it would open, and thrust her hooves out.

“Bla-ahhh!” she said, softly simulating a shout while miming a wave of air with her arms. For good measure, she created a magical airburst above her desk. It gently fluttered her notes out of their neat piles into piles that were only slightly messier. She quietly squeaked at the result, and frantically began shuffling them back into perfection.

“The shouting thing,” Twilight finished, still realigning her papers.

Celestia smiled, half in realization, half in amusement. “Oh,” she chuckled, “you mean the Royal Canterlot Voice.”

“The what?” Twilight asked, slowing her organizing and gazing confusedly at her teacher.

“Oh, yes,” Celestia nodded, her tone informative, “the Voice has been around for centuries. It was discovered in Canterlot, crafted by the governor previous to Governor Line. It was originally developed to gain the attention of loud courtrooms, but some adapted it for use in other situations, such as issuing orders over a noisy battlefield, or when speaking to subjects of lesser rank.” Celestia scowled at some bad memory, shaking her head. “Horrible use for it, really.”

Twilight still appeared to be confused, head tilted with a searching frown.

“I believe my sister showed you the technique, at one point,” Celestia said. “When was it… Nightmare Night, I believe?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think Princess Luna ever…” Twilight began, but trailed off. Her eyes widened in realization. “Ohhhh…”

Celestia nodded. “Yes, that.”

“Horrible use for it…” Twilight murmured. “I see what you mean. But wasn’t the governor an earth pony?” Celestia nodded. “Is the Voice non-magical?”

“Oh, no,” Celestia said, “it is quite magical.”

“Then how?” Twilight simply asked.

“Not all pegasi and earth ponies are magically inept, just as not all unicorns are as talented as you are,” Celestia said. Twilight blushed, but listened intently. “Every race has a sort of magic, unique to them, but the Voice was something anypony could do.”

Twilight took a quick note. Celestia immediately knew why; her student was now determined to learn how to shout unnaturally loudly.

Celestia continued. “And you’d be surprised, Twilight Sparkle, at just how much magic even an earth pony can master.”

XI: Hammer and Nail

“I like this ‘Cotton,’” Twilight said offhandedly, finishing a section of notes before her mentor continued. “It sounds like she was a great pony.”

“Oh yes,” Princess Celestia gently assented, “She certainly was.”

The princess leisurely exhaled, and leaned back in her chair, the ghost of a reminiscent smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She lightly nodded, less in acknowledgement of her student, and more in the recollection of some distant, fond memory.

“She certainly was,” the princess softly repeated. Her cup, enveloped in a swathe of golden magic, floated towards her. She took a sip.

Twilight’s gaze rose from her papers, but her eyes did not find Celestia or her nostalgic repose. Instead, they seemed to be locked onto a faraway point, as if captivated by some distant event. Suddenly, they brightened, lit by the embers of an idea. The corners of her mouth turned upwards, ever so slightly. She straightened in her chair.

“She was your very first friend, wasn’t she?” she asked. Her voice rang with the pride of a child that had just realized the hidden moral of a bedside story. “It must have been an honor, making the acquaintance of the future princess of Equestria.”

Behind her teacup, Celestia’s eyebrows raised at her student, who failed to notice the motion. Ever the perfectionist, Twilight’s attention had already been diverted as she noticed an error in her notes. Squinting harshly at it, she immediately set about to correcting it, scratching it out with a squiggle of quill strokes.

Celestia finished her drink, dabbed at her lips with a handkerchief, and sat forward to address her student.

“It was not,” the princess said. The seriousness of her tone immediately ripped Twilight’s focus from her writing, and her gaze quickly swiveled from her desk to Celestia.

A lightning bolt of panic struck her heart. Had she done something to offend the princess? Of course she had! Stupid, Twilight, stupid!

“W-what do you mean, Princess?” Twilight hurriedly recovered, half in explanation, half in apology. “Your subjects love you! Everypony is always happy to meet you!”

“Remember, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia began, “that all of this, everything I have said, and everything I have yet to say, happened a very long time ago. Cotton was my friend in a time when it was not very popular to be my friend. In everypony’s eyes, and perhaps even in the eyes of Cotton herself, to befriend me was not to befriend a future princess of Equestria.” She glanced away, the smallest hint of bitterness sharpening the edge of her features. “It was to befriend an outcast.”

Princess Celestia shook her head, as if to rid herself of the memory. She looked back to her student, who returned her gaze with one of anxiety. It was not truly fearful, but rather, it resembled the panic of a foal about to be scolded by her mother. Celestia realized she might have corrected her student a bit too harshly.

“To answer your question, though,” Celestia continued, softening her voice to a tone that was calming, and almost apologetic, “No, Cotton was not my first friend.”

“She wasn’t?” Twilight cautiously responded, her fear being tentatively replaced with curiosity.

“No,” Celestia said informatively. “I thought so at the time, too, that she was my first and, for a while, my only friend. I don’t think there is anything else I could have thought. I was wrong, and I had no idea I was wrong, nor how wrong I was. There were others, many brave ponies who sacrificed so much for me.” She blinked away a wayward emotion. She had a very specific pony in mind. “They sacrificed, and I didn’t even know. They were my friends, and I didn’t even know.”

“Who were they?” Twilight asked. The anxiety seemed to melt from her features. She leaned forward, ears perked, eyes wide and shining with that familiar, intellectual sparkle that Celestia knew and loved.

Such an innocent look pulled Celestia away from herself, and almost made her laugh with relief. It had been many years since the expression of fear, true fear, had been directed her way. Something to the tune of a millennium, she realized. She was still intimidating, she always had been, but now, she intimidated ponies in a much different way. Once, they had feared and shunned an alicorn monster. Now, they adored and worshipped their Princess of the Sun.

More than that, it had been countless years since she had seen Equestria itself in that state of true terror. Her little ponies thought they knew pain; they thought they knew anguish; they thought they knew what it was like to be caught in dire straits. They had no idea.

For most of her ponies, the terror of Nightmare Moon had been fleeting and paltry. She had been defeated in the space of a single night, the only effects of her startling arrival having been a little extra nighttime, and the appearance of a friendly new alicorn princess. Discord had, in the grand scheme of things, been little more than an inconvenience. Centuries of imprisonment had left him a weakened shadow of his former self; he would have recovered, but his banishment had been renewed long before that could happen. Her subjects, though honestly distressed, remained blissfully unaware of the kind of danger they truly faced. Even afterwards, the Elements of Harmony had closed the scars of chaos that, without outside action, could remain open for years, or centuries. Perhaps the closest they had ever come to true fear was the changeling invasion, and even then, they had been defeated within hours of their first appearance.

In the end, upon the knowledge of these threats, Celestia had been the most frightened of them all. At the resurgence of that familiar black swarm, boasting strange new abilities, she saw horrible flashbacks, visions of war and death. When her sister had returned, shrouded in the dark and corrupted by the Nightmare, Celestia had, despite all she thought she had prepared for, been horrified and heartbroken.

At the reappearance of that demon, the worst thing that had ever happened to Equestria and beyond...

“Princess?”

Centuries of practice were all that kept her together in front of Twilight when tasking her and her friends with Discord’s defeat. She had worn the mask quite well. In that powerful, serene, immortal being, inspirational bravery was all that Twilight saw. It was all she ever saw; it was all anypony ever saw. In reality, terror, real true terror, had trembled just below the surface, stirring up emotions she thought would never haunt her again.

The visages of anguish, despair, and absolute terror were not easily forgotten, but it had been a very long time since she had seen anything that even came close to those vivid memories. In her peaceful little Equestria, it simply was not an occurrence. They were protected by a grand legacy, born of the bravery of those past. Bad things could happen. Bad things did happen. But in the end, as if encompassed by a shield of fate, Equestria had always just been…

“Who sacrificed, princess? Who was your friend?”

Lucky.

It had always been lucky.

Celestia’s eyes came back into focus. She had been staring absently at a corner of the room. Shifting her gaze back to her student, she saw Twilight still leaning towards her, still anxiously awaiting a reply, as if it were the resolution to a frustrating cliffhanger.

Celestia exhaled, letting out a breath she had not realized she was holding. “It doesn’t matter.”

Twilight lowered her head in disappointment, and muttered a nearly inaudible “oh.”

The princess smiled apologetically. “What does matter is that I had friends at all.”

Twilight, sensing her teacher was ready to resume the story, snapped back to attention. She dipped her quill in a fresh pot of ink, tapped it twice against the rim to shake off loose drops, and pushed her chair in an extra inch.

“I don’t mean to undermine Cotton’s importance to me. She was one of the greatest, truest friends a pony could ever have,” Celestia declared, a gentle pride in her voice. “She stayed with me till the end.”

She paused, hesitantly adding to her statement. “…even if I wasn’t the most princess-like pony all the time.”

**********

“Hey.”

Celestia drowsily rolled in her bed. Her muscles were sore, and her head throbbed. She was so tired, and it was so easy to ignore the whispering voice.

“Hey.”

She gave an annoyed snort. What time was it? She did not know, nor did she care.

“Heyyyyyy.”

Her eye twitched. She pulled herself farther underneath her covers, sinking deeper into the warm embrace of morning drowsiness.

“Come on, silly,” Cotton whispered. “It’s time to get up.”

“No-ooooo,” Celestia moaned, her voice muffled beneath a mountain of ruffled blankets and pillows.

“The sun only comes out once a day!” Cotton happily announced. Celestia’s annoyance flared with the sudden rise in volume. She opened a narrow hole in her covers and allowed the tiniest sliver of light to reach a single squinting eye. She frowned.

“Cotton,” Celestia whispered huskily, “the sun isn’t even out yet.”

“Oh?” Cotton looked towards a nearby window. With a twister of magic, the curtains flew back, and she peered through the glass.

The sun indeed had yet to rise. The moon was already set behind the tall western cliff, and though morning was approaching, the sky, still in the early stages of twilight, was a dark blue, with only a dull streak of orange on the horizon to signal the sun’s approach.

“Oh,” Cotton muttered. She sent forth another swirl of magic, intended to close the curtains. They fluttered chaotically before coming to rest, actually opened a bit wider than they had been before. “Well, that’s okay. It’ll come out soon, and after it does, it will only be in the sky for so long!”

Celestia sighed and closed the hole in her covers. She turned again in her bed, wrapping herself with an extra layer of blanketing. The comfortable pressure was simply too powerful to resist. The blankets could have been iron sheets, and the pillows could have been thousand pound weights, holding her down against her will. And honestly, she would not have minded.

“Celly, ple-eeease?” Cotton grasped Celestia’s shoulders and rocked her back and forth. “The Royal Guard will be here in an hour to take you to your first day of training. You want to be ready!”

Celestia did not react, remaining as motionless and silent as a corpse. After yesterday’s stressful events, it was certainly what she felt like. Cotton’s gentle shaking elicited no response. In fact, it was almost like being rocked to sleep. Celestia’s mind became blurry, and her breathing slower.

“Don’t you want to look your best? Give a good first impression?” Cotton asked, the appeal in her tone making it sound like something Celestia should have cared about. Regardless of whether she should have, Celestia remained unresponsive. Cotton stopped shaking her.

“Don’t you even want to be awake when they get here?” It was less of a plea, and more of a genuine question.

Celestia answered with a soft snore. Cotton rolled her eyes, and jumped off the bed. At this, Celestia contentedly sighed, a sleepy smile spreading across her lips.

“Don’t make me angry,” Cotton warned, “I can get pretty angry when I’m angry.”

To a pony who did not know Cotton, the warning would have been comical. Her tone of voice lacked true threat, and even if it did, her small size lacked the intimidation to back it up. A pony who did not know Cotton would have laughed it off.

Celestia knew better.

“I’m up!” she cried, bolting straight upwards, flinging the thousand pound mountain of pillows and blankets to the ground. She frantically looked over to see Cotton in a crouching position, ready to sprint across the room and jump into action. On her face was a menacing scowl.

“I’m up!” Celestia repeated. “I’m awake!”

Cotton slid a menacing hoof across the ground, readying for a charge. She huffed intently through her nostrils, and sprang into motion.

“No, no!” Celestia panicked. “I’m awake! I’m awa-aaaaake!”

Cotton continued regardless. She leapt into the air and descended upon a helpless Celestia, hooves flying furiously, jabbing with fierce intent and perfect precision. Celestia fell backwards, an insane smile practically forcing itself to her face. Hilarious, pleading laughter pierced the early morning air.

**********

This morning, the sunrise was pink. Stretched across the grand vista of distant mountains were the first signs of morning. Jagged white peaks let slip streams of red-golden light. They came to rest on the very top of the Canterlot cliff, and gradually flowed downward, banishing the cold shadow of night. A sliver of the sun could be seen in the distance, barely peeking over the mountains. The clouds above and the sky beyond were painted with the lightest shade of pink, one that could strike any observer with bold inspiration and delicate appreciation.

It was interesting, Clover thought, that no matter how often one connected with the sun, the mornings never became tiresome. Was the raising strenuous? Perhaps. Was waking early every single morning to prepare for the raising a chore? Certainly. She would be lying if she said there were not some mornings when she would have much rather allowed her old bones to lie in bed for an extra hour of sleep. Regardless, no matter how many times she helped perform that most ancient and noble of rituals, she never wished it to end. Until her dying day, Clover would help raise the sun.

An onlooker might think it routine. They would be right, Clover thought. It was routine, in every sense of the word. Raising the sun was a task that had to be performed every day of every month of every year, enacted at very precise times. So it was for millennia past, and so it would be for millennia to come, going on for endless years until the earth itself gave way. And yet, for its supposed mundaneness in being endlessly predictable, there was a pleasing, indescribable joy in raising the sun. Even after the initial excitement of discovery had worn off, the ritual held a deep peace. In the light of the early sun there was truth, and in its gentle warmth, a covenant, given to all of Equestria and beyond. The Daybringers were only fortunate enough to hear that covenant first: that the eternal sun, for eternal it was, would always freely give light and life to the creatures below, and that so long as the creatures stood in need, the sun would indeed come up tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

Most unicorns would never feel the joy of raising the sun every morning. Only those of the Royal Magi participated. There were some exceptions, though the chances were that if a pony was magically adept enough to connect with the sun, they would eventually join the Royal Magi anyways.

Clover, sensing the completion of the ritual, released her hold on the sun, as did countless other unicorns in countless other places. The glow around her horn faded, and she looked up to properly observe the results. Sure enough, the sun had risen and was in full view, glorious and resplendent. It painted the eastern horizon with a magnificent mural, one she was proud to have had a part in creating. To the trained eye of a Daybringer, every sunrise was different, and this morning was no exception.

This morning, the sunrise was boldly, delicately pink.

She sighed contentedly, admiring the view for another moment. Eventually, she exited her balcony, walked across the observatory room, and began the descent down the long spiral staircase, eager to meet her newest student.

**********

“So, yeh’ve got a plan, then?”

“Yes.”

“The schedule’s been made?”

“Yes.”

“’Er trainers decided? Informed?”

“Yes, and yes.”

Apple Crumble gave a throaty rumble and stroked his wiry beard in contemplation, mentally searching for a hole in Lucky’s plans. The streets around them were quiet, save for the distant activity of the city guard, stationed atop the gate. He heard one of them shout, which was returned by an equally loud order. Presumably, they had spotted Celestia’s carriage, for they began to raise the gate. The grinding of the thick iron bars, in conjunction with the creaking of the lowering wooden bridge, made for a cacophony of noise that was impossible to ignore, especially in the early hours of the morning, when Canterlot had yet to fully awake.

“Stroking your beard isn’t going to make it any less ugly, Crumble,” Lucky casually remarked.

“Hah!” Crumble guffawed, his deep voice nearly shaking the stone. “Yeh only wish yeh could achieve this kind of perfection,” he boasted, turning his head and proudly framing his thick blonde-grey beard.

“Perfection?” Lucky playfully countered. “You call those grey hairs of yours perfection? Perhaps in the same way my scars are beauty marks.” He flicked his left ear, calling to attention the jagged tear that essentially left it halved. “As in, they’re not.”

Crumble frowned. “Oh, now wait jus’ one minute,” he objected. “Yeh may have a good twenty years on me-”

“Twenty-four.”

“-but it takes time to sculpt such beauty. Grey hairs are a given! Required, even! They give yeh a look of… of…” Crumble trailed off, squinting into the distance, searching for the right word.

“Feebleness?” Lucky offered.

“No,” Crumble tersely replied.

“Filthiness?”

“No!”

“Antiquity?”

“Yes! Er, no…” Crumble shook his head, and growled. “Maturity! Yeh dog, I was gonna say maturity! And besides,” he continued, lowering his voice to a discreet murmur, “the missus loves it.” He bobbed his eyebrows and winked.

Lucky merely chuckled, and turned his gaze back towards the now open gate. In the distance, he saw a large carriage, drawn by none other than the Royal Guard. His expression shifted from playful camaraderie to his default of grim readiness. Even for Lucky, Crumble noticed the transition was a bit quick.

“Actually, lad,” he began slowly, “I was wondrin’ if Celestia’s group of trainers includes you yerself.”

Lucky was silent for a moment before responding. “No, of course not,” he said, not coldly, or harshly, but rather as if it were a simple fact. “Why would I be? I’m much too busy.”

Crumble knew he was not exaggerating. As the new Commander of the 21st division, he had duties and responsibilities that extended far beyond the actual leading of the battalion, especially considering they were not on the battlefield. Canterlot was far from snobbish and political, but even then, the civilians liked their order. He had a thousand and one papers to sign, diplomats to visit, and procedures to learn. However, regardless of his chores, Crumble had fully expected Lucky to participate at least partially in the training of Celestia, in part to oversee her progress personally, and in part as a way to excuse himself from some of his duller obligations.

“Well, in any case…” Crumble began, but trailed off as he noticed movement to his left, across the street. He nudged Lucky, and pointed.

Lucky let out a huge, frustrated sigh that was suddenly cut off with a violent elbow to the ribs.

“Good morrow, Master Clover!” Crumble said, politely waving across the street. “It’s lovely to see yeh!” Crumble nudged Lucky harshly, nodding his head towards Clover. “Isn’t it?” he whispered through gritted teeth.

Lucky rolled his eyes, shook his head, and grudgingly spoke. “Oh yes, just lovely!” he called, his tone halfway between sarcasm and frustration. “May I ask what brings thee?”

“Good morrow, Lieutenant-Commander Crumble,” she politely greeted, slowly making her way towards them. “Good morrow, Commander Break. I was just on my way to greet Celestia. And thee?”

Lucky’s eyes narrowed in cool suspicion. “We intended the very same,” he said.

“Oh, that is very kind,” Clover said sweetly, “Celestia will be appreciative, I’m sure.”

Lucky scowled and dropped his formal tone. “You know she is to train with us first,” he firmly stated. “We have the mornings and days, and you the evenings. We need her while she is fresh and able.”

“You have it wrong, I’m afraid,” Clover replied diplomatically. “I have the mornings, and you the days and evenings. Surely they told you?”

“What they told me,” Lucky growled, “is what I have said.”

“We shall see,” Clover sighed. She turned to watch the guard advance, as did Lucky, who took a single indignant step forward, placing himself closer to the gate than Clover. She merely adjusted her cloak and pretended not to notice, content to let him stay in front. There were a few minutes of uneasy silence. Apple Crumble attempted to strike up a friendly conversation with the Master-Adept, but it was to no avail. They had almost nothing in common, and he received friendly but brief one-word answers, serving only to make their wait that much more awkward.

Eventually, the Royal Guard crossed the bridge, armored carriage in tow.

“Hail!” the lead guard cried, slowing their momentum to a halt.

“Hail!” Clover and Lucky simultaneously barked. The pegasus guard, after a brief moment of confusion, cleared his throat and addressed them.

“Good morrow to thee, Master-Adept Clover,” he said. His voice was bold and declarative, and very official.

Lucky blinked. That was not how one pronounced “Commander Break.”

“Good morrow, Captain Cloudhammer,” Clover said, nodding her greeting.

“Art thou prepared?” the captain asked. Clover flashed a sly smile at Lucky, before answering.

“Indeed I am,” she said, the smile leaving as quickly as it came. “Let us away.”

She stepped inside the carriage, greeted Celestia, and announced her readiness. They departed, leaving Lucky slack-jawed at the gates. After a moment of disbelieving silence, Crumble spoke up.

“Well tha’ went well,” he gruffly spoke.

“Well?” Lucky cried turning to him. “My political responsibilities only last a half day, every day!”

Crumble raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So!” Lucky said, “So I scheduled all my meetings for the next month in the morning! So that I could manage the affairs of the battalion in the evening!”

Crumble raised the other eyebrow. “So…?”

“So, now I have to oversee Celestia’s training!”

“And that’s a problem because...” Crumble put an indecisive hoof in the air, motioning for Lucky to complete the sentence.

“Because I don’t want to!” He threw his hooves into the air.

Crumble cast him a questioning glance.

“I mean...” he murmured, lowering his hooves back to the ground. He cleared his throat. “I mean because I don’t have time. The battalion does not run itself.”

“‘Ere’s a solution, lad,” Crumble said. “Don’t go.”

Lucky sighed and shook his head, massaging his temple with a hoof. “I can’t not go, Crumble.”

“An’ why’s that?”

“Because,” Lucky murmured, raising his gaze, “The nobility will expect me to be there. If I’m not, they’ll think I’m incompetent, or that I don’t care. I’ve been the Commander for little over a week. If they even suspect me of laziness...”

Crumble idly stroked his beard. “An’ yeh do care, righ’?”

Lucky took an indignant step back. “Of course I do! But the training of a single recruit? It’s a waste of time!”

“A waste of time?” Crumble asked. “I’d bet that one recruit is the most important the battalion ever did train.”

Lucky did not seem to hear. “Waste of time,” he mumbled. He stared distantly at the armored carriage, as it disappeared behind a turn in the street.

Crumble’s lips slowly spread into a wide grin, until he was on the brink of laughter. He put a friendly arm around Lucky’s shoulder.

“Ahh, don’ worry, lad,” Crumble teased, chuckling between words. “We’ll only be here with Clover fer another month or so. After that, we’re gonna deploy, and…oh, wait.” He stopped, taking a dramatic pause. “Oh, she’s comin’ with us, huh?”

Lucky groaned, pushed him away, and stormed off. Crumble followed, trying to keep his laughter to himself. He was not entirely successful.

**********

They climbed the stairs to the top of the tower, and entered Clover’s observatory. It was as neat and orderly as Celestia remembered, but everything had been rearranged, making the room look empty, and somehow larger. The bookshelves lining the walls had either been moved or removed. Clover’s desk was in a corner, neatly tucked away on its side. Loose papers, ink wells, books, and clutter of any kind had all been swept away, leaving a perfectly open, nearly empty room. The object that took up the most space was the Clover’s enormous stargazing telescope, which stood collapsed and folded in the center of the room. Beyond that, the only other thing she could see was a large, open storage chest, sitting near the far side of the wall.

“Celestia here is going to be practicing magic,” Clover informed the sentinels on their way in, “So if you hear any snaps, cracks, pops, chimes, pings, rings, screams, yells, shouts, and pleas for anything but help, don’t worry. We’re probably fine.”

The guard stoically nodded. “Explosions?” he questioned.

Clover shrugged. “If you feel like it." Enveloped in purple magic, the doors began to close.

“Silence?” the guard asked knowingly. Clover dryly chuckled.

Next to her, Celestia did the same, nervously laughing as she tried to divine the joke being shared between them. From the guard’s mask of unmoving stone, she found only sobriety.

Clover’s smile faded. Through the narrowing gap between the closing doors, she nodded, conveying the utmost seriousness.

“Definitely.”

The doors slammed closed with a resounding, echoing thud. Celestia swallowed.

“Well, make yourself at home, dear,” Clover said, slowly but eagerly walking forward. “I will be just a moment.” She went to the far side of the room and peered inside the storage chest, sifting through the contents.

Celestia remained frozen in place, unsure of how exactly she could do that, when there was nothing to make herself at home with. Awkwardly, she took a step towards the telescope, and then another. Her hoofsteps clopped against the stone and echoed powerfully in the nearly empty, dome-shaped room. She tried to leave the silence undisturbed, but the acoustics were far too strong; every tentative, creeping step produced a sound louder and more clamorous than if a carriage full of lit fireworks had crashed into a full-brass marching band.

Eventually, Celestia gave up her stealthy approach, and made her way to the telescope, awkwardly toying with an attached lever. It was a straight shaft of metal, about half the length of her forearm, with a small metal ball on the end. It swung vertically, smoothly returning to its down position as she nudged it back and forth, waiting for Clover to return.

“Just one moment, dear,” Clover called, her voice echoing. “I’ve almost found it.”

Celestia sighed. The seconds slowly rolled by, and anxiousness gave way to impatience. Sure, she was nervous, but in a way, she was also eager, ready to master the mysteries of magic. When would Clover be done? She stared at the lever with furrowed brows, her lips pressed into a thin line. Slowly, her expression relaxed a little, and she began to regard the contraption with a searching look. A smile, curious and playful, crept onto her face.

Celestia stealthily looked past the telescope at Clover, who was still digging through the chest, telekinetically throwing miscellaneous items out of the way. Eyes wide and ears perked, she spied on the old mage, waiting and watching to see if she would turn around. Clover blithely continued to search, showing no indication of having found what she was looking for. Cautiously, Celestia turned back to the telescope.

She looked at the lever. It had two directions, up and down. Earlier, she had been flicking it with her hoof, and found that it moved easily enough. She smiled. It was the perfect test; Celestia would move the lever with magic.

She stared at it, squinting in concentration. Alright, lever, Celestia thought. Move!

Nothing happened.

Move! she mentally repeated. Move up! Go, arise, ascend, move up! She craned her head towards the telescope, closing the distance between her horn and the lever. She shut her eyes as tight as could be. She gritted her teeth, baring them in strained focus. Her face was screwed up into an expression of the utmost concentration, pained but completely unyielding. Still, nothing was happening. Celestia was moments away from giving up.

And then, she felt it. There was a sensation in her horn, a surge of… something. She dared to open one eye, and saw tiny pink sparks, intermittently popping off the end of her horn, crackling and popping in the open air. The lever began to glow with the faint outline of a delicate pink. Celestia allowed herself a pained smile as the lever began to slowly, laboriously raise itself.

“Oh my goodness!”

Celestia jumped away in fright. She quickly turned to find Clover standing right beside her. Her hold on the lever immediately dispersed.

“Do not touch that lever!” Clover cried, extending a hoof of concern towards the telescope. Her old voice quaked with worry.

“O-oh!” Celestia said, perfectly mimicking Clover’s anxiety, though she had no idea why. She meekly, desperately tried to explain, ears flat and head low. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to do magic! I should have waited, I’m so sorr-”

She was cut off as she moved backwards and bumped into the telescope, moving the very same lever she was not supposed to touch, pushing it nearly all the way up. The telescope began to tremble, and Celestia scrambled away from it. Clover bit hard on her lip, as she watched its centerpiece shake. After a brief but horrible moment, it stopped quaking, and came to rest.

Clover wiped a bead of sweat off her brow, and turned to Celestia, who had tripped over and was lying on her back, clutching her chest and breathing heavily.

“Do not worry, child,” Clover said. “All is well.” Celestia was enveloped in a gentle swathe of lavender telekinesis, which slowly lifted her to her hooves.

“What…” Celestia breathed, still recovering from her panic. She inhaled, exhaled, and tried again. “What was that?”

“That is the release lever for the telescope,” Clover said factually. “If pushed up, it frees the device from its bonds and lets it extend towards the ceiling, which, as you can see, is currently sealed.” She motioned to the roof, where Celestia could clearly see the outline of a section of closed ceiling she presumed to be retractable.

“Oh…” Celestia breathed. She chuckled nervously. Looking at the minute distance that lay between the lever and the ‘up’ position, she allowed a tentative smile to her face. “That was a close one. Good thing it didn’t, huh? Otherwise, it would have-”

A loud metallic sound came from the telescope. Celestia whirled around, just in time to see the lever snap into place. A sudden tremor shook the ground.

There was a moment of complete silence. Clover’s neutral expression slowly shifted into a frown. She drew a deep breath, and sighed. Somehow, to Celestia, that sound was worse than everything that followed.

Without warning, the telescope flew into motion. In the space of less than a second, the device pointed itself towards the ceiling, and began to extend. Celestia saw the angle of its doomed trajectory, and could do nothing but cry out in alarm as the telescopic cylinder expanded towards the roof and punched violently through it, shattering the valuable lens and completely ejecting the curved piece of retractable roofing. Through the suddenly open ceiling, she could see the shaped metal fly further into the castle, and out of sight. A second later, there was a tremendous crash, followed by the alarmed screams of ponies below.

Celestia stood motionless, eyes wide and jaw slack, cringing at each new, horrendous development. After the final crash, her head swiveled madly from the telescope, to the roof, to Clover, who had not even bothered to turn and watch the event. Gradually, Clover turned to inspect the damage, her expression one of simple dismay. Again, she let out a deep, disappointed sigh.

Clover looked away from her telescope to see a certain alicorn mare, stealthily creeping away from the scene of destruction.

“Celestia.”

She flinched and froze, one hoof still in the air. She was fixed in a full-bodied cringe, her back arched and her neck craned forward. On her face was a wide grimace.

“Come here, please.”

Celestia spun in a slow circle to face Clover. Her head was down, and her eyes averted. She did not dare look at the Master-Adept, or the awful wreckage behind her. She took a few agonizing steps forward. Clover only responded with more silence, patiently tapping her hoof against the stone floor. She took a few more steps, and fell back onto her haunches.

“Celestia.” Clover’s tone resonated with disapproval.

“Yes?” Celestia murmured, her voice high, dry, and nervous. Her gaze remained firmly fixed on the floor in front of Clover’s hooves.

“Why did you deploy the telescope?”

Celestia weakly kicked at a shard of broken glass near her hooves. “Accident,” she mumbled.

Clover closed her eyes, and murmured something under her breath. Celestia thought she heard, “…a little too quickly…” She whimpered. Clover looked up.

“Celestia,” she repeated.

“Yes?” Celestia whispered to the ground.

“Look at me, please.”

Slowly, painfully, Celestia’s gaze rose from the floor, to Clover’s hooves, and finally, high enough to meet her eyes. Something in the back of Celestia’s mind registered that they were lavender. Celestia’s head was tilted as far down as it could be, her eyes looking up beneath pleadingly raised brows. She felt like a misbehaving child, meekly awaiting a punishment she knew she deserved.

“Yes?” It came out as a squeak. In the corners of her eyes, a thin film of tears began to form. Clover’s expression softened a little. She tilted her head, and spoke.

“My dear,” she began. “Be at ease. I am not angry. Just disappointed.”

At this, what little remained of Celestia’s composure broke. She sank to the floor, and covered her head with her hooves. “Clover, I’m so sorry!” she cried, a tear finally falling free from her eye.

“Celestia…”

“It was foalish of me! I was just curious, and… and…”

“Celestia.”

“You probably don’t even want to train me anymore!”

“Celestia!” Clover said with a sudden forcefulness, enough to make her look up. “Calm yourself. The telescope can be replaced, and the ceiling fixed.”

Celestia looked at Clover, who returned her gaze with serenity, and, unless Celestia was imagining it, a hint of pity. She looked away, laying her arms in front of her, her chin flat on the floor. She exhaled, simultaneously letting out a sigh and a whimper.

“First day of training, and I’ve already destroyed somepony’s roof,” she murmured, not daring to take a second glance at the damages she had caused.

“Two roofs, most likely.” Clover chuckled. “Lucky would be proud.”

It was a certainly a thought. Lucky would be proud, wouldn’t he? Celestia felt a strange mix of comfort and disdain, but did not reply or change her expression.

Seeing Celestia did not appreciate the joke, Clover stifled her laughter. She crouched as far as her old knees would allow, trying to catch Celestia’s evasive gaze.

“Now, dear,” she started. The gentle smile on her face promised that all was forgiven. “Your training has scarcely even begun. You cannot judge yourself based on what happens today. In fact, to study magic is to learn many lessons, and I daresay you’ve learned the very first.”

Celestia maintained her humble silence, but eventually, her curiosity got the better of her. “What lesson?” she asked hopefully.

Clover answered, adopting the lecturing tone of a teacher. “Lesson number one: that magic, when used improperly, irresponsibly, or foalishly, can lead to disastrous results, and that one should always be aware of the consequences of their actions.”

Seeing Celestia cringe, her tone softened. “But even before that, one must keep in mind that magic can be unpredictable. When accidents happen, and they will happen, do not panic. If there is a problem, it is proper to try and make it right, but one must never allow it to become blown out of proportion. For example, quitting training because of some…” Clover looked at the hole in her roof, and looked back, “…relatively minor property damage. Every unicorn foal learns this as an unwritten rule. If they did not, who would know magic at all? Certainly not I. You might call it lesson zero.”

Celestia was still, contemplating the message for a silent moment.

“Okay,” she murmured, stiffly nodding her head. “Okay.” She slowly rose to her hooves, and wiped the moisture out of her eyes, softly sniffling to clear her nose.

“Ready?” Clover asked patiently.

Celestia took a deep breath. “I think so.”

Clover nodded, and levitated a roll of fabric towards them, along with a small chest of supplies. In the middle of the floor, next to the broken telescope, she unrolled it. It was a wide practice mat, the quality a cross between the roughness of a knit rug and the cushion of a soft blanket. It was the same type of sparring mat used to train soldiers.

“Good,” Clover said, walking toward the mat and unclasping the container. “Because I’m going to teach you how to fix a roof.”

From out of the chest appeared a hammer, a nail, and a block of wood.

For the next several hours, Celestia learned, trained, and talked with Clover, who was, in her mind, the greatest teacher she could ever have asked for. Clover’s knowledge was unmatched. Celestia could have sworn she knew everything about everything. Even in non-magical matters, she was well versed, not perhaps to the point of mastery, but certainly enough to always have an educated opinion or thought. Her ability to teach was similarly admirable, stemming from a lifetime of teaching others, and, in turn, being taught. Everything Clover said was as comprehensible as it could have been; as a tool of teaching, she made common use of simple, familiar metaphors that were both intuitively understandable and perfectly analogous. If Celestia did not understand, she knew, it was her own fault. At one point, she made a point of saying this, to which Clover only responded, “I am not known as ‘Clover the Clever’ for nothing.”

However, it was not for her cleverness, but rather her remarkable patience, that Celestia considered her a great teacher. For all the failure Celestia was met with, Clover did not once berate her, instead offering helpful advice and words of encouragement whenever possible. Her tutoring had been an easy process at first, and both Celestia and Clover had been pleased with the progress she had been making. To her surprise and delight, and after surmounting a small hurdle of difficulty, Celestia found she was able to telekinetically grasp objects with ease. The real problem, however, came with control.

“Carefully.”

Because, that morning, Celestia discovered something about herself.

“Carefully.”

She was terrible at magic.

“Carefully!” Clover cried. It was too late. The hammer had slipped out of Celestia’s control mid-swing, and was flying towards the Master-Adept. Clover magically caught it. The cold, flat metal floated an inch away from her forehead.

“Sorry!” Celestia said, clamoring to retrieve the floating hammer from the air. “I’ll try again!”

“Of course, of course” Clover calmly said, pushing the hovering hammer towards her in offering. “Try one more time. And remember, concentrate. Do not allow me or anything else to distract you. Focus on what you want, picture it in your mind. See it happening, feel it happening. Then, let it happen.”

Celestia determinedly nodded, and took the hammer in her hoof. Focusing on it, she allowed it to slip into her telekinesis, and let it out of her grasp. Slowly, painstakingly shifting her gaze, she looked at the block of wood before her. In the center, there was a simple metal nail, driven in at the tip. It was standing straight up, practically begging to be pushed in. Staring intently at it, she pictured it in her mind, the swing of the hammer, and the driving of the nail. All she had to do was make it happen.

Focus, Celestia thought. Focus. Concentrate.

The hammer twitched impatiently.

See it happen, feel it happen.

Clover sat with patient examination, waiting for her student to act, and ready to protect herself if necessary.

See it happen, feel it happen, let it happen… I wonder what Lucky will think about the ceiling…

The hammer quivered in the air and was released, unceremoniously dropping to the floor, where it hit one of Celestia’s hooves.

“Ouch!” Celestia cried, bringing her hoof up and sucking on the bruise. “Ow…”

She snorted in frustration. Control was, as always, the hardest part.

Clover observed that, though Celestia was a grown mare, her magical control might have diminished in the same way her memory had. In other words, as far as magic was concerned, she was a filly in a mare’s body. Celestia had the physical capacity to perform, but lacked the knowledge, and more importantly, the fine-tuned precision that came only through repetition, the kind every unicorn foal would obtain through simple life experience. It was disappointing and disheartening, attempting and subsequently failing at tasks that even a cutie mark-less filly could do. Nevertheless, she kept trying. She would prove herself, one way or another.

“One more time,” Celestia said, shaking her injured hoof dry.

“Actually, dear,” Clover said, “The time has come to quit.”

Celestia was taken aback. “Quit?” she asked incredulously. “You would have me give up?”

With Clover’s intuitive teaching and patient understanding, she was sure she could obtain a mastery of magic. Or, if not a complete mastery, at least a degree of comprehension to where she was not a danger to herself or others.

She should have known it would come to this, though. The past few hours had been filled with frustration, failure, and bruised hooves. No matter how patient Clover was, her composure could not last forever. Were Celestia in her position, she knew, this lesson would have been over with before it had even begun.

But Celestia was not in her position, and she certainly was not ready to give up. A determined fire lit up in her eyes, and, for the first time, she rose up to her full height to look Clover in the eye. Head tilted down, Celestia realized she was slightly taller than her teacher.

“We cannot resign! Not now, when we have made so much progress!” Celestia cringed, her voice a little more desperate than she would have liked. Not only that, but it felt like a lie. She changed her tone, and reached out to Clover with a hoof. “Let us continue!” It came out like a demand.

Clover stood, and peered into Celestia’s eyes, as if admiring the fire behind them. She closed the small distance between them, and gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

“Calm yourself, dear,” Clover said quietly, bringing Celestia’s anxiety down with her volume. “I only meant your training with me is done for the day. We shall have lunch, and then Lieutenant-Commander Crumble will come by to take you to the barracks.”

Celestia felt her cheeks become hot. She lowered her stance a little. “Oh.”

The barracks. The way it rang in Celestia’s ears made it sound less like place of training, and more like a place of torture.

Clover began to set up a table, and as if on cue, a servant pony arrived, bearing platters of food. After presenting the meal, the servant pulled the lid off of a separate silver platter, revealing two sticks of cotton candy, courtesy of an anonymous donor. Clover thanked him, and he courteously bowed before taking his leave. They both began eating, Celestia taking huge mouthfuls of food, grateful for sustenance after the long training session.

Between Clover’s meditative bites and Celestia’s thankful indulgence, there was silence. Celestia idly thought about what the rest of her day would hold, who would train her, and what she would learn. In between mouthfuls, a sudden question occurred to her.

“Who is Arch-Mage Shimmer?” she asked.

Clover raised her eyebrows, and continued chewing her food. Eventually, she swallowed, and answered. “Well,” she began, dabbing a handkerchief at her lips, “the Arch-Mage is the head of the Royal Magi, and manager of all magical affairs in Equestria. In the royal hierarchy, her orders carry significant influence-”

“No,” Celestia said, politely cutting her off. “No, I mean… who is she? What is she like?”

Clover fell silent. At first, Celestia thought she had somehow offended the Master-Adept, and apologized. “Oh, that’s personal, I’m sorry.” She quickly busied herself with her plate of food.

“No,” Clover assured, “it’s quite alright. I’m just surprised you asked.”

“I was wondering…” Celestia trailed off, not exactly sure why she had. “She was my summoner, right? I suppose I was just… just curious.”

Clover leaned away from the table, and, with a distant expression, looked towards the midday sky through the rectangular opening in her roof. Celestia lost interest in her food and leaned in, ears perked forward.

“She is kind,” Clover began. “Very kind. Too much for her own good, sometimes. She has always wanted to make the world a better place. To help everypony, everywhere. But she’s only one pony, and sometimes, I think she forgets that. Often, she’ll overextend herself, going to lengths too great to aid others. Even then, she realizes that she cannot help absolutely everypony, and often times…” Clover paused, briefly considering some distant memory. “Most of the time, she allows herself to feel guilty about it.”

“Kind…” Celestia murmured. “Her instructions seemed very strict to me.”

Clover chuckled. “Her instructions. Yes, they would seem strict, wouldn’t they?” She sighed. “Oh, dear. Sometimes I wonder if Arch-Mage Shimmer even knows you exist.”

Celestia did a mental double-take, checking and rechecking the statement in her mind. How could her own summoner not know of her existence?

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Remember, Celestia,” Clover began, “that for a long while, everypony thought you were dead. You and Lucky both. Arch-Mage Shimmer was, as far as we knew, the only survivor of the attack on Canterbury. She reported as such. Our pegasi scouts confirmed it; Canterbury is a smoldering ruin.

“Also remember that when you and Lucky arrived, the Arch-Mage was, and still is, absent. She stayed for Commander Daylight’s funeral, and left shortly thereafter. You missed her by a single day. After that attack on Canterbury, she has yet to see you, alive and in the flesh.

“We have sent couriers and scouts, but have been met with no contact, save for a single letter. She assured us she was alive, and that she was ‘anxiously engaged’ in an important task. She did not say how, or where. Not even the Farsight Telescope can find her. I suspect she is cloaking herself from it.”

“So,” Celestia slowly began, “she… thinks I’m dead?”

Clover chuckled. “Oh, I doubt that. I am told that rumors of a ‘real live alicorn’ have swept across the nation, from city to city. Rumors that ‘Equestria has its new hero.’ Any good news about the war is gladly welcome in this country, and it travels very quickly. She will have no doubt heard the whispers, no matter where she is.”

“But what about her instructions?” Celestia asked. “Why would she write them if she thought I was dead?”

Clover took a bite of her food and chewed it thoughtfully. There was a silence, broken up only by the birds that flew past the broken observatory ceiling. Celestia waited intently. It was full minute before Clover spoke.

“Her instructions…” she began. “Yes, well, she did not actually write those. I did.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” Clover simply said, nodding her affirmation.

“But why?” Celestia asked, part in question, part in accusation. “And if you wrote them, why would you not simply say that I was to train solely with you? I know that is what you wanted.”

“I did not falsify Midnight’s intention,” Clover said, her tone somewhat harsher than usual. “I am no liar, Celestia.”

Celestia let her gaze drop to the table. “I know you’re not a liar. My apologies, I was simply curious.”

“It is alright,” Clover said. “She may not have written it specifically, but those were indeed the orders of Midnight Shimmer, for she did indeed have plans for you. The note that they read at the meeting, the one they based their debate upon, was a transcription of that. She had a written plan, one that she had created in anticipation of your summoning. One that she revealed to me. I crafted that letter as evidence of her intention; otherwise, who knows what the council would have done?”

“But if she heard rumors, would she not come to see me?” Celestia asked. “The result of an effort that cost her dearly?”

“I wonder that as well…” Clover murmured. “I think she is ashamed of her escape, even if you also survived. As I have said, her guilt is often her undoing.”

Celestia frowned, unsure of how to feel about her apparent creator. “What exactly is she doing, then? Am I that unimportant? One would think...” she trailed off, looking away.

Clover smiled. “My dear, you are more important than me, the Arch-Mage, and the entire Royal Council combined.” She reached across the table, and gingerly put Celestia’s hoof in hers. “You are unique, child. Unique, and powerful. You are the first alicorn to set hoof in Equestria for over two and a half centuries. With the loss of the Adepts, you will likely be the only alicorn to live here for decades to come. Rest assured, you are not unimportant.”

Clover gave her hoof an encouraging pat before releasing it. “And wherever the Arch-Mage is, I know she is doing good in one way or another. I know her, and she is not someone who would so lightly abandon us.”

Celestia withdrew her hoof. “Well, I suppose-”

She was cut off as the doors suddenly opened. Through the doorway peered the head of a sentinel. Caught off guard, he took a moment to look at the hole in the ceiling before clearing his throat and speaking.

“Master Clover,” he said, formally addressing her, “Lieutenant-Commander Crumble is here for Celestia.” Clover looked to Celestia, looked back, and nodded. Seeing that she had no more to say, the guard nodded back. “That is all.” He retreated behind the doors.

“Well, my dear, it is time,” Clover said. “Let us away.” She rose from her seat, and Celestia did the same. They began to walk towards the exit.

“Do not fret. Perhaps you will have more success at the barracks,” Clover said as she telekinetically opened the large double doors.

Celestia frowned.

“Not,” Clover quickly added, “that you did poorly here. You have made excellent progress for our first day.”

Almost involuntarily, Celestia glanced at the broken roof and telescope. Excellent progress, she bitterly thought. Hah! Just because I learned some child’s lesson does not change the fact that I punched a hole in the roof and broke a priceless telescope. I completely failed. Progress indeed.

She stopped, and looked down at the plank of wood she had been practicing with. The nail was still firmly stuck in by its tip.

But... perhaps one more try? Her eyes wandered to the ceiling, and then back to the wooden board, and eventually came to rest on the hammer next to it. That hammer, that godsforsaken hammer, had given her so much trouble. It had put dents into metal, chips into bookshelves, and bruises on her skin. She snorted. What a stupid idea. She continued walking.

“So, Celestia,” Clover asked conversationally, “Are you excited for combat training? I happen to know the sword master, Captain Garde. He is an agreeable stallion, if a bit withdrawn. I think you’ll like him.”

She walked past the doors, and one of the guards addressed her. “Master Clover,” he nodded, “the Lieutenant-Commander is just on the floor below. And where is...”

“And the combat tactics advisor,” she continued, “Lance Corporeal Allez. She is quite the eager one, shall we say. One time, she-”

“Master-Adept,” the guard said, cutting her off.

“Yes?” Clover said, stopping to glance back at him.

He bowed a quick apology, and motioned to the doors. “Where is the alicorn?”

She shot him a disapproving look. “Celestia is right...” Clover turned a full circle, and saw nopony. “...here.” She politely nodded to the guard. “One moment.”

Clover marched back into the observatory. “Celestia?” she called. “Celestia, we really must-”

She stopped. In the center of the room, standing next to the broken telescope, was her student. Her poise was firm, all four hooves planted squarely on the ground, pink mane brushed away from her eyes. Her teeth were bared, and her eyes closed. Her horn dimly glowed with the color of an early sunrise.

Clover watched with worry. She thought she heard something, a low, frustrated whisper, spoken through gritted teeth.

“...arise...”

A plank of wood shivered on the ground. The action resonated with the nail driven into it and, after some time, the hammer next to it. Clover’s worry turned to fascination.

“...arise, ascend, move up... stupid hammer... go...!”

All of the items took to the air, enveloped in a delicate pink field of telekinesis. Celestia dared to open her eyes to look at the objects in front of her. They hovered there, gently floating up and down, awaiting failure or further command. She closed her eyes again, squinting hard in concentration.

“...focus... concentrate...”

Clover’s ears perked up, and she took another few steps forward.

“See it happen... feel it happen...”

A small smile crept onto Clover’s face.

“...and then...”

Celestia opened her eyes, and looked up to the ceiling. “Let it happen,” she said aloud.

The wooden board hovered slowly to the roof, closely followed by the nail and hammer. It positioned itself on one side of the opening, the long side protruding into the hole. The nail was driven into one end. The hammer pulled back, ready to strike.

For a few moments, the objects stayed like that, as if held by an invisible carpenter whose arm had been frozen mid-swing. They trembled, and for a moment, looked as though they were about to fall. A bead of sweat dripped down Celestia’s neck.

With a sudden growl of effort, her telekinesis seemed to pulse brighter, and the hammer fell on the nail with a mighty swing. And then another, and another, and another. Eventually, the nail was completely driven into the board, and beyond that, into the ceiling. With a strained gasp, Celestia released her hold on the items. The hammer fell and clattered on the stone. The board did not.

Celestia stood there, heaving, panting, and sweaty. She looked up at her work, and gave a modest smile. She turned around to see Clover.

“That was excellent, Celestia!” Clover brought her hooves up and applauded her, who returned the praise with a sheepish grin.

“I’ve got a headache,” she murmured, still smiling. Clover did not seem to notice.

“Just wonderful!” she said jovially. This was probably the happiest Celestia had ever seen the old mare. ‘Probably’ became ‘definitely’ as Clover hurried towards Celestia and embraced her in a tight hug. “Oh, I knew you could do it!”

They both looked again at the hole. It was a pitiful sight. There was a single wooden board extending into a large empty space, clumsily hammered into the jagged edge and protruding slightly askew. It was not even the same material as the roof; the board was wooden, and it was metal. And yet, for the reactions of these two mares, who gazed upon it with an indescribable fondness, this first, sloppy step to a repair could have been a magnificent work of art.

“I dunno,” a voice said, coming from across the room. Clover and Celestia wheeled around to see Apple Crumble standing in the doorway, stroking his beard and critically regarding the patchwork.

“Doesn’t look like it’d keep the rain out to me.”

Clover merely rolled her eyes, but Celestia glared at him. He smiled back, chuckling at his own joke. His laughter turned to panic as he was chased from the room with a floating hammer, enveloped in a field of pink telekinesis.

XII: Fight and Flight

“Tha’ wasn’t necessary, ya’ know.”

“I’m sorry, really.”

“Uh huh.”

“It was an accident.”

“Righ’. Sure.”

The two paused, waiting for a line of carriages to move past before crossing the street. They moved single-file in either direction, traveling across the uniform sets of wheel marks in the road like rails. Most of the carriages were simple one-pony wagons, hauling precious goods from one place to the next. Up and down the street, on the sidewalks and in the shops, ponies walked, talked, and worked. A short way down the road was a blacksmith’s workshop, open to the outdoors. The smith pounded away at a slab of red-hot metal, making the area reverberate with a steady, metallic clang. Behind them, a mare was arguing with a vendor at a vegetable stand, pounding her hoof on the counter as she declared a price to be unfair. A few ponies across the way sat at restaurant tables under an exterior canopy, pleasantly chatting as they ate their lunch.

It was midday in Canterlot. The sun was high in the sky, blessing the white city with a pleasant springtime heat. It was always busiest this time of day, as the good citizens worked, shopped, ran errands, or did some combination of the three. All of the activity made for a riotous symphony, boldly attesting to the industriousness of Canterlot. In any other circumstance, it would have been a familiar ambience, ordinary, and perhaps even comforting. In the ears of Apple Crumble, it was obnoxious and grating.

Crumble took an opportunity in their brief pause to move a hoof to his forehead, gingerly rubbing in a small circle just above his left eye.

“Ohhh, my skull,” he moaned, taking a moment to lower his head. His eyes were shut tight, and his ears laid flat. “I think yeh’ve cracked it…”

Celestia frowned and reached towards him. “Let me see it.”

Crumble’s wings lightly fluttered in protest, and he pushed her hoof away, turning to distance his head from her. “Yeh’ve done enough damage already, sunshine,” he grumbled. Behind them, an angry mare continued to argue with a hapless salespony. It was beginning to get on his nerves.

Celestia recoiled. There was truth to his words, of course, but they stung all the same, and the nickname he had taken to calling her only drove the needle deeper. It made her feel like a foal in front of him, and being mocked for it on top of that.

Underneath her black, hooded cloak, in one of the interior pockets, she felt the carpenter’s hammer she had kept lightly tap the left side of her ribcage, as if to remind her of her deed. She had not meant to actually hit Crumble, just scare him, but once again, her lack of magical discipline had caused unwanted damage. The hammer had slipped free from her control, and though she had closed her eyes to avoid watching it, Crumble’s pained howl had been enough confirmation. She turned away from him, craning her neck low to the ground and glancing away.

“…accident…” she mumbled. She bit the edge of her hood, and pulled it close to better conceal the shame in her eyes.

Crumble raised his head and opened his squinting eyes. “C’mon, now,” he grumbled. “Don’t be like that, sunshine. I’m only teasin’ yeh.” She did not respond.

“Oh please, don’t flatter yerself, Celestia. Yeh think this is the first time I’ve been rapped on the noggin? Believe you me, I’ve had worse.”

At a particularly loud shout coming from the argument behind them, Crumble’s ears twitched, and he winced as a wave of pain hit his head. His headache was not improving with all the background noise.

Celestia raised her head a bit, but her hood still concealed her eyes. “I’m sorry for hitting you on the head with a hammer.”

“Apology accepted, sunshine,” he chuckled, trying to conceal his pain. “But honestly, there’s no need. Look at this.” Hoping to lure Celestia into meeting his gaze, he slowly removed his hoof, revealing a small, hammerhead shaped bruise on the left part of his forehead, just above his eyebrow.

Her curiosity got the better of her; Celestia looked towards him, letting a single eye become visible from behind the black shroud.

“Yeh see? Barely even a blemish.” He motioned to the mark, brushing his mane aside. It was indeed small and difficult to see, the discolored skin easily concealed by the red of his coat, and the blonde of his mane. The only clear evidence of its existence was an unnatural lump jutting forward just a fraction of an inch. Satisfied, Crumble lowered his mane.

“Jus’ keep the hammers pointed towards the bad guys,” he joked, lightly punching Celestia in the shoulder, “an’ I’ll forgive yeh.”

Celestia weakly smiled. She raised her head, not removing her hood, but still looking at Crumble, who smiled back. At another outburst from the nearby dispute, she saw him cringe, and lightly touch his head. His face was briefly screwed up with anger. After a moment, he took a deep breath, and Celestia saw his features slowly relax.

“One moment,” Crumble said, putting a hoof up and motioning for her to wait. Celestia watched curiously as he turned towards the arguing mare.

“Oi!” he shouted, his wings coming to an aggressive half-deployment. Both the mare and Celestia jumped at the sound. “Yer voice sounds about as pleasant as a dyin' animal on a Sunday mornin’!” Even through all of the city noise, his booming voice echoed off of the buildings. “Jus’ pay the poor fellow his bits and shut yer blasted mouth!”

The mare stood completely still, leaning away, frozen in a startled half-retreat. Her mouth noiselessly stuttered to form an insulting response, and found none. Celestia was in a similar pose. Crumble stared into the mare’s eyes. His thick brows were furrowed, and his lips were pressed into a grimace that was on the verge of becoming bared teeth. As a complete reversal from the gruff cheer he had had only moments before, he suddenly seemed twice as large and thrice as intimidating. His eye twitched, and the mare flinched in reaction.

Eventually, Crumble broke their eye contact, tilted his head to the side, and spat. “Hmph.” He folded his wings, snorted, and turned away, apparently not interested in her reaction, only satisfied at her silence. Celestia watched her stand motionless for another second. Eventually, she turned to the vendor, threw some bits on the counter, and hurried away, half trotting, half galloping. Her goods lay forgotten on the counter.

Celestia turned back to the street, eyes wide. She decided then and there that she would never, ever be in Crumble’s bad graces.

Coming back to her senses, she noticed the traffic in the street had briefly relented, and looked towards Crumble, who was already a few steps ahead of her.

“Oh lordie, does my head hurt.” His tone was as mellow and conversational as it had been before. He beckoned to her, swinging his arm forward. “Well? C’mon sunshine, we haven’t got all day.”

Startled, Celestia hurried to his side and matched his speed. For such a large pegasus, Celestia noticed his pace was very quick. She glanced over the length of his body. He was by no means overweight, or unfit, especially for a stallion as old as he. On the contrary, Crumble was as fit as he could possibly be; certainly, he was the healthiest stallion of his age she had ever seen. Celestia did not have the courage to ask his age, but judging by the stray hairs of grey in his mane, as well as the way his coat was beginning to take on an aged, faded color, it was obvious that he was far past his prime. Was he in his forties? His fifties? She was not sure, and she wondered why such a seasoned veteran might be second-in-command, especially when his superior was as young as Lucky.

Regardless of his age, Celestia had yet to see a pegasus larger than he. His mass seemed to be the product of natural bulk and rigorous training, a cross that would have given him the air of unrivaled intimidation, were it not for his usual down-to-earth friendliness. The long strides he took were akin to a military march, which, as she thought about it, was probably exactly what they were.

It was strange, Celestia thought. Pegasi were usually thin and flexible, with an athleticism that lent itself to agile flight. They were, on average, lighter, and, as some would say, more fragile than their earth pony or unicorn brethren. Not so for the sturdy pegasus that lumbered next to her, standing at least a full head above her own height.

His cutie mark made no sense to her either. This was the first time she had seen Crumble without the thick plate armor he usually wore. On his flank was an apple, huge, ripe, and yellow; a golden delicious, if Celestia was not mistaken. It was improper to assume the profession of a pony through their cutie mark, vague and symbolic as many of them were, but even still, Celestia could see no possible connection between being a Lieutenant-Commander in the military, and apples.

Crumble noticed Celestia’s gaze playing over him, and raised an eyebrow. She swiftly brought her head forward, face hot with embarrassment.

“How far is the barracks, Lieutenant-Commander Apple Crumble?” she asked, trying to ease her embarrassment through conversation. Beneath her hood, her cheeks were a soft red.

Crumble chuckled. “Please, lass. Call me Crumble.”

Celestia blinked in surprise. “Oh, okay then. How far is the barracks, Crumble?”

They stepped onto the far side of the street, and continued down the sidewalk. “Only another few blocks. It sits jus’ outside of the palace, almost opposite of Clover’s observatory.”

“The palace, huh?” Celestia murmured. She glanced at the landmarks around her, and saw that they were indeed heading away from the tower, but not away from the palace grounds. The streets they traveled were only just outside it. Her gaze slowly moved upwards, and to their right she saw dual stairways of the main entrance hall, a building she now recognized to be next to the palace garden. She unconsciously drew her cloak a little tighter.

Still marching forward, Crumble eyed Celestia suspiciously out of the corners of his eyes. “What’s yer problem, sunshine?”

Celestia did not look back at him. She kept her gaze straight forward, walking with purpose. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“Rubbish,” Crumble snorted. “Yeh know exactly what I mean. You an’ that cloak are somethin’ like the best of friends.”

Celestia did not respond, except by making a minute adjustment to her cloak, shifting it slightly to one side so that there was more fabric in between her and Crumble. He kept his silence as well, but did not move his gaze. Eventually, Celestia spoke.

“Why do we have no guard to escort us?”

“Heh.” Crumble lightly smiled. “I’m not guard enough?”

“No, no…” Celestia shook her head. She looked helplessly at Crumble. “You know what I mean.”

“Hmm,” he rumbled, stroking his beard. “I ‘spose I do. It’s Lucky. He’s been the one arranging the guard for yeh fer yer whole stay in Canterlot. Except now…” He trailed off.

“Now?” Celestia motioned for him to continue.

“Now that yer trainin’ with the 21st, he says it’s time yeh jus’ get used to it. The attention. Ponies starin’ at yeh, an’ all.”

Celestia’s indignation flared. She looked away from Crumble, and towards the palace, as if Lucky were in a distant window, mocking her. Her features hardened.

“He would… why would he…? Just to spite…?”

“I agree with him.”

Celestia misstepped, stumbling over a piece of cobble that caught her hoof. She shot him a surprised look.

“You do?” she asked.

Crumble nodded.

“Why?”

“Well, yer gonna have to interact with ponies other than Cotton and Clover. Yeh’ve gotta learn to talk to ponies.” They stopped at another intersection, and waited for a pair of carriages to go past. Crumble patted Celestia on the shoulder. “Don’ worry ‘bout it. Treat ‘em right, and they’ll do the same.”

Celestia was silent. She nodded, only vaguely registering the gesture in the back of her mind. Most of the townsfolk were too busy to pay her any mind, though she had attracted some attention along the way. Her pink mane and white coat gave her away, even from behind the cloak. Still, they did not seem hostile, at least for now. Just curious.

Her previous indignation made her realize something: she had begun to dislike Lucky Break. Before, she had simply bemoaned her circumstance. Now, as she had begun to overcome that obstacle, on the other side she saw another, one in the shape of a very specific pony. No longer was he the savior and champion of her first waking moments, and neither was he rough but well-meaning knight of when they had first walked together. He was not even the embodiment of terrible persecution, like she had thought of him their first night in Canterlot. No, he was simply a mean pony who did mean things. Patriotism and military accolades aside, Lucky was rude and cruel. Was she still scared by it? Perhaps. Did she resent him for it? Absolutely.

She scowled at a sudden memory. Even his apology, which at the time had seemed sincere, if not very lackluster, was likely a ploy to gain her cooperation.

Still, Apple Crumble seemed kind enough, even if he was a little frightening at times. If he thought it was a good idea to travel without a guard…

Celestia was reminded of the first night she had stayed at Cotton’s house, and she could almost feel an ephemeral hoof poking her in the chest. You must feel good about you.

She looked up. In a moment of bravery, and before she could think too deeply about it, Celestia gave her head a quick jolt, flicking her hood back. She ran a hoof through her pink mane, brushing it to one side, letting it fall free from her cloak. The sensation of vulnerability instantly set in, as if the hood had been the last line of defense between her and certain peril. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to make herself be at peace with the exposure. After a while, she reopened them and looked around, cautiously sweeping the street with her eyes.

Her fear turned to surprise. The workers and errand-runners had simply continued to work and run their errands. Ponies walked up and down the street, going about their business, either unaware or unconcerned with the actions of a single, peculiar mare. Her wandering gaze eventually met Crumble’s, who looked at her with a small, satisfied smile. She returned it, sheepishly shrugging her shoulders. He nodded his approval, and they continued on.

After a minute of silence, she heard Crumble softly chuckling beside her.

“What?” she asked defensively.

“Oh, nothin’” he said, a touch of mischief in his voice. “Jus’, if yer still feelin’ guilty over the bruise, I wouldn’t worry ‘bout it. Yer bound to collect a bruise or two of yer own, ‘specially with the trainers yeh’ve got.” His chuckle grew a little louder.

Celestia’s confidence immediately shrank. She had, after all, hit Crumble fairly hard. If he thought that was nothing, what would she be expected to endure? She cringed as her imagination took hold, and a number of frightening scenarios started to play out before her mind’s eye. She saw herself being chased by across the training ground by hammers. “They’re… not going to hurt me, are they?”

“Ah, no, ‘course not,” Crumble assured. His posture shifted, and he tapped his chin as he reconsidered his statement. “Well, not intentionally, anyways. Though, I can practically guarantee yeh’ll be in pain at the end of the day.”

Celestia tried to hide a whimper from Crumble. She wanted to put her hood back up. She reached for it, but her hoof was swatted away.

“Oi! None of that, sunshine,” he scolded. Celestia gingerly rubbed her hoof.

“I’m jus’ bein’ honest with yeh. I promise, yeh don’t need to fret. They’ve all been hoof-picked by Lucky ‘imself. The whole lot of ‘em are from the Maiden’s Battalion, so of course, they’re the most professional trainers yeh could hope for.”

**********

“What do yeh mean, ‘late’?”

“I mean, he’s late, Crumble. Captain Garde is late.”

Crumble rubbed his temples, and sighed. “Yes, I know that. Why is he late?”

Lucky Break shrugged, his expression blank and disinterested. “How should I know? I told him to be here.” His eyes narrowed, squinting at the telltale signs of a battle wound. “And what happened to your forehead?”

Crumble involuntarily glanced at Celestia, who looked high into the sky, suddenly and intensely interested in a flock of passing birds. Lucky raised a questioning eyebrow.

“It doesn’t matter.” Crumble stepped in between Lucky and Celestia, breaking his curious gaze. “Look, can yeh find another swords trainer?”

Lucky’s eyes shifted back from Celestia to the burly pegasus in front of him.

“No,” he said simply. He shifted his weight from one side to the other, coolly regarding him. “Nearly everypony is on leave in the city. Those who are here are busy.”

The barracks did indeed seem to be busy. Celestia, craning her neck to see over Crumble’s shoulder, saw it in full view. It was a large, L-shaped building, constructed with the same gleaming white stone that the palace, and indeed, most of Canterlot seemed to be built from. In the corner, where the two structures met, stood a tall guard tower. It all came together to be quite sturdy, and if needed, very defensible. However, though the building was impressive, it was no more so than the countless other structures that stood in Canterlot. What really caught Celestia’s eye was what lay outside of it.

In front of the barracks, encompassed by a low wooden fence on two sides, and the stone of the building on the other two, was a great courtyard, one which was far from decorative. Soldiers positively dominated the space. The whole training grounds, from the massive center of the field, to the tiniest corner, was occupied by some type of activity or another. Ponies of every race ran in a looping, quarter-mile track around the yard, glistening with sweat and panting with exertion. Earth pony soldiers bucked straw training bags with powerful hind legs, vigorously responding to their drill sergeant, who barked numbers in rhythm. He was currently on number one hundred and ninety two. None of them showed signs of stopping.

Sudden flashes of bright light caught Celestia’s eye. She turned to see a group of unicorn mages, directing bolts of fire, lightning, pure energy, and gods knew what else, at hard targets on a stone wall. The once white Canterlotian cobble had been completely blackened, charred from constant burning. They practiced against each other as well, throwing up shields against spells meant to stun, deflecting them and retaliating with their own almost faster than Celestia could keep track of.

Far above them, pegasi flew in every which direction, maneuvering through hoops, swerving between pillars, and diving into targets. All of it was made from semi-permanent cloudstuff. Most of them trained their agility, but some were simply flying in a large loop in the pattern of the track below. Others engaged in impressive aerial combat with one another, swiping and diving at each other with hoof-mounted switchblades.

In the center of it all was an elevated, circular platform, constructed from wood. It was only five yards wide, and had no railing to protect from the four foot drop off of the side. She saw two ponies atop it, an earth tribe and a pegasus, both biting down on swords and eyeing each other with fierce scowls. There was a brief moment of inaction before the pegasus jumped forward, swinging with brutal intent. The earth pony raised his sword, and they met with a loud metallic clang. It was followed with many similar sounds as they engaged each other in aggressive swordplay.

“Really, Lucky? There’s not one pony in this whole barracks,” Crumble said, sweeping his arm across the clamorous scene in front of him, “that can take the time to teach ‘er?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Yeh know, I seem to recall one pony who has the whole afternoon free.”

Lucky’s eyes narrowed. “Really? And who would that be?”

Crumble rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure yeh know ‘im. The two of yeh are very close.”

Lucky leaned forward, staring into the eyes of his subordinate. “No, Lieutenant-Commander” he growled, allowing the timbre of authority to creep into his voice. “I don’t think I do.” He broke his gaze and turned away, walking towards the training ground gate.

“Return in one hour,” he called, not looking back. “I’m sure the captain just lost track of time. When he shows, I assure you, he will be hearing from me. Until then, just get her doing something else. In fact…”

He paused, and glanced back. “Until then, why don’t you supervise her training, Lieutenant-Commander? You seem to have a vested interest in her growth, I’m sure she would be very appreciative.”

He shook his head in chagrin. “Is that an order, sir?” he sullenly muttered.

Lucky turned his head forward. “Yes.” Without another word, he continued walking, and entered the training ground, eventually disappearing into the barracks itself. Crumble groaned, and gingerly rubbed his head.

“That colt’s about as pleasant as the south end of a northbound donkey, sometimes…”

“What?” Celestia called from behind him, tearing her gaze away from the training yard.

“I’m sayin’ he’s bein’ an’ ass.”

“Oh. Well…” Celestia murmured, stepping beside him. “At least I have another hour to prepare?” It was less of a statement, and more of a question as to what they would do next. She looked at him expectantly.

“Yeh sure do…” Crumble sighed. Instead of examining the training ground like she expected him to, he merely walked towards the gate. “C’mon, we’ll do some flyin’.”

“Oh! R-really?” Celestia lowered her head, avoiding Crumble’s gaze as he paused to look back at her. “Because I was thinking I could… that we could, I mean…” She looked up at the courtyard. A flash of light caught her eye. “I was thinking I could practice magic some more! Over there!”

“Er, Celestia, I can’t train yeh in magic.” He lifted his wings, and gave them a flap.

“Oh, right.” She shifted her gaze towards the earth ponies bucking the straw training bags. “What about those?” She pointed at them.

“A big, strong soldier like you,” Celestia said, rearing to her hind legs and punching the air with her forehooves, “You probably know all about bucking, huh?” She turned towards him, and punched him in the shoulder. It was like punching a wall of stone.

“There’s no room,” Crumble said, dusting off his shoulder. “All the bags are taken. You okay, sunshine?”

She gingerly tested her forehoof against the ground, as if she expected her punch to have hurt something in her leg. “What? I mean, uh, yes! Why would I not be?” She smiled, and weakly laughed.

“I see.” Crumble’s eyebrows furrowed, and he stroked his beard. “Well, let’s get to flyin’ then.” He turned around, and spread his wings. The sudden motion made Celestia jump in surprise. If he had been large before, the sheer span of his wings now made him seem like a veritable giant.

“Wait…”

He crouched, his wings poised higher in the air.

“Wait, Crumble…”

He jumped into the air, and simultaneously gave a huge push with his wings.

“Wait!”

Crumble turned in midair to see Celestia, still grounded and wings inert, hoof outstretched towards him. “Yes, sunshine?”

“I can’t…”

“What was that?” He descended the five feet he had flown, and landed on the ground with a clop. He put a hoof to his ear. “Couldn’t quite hear yeh.”

“I can’t fly!” Celestia shouted. She averted her gaze, casting a hard glance downwards and stomping a hoof against the stone.

“Of course not,” Crumble muttered. “Not with that silly cloak, yeh can’t.” He craned his neck towards her and, before Celestia could react, snapped his teeth at the clasp around her neck, catching it and pulling it free. The cloak became loose and fell off of her shoulders. Crumble yanked it away, and folded it over his own back.

“Hey!” Celestia cried in protest. She swiped at Crumble, who easily dodged it. “Give that back!”

“If yeh want it,” Crumble said, pushing off of the ground and becoming airborne, “Come an’ get it.” He hovered a mere ten feet above the ground folding his arms and waiting.

“You…!” Celestia jumped and swiped furiously at Crumble. She felt only the air, as he casually hovered a little higher.

“I can’t believe you would…!” She jumped again. Amidst wild flailing, she was able to tap one of Crumble’s lower hooves. He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“You’re no better than…!” A leap and a miss. The last jump had been a reckless one, and she landed incorrectly, tumbling to the ground upon impact. She drew herself to her hooves, and looked angrily at Crumble.

“Fine.” She huffed through her nostrils, and crouched low. Slowly, cautiously, she extended her wings. It was a long three seconds before they were fully spread. They quivered in the air like atrophied muscles, like those of an elderly pegasi who had not flown in years, or perhaps those of a filly, who had yet to even try. A few of her snow white feathers drifted to the ground.

She was still unused to her wings, and the unexpected shift in weight forced her to steady herself. She dragged one hoof across the ground, readying for a charge. Crumble closed his eyes and yawned in response, tapping his hoof to a mouth wide open. Her eyes widened. That single action of apparent disinterest set her off, suddenly and violently. She sprinted forward and pushed off of the ground, flapping her wings in unison.

Crumble’s eyes had time to open only a small ways before he felt a pair of arms wrap around his torso, tackling him out of the air. He let out a deep, wheezing groan as all of the air was forcibly pushed from his lungs.

Things seemed to move in slow motion as he looked down at his belly. Wrapped around his waist as tightly as could be was Celestia, eyes shut tight, mouth open in a furious shout. Her expression was half determined, and half flinching in fear and anticipation. Her wings were indeed deployed, and she was indeed ten feet in the air, on the same level he was. Except they would not be for long. Celestia’s reckless midair tackle put them on an imminent collision course with the ground.

Reacting with a pegasus’ reflexes, agility, and innate awareness of space and position, he rolled in the air, instinctively attempting to put Celestia in between himself and the ground. He only had time for one wing movement before they closed the distance. He grunted, and twisted his wings in a motion that would throw them into a barrel roll. It was not enough. They both hit the ground, landing on their sides at the exact same time. Experience took over as Crumble recovered from the crash, rolling back to his hooves and taking off again. Celestia lay still, stirring in pain.

Crumble chuckled, and then coughed. “Heh, nice try, sunshine,” he said, laughing hoarsely. He stifled another cough. “I may be old, but I still… know how to…” He trailed off, and his laughter died down. He turned a circle in the air. “Where did…?”

Celestia shakily rose to her hooves. She clutched at her chest, teeth bared, hissing in pain. Her wings hung limply at her sides, before she slowly retracted them. Beneath her left wing, pinned in between her hoof and aching ribcage, was the black cloak, covered in dirt and hopelessly torn across the back.

Crumble chuckled, shaking his head. “Well I’ll be damned.”

Celestia looked up at him, and then down to herself. She brought her hoof forward, examining the dirty cloak as though it might have been a figment of her imagination. She looked back up at Crumble, who stroked his beard, regarding her with a subtle smile. Celestia held the cloak towards him, as if to say, Are you seeing this, too? Crumble descended to the ground, and trotted to Celestia. Instinctively, she withdrew her hoof and held it away from him. Crumble merely laughed.

“Congratulations, sunshine.” He nodded towards her side. “Yeh’ve just earned yer very first bruise.”

Celestia looked down and ran a hoof along her coat, brushing away some of the fur. Sure enough, some of the skin underneath was a tender red. She looked back to him, and back to her bruise, beaming with delight, regarding it as though it was a badge of honor.

“An’ may it be the first of many,” Crumble chuckled. Celestia did not notice him. Neither did she notice the dozens of onlookers, all having stopped their activity on the training ground to watch the curious happenings outside the wooden gate. Curious pegasi hovered above, and across the field, mages and soldiers alike had wandered in their direction, craning their heads to get a better look. The whole field had fallen suspiciously silent as nearly everypony looked towards them.

“Alrigh’, back to work, the lot of yeh!” Crumble shouted. Celestia swiveled her head towards the training ground, suddenly becoming aware of exactly how many ponies had been watching her. They immediately obeyed Crumble’s barking order, but they did double takes and sideways glances, walking or flying slowly back to their stations. The cacophony of training gradually resumed, but it was slow to regain the same vigor it had had before.

“C’mon, Celestia,” Crumble said. He walked to the wooden gate, bidding Celestia to follow suit. “Let’s teach yeh to fly proper.”

Celestia tried to throw her prized cloak over her shoulders, and felt it sliding off. The clasp had been broken, and the tear down the center made it impossible to actually wear. She frowned.

“You comin’?” Crumble called. Her hoof twitched. She loosened her grip on the cloak, just a little. She regarded it with concern; it was useless, so why not throw it away? It fluttered precariously in the breeze. Her gaze shifted towards the battalion soldiers. Some were still giving her curious looks. She clasped the cloak tighter, and brought it to her chest, shaking her head.

Maybe somepony could sew it up later. Throwing it over her back, she trotted towards Crumble, staring straight forward to avoid the inquisitive gazes. Together, they traveled across the courtyard, and to the tower beyond.

**********

“As far as I can tell, Celestia, yer wings are jus’ like a normal pegasus’, but if yeh have a question, jus’ stop me.”

Celestia nodded. “Uh huh.”

“These feathers are your primaries, and these are your secondaries.” Crumble tweaked the end of his wings with a hoof, showcasing the feathers on the outermost tip. “They catch the most air, and’re very important for sustained flight, so take good care of ‘em.”

“Uh huh.”

“An’ when yer wings are stretched open, yeh’ll see these.” He raised his wing higher, and motioned to an inner part, closer to his body. “These are yer coverts, primary and secondary.”

A stiff gust of wind blew past them. It was a moment before Celestia answered. “Uh huh.”

“Tucked behind those, yeh’ve got yer marginal coverts, and yer axillaries… Celestia, are yeh even listenin’?”

Celestia nodded. “Uh huh.”

Crumble raised an eyebrow.

She rapidly shook her head, coming to attention. “I mean, yes! Yes, of course!”

“This is important stuff, sunshine,” Crumble scolded. “Flight school one-oh-one.” He pointed an accusing hoof at her. “Yeh told me that yeh knew nothin’ about flyin’, right?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then pay attention!”

She flinched. “Okay.”

“Righ’. Where was I?” Crumble tapped a hoof to his chin, pacing away from Celestia. “Ah yes!” He deployed his wings again. “These are the marginal coverts…” Another gale went by, drowning out his voice. He patiently waited for it to pass before continuing. “…and these are the axillaries.”

“Okay!” Celestia burst. “I do have a question!”

He turned back to see Celestia, on the ground and hugging the floor for dear life. Her teeth chattered and her body shook. Crumble knew it was not from the cool breeze that circulated around them.

“Mm hmm?” he asked.

“Why do we have to learn about this stuff-” she was cut off by another gust of wind. She shut her eyes as it blew past her, violently whipping her pink mane back and forth behind her. “Why do we have to learn about this stuff on the top of Canterlot’s highest tower?”

Crumble seemed unconcerned. “Oh, please,” he said, rolling his eyes, “this is only Canterlot’s fifth highest tower. Or was it second?” He shrugged. “I dunno. An’ it’s how every pegasus learns. Yeh’ve gotta learn to pair yer anatomy with the currents of the wind.”

“But on a tower? On the side of a cliff?” Celestia hugged the floor even tighter. Her teeth were grit together, and her face was stiff with worry. Every time even a small breeze rolled by, she would clamp her eyes shut, and wait for it to pass.

She had not realized it before, but the Canterlot barracks were situated on the cliff edge of the city. Specifically for training pegasi, Crumble had told her. Celestia had tried to be brave, but to no avail. They had reached the top floor of the barracks guard tower, and she had thought it secure enough. It was enclosed on all sides with a railing, and had a medium sized balcony on the cliff facing side. However, she took one look over the balcony railing, and the sight of that horrible, tumbling, mile-long drop had paralyzed every function in her mind and every muscle in her body.

“Yes,” Crumble said, “on the side of a cliff. Ain’t yeh ever heard of how baby birds learn to fly? Momma bird pushes ‘em out of the nest!”

Her eyes went wide with fear. “You’re not going to push me, are you? Don’t push me, Crumble!” Celestia pleaded. “I’m not a baby bird!”

“But yeh sure are a baby,” he mumbled.

Celestia did not hear him. Crumble put a hoof to his face, and shook his head in minor frustration. He raised his voice. “No, yer not a bird. Yer not even an alicorn. Righ’ now, at this moment, yer a pegasus. So start actin’ like one.”

She nodded her shivering head, but still did not move. Crumble sighed. It did not happen to pegasi very often, but he recognized it plain as day when it did; Celestia had a deathly fear of heights.

“Listen, sunshine. We won’t do anythin’ you don’t want to.” He walked to Celestia, and nudged her shoulder. “If yeh don’t wanna fly today, we don’t have to. We’ve only got half n’ hour left, anyways.”

Celestia opened one eye, and peeked up at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Celestia exhaled. “Okay.” She raised herself on quaking legs, and shifted around until she could work the shiver out. It did not quite leave, but it had subsided as much as she figured it would. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Good.” Crumble walked to the edge of the balcony, putting one hoof on the railing to steady himself. “C’mon out here.”

Celestia remained frozen. She eyed him suspiciously.

“I’m not gonna push yeh, I promise.”

She did not move. “Have I ever lied to yeh, Celestia?”

Grudgingly, she shook her head, and took tentative steps towards him.

“See?” Crumble said as she reached the railing. “Yer jus’ fine. Now, spread yer wings. Yer gonna practice getting a feel fer air currents.”

Celestia nodded, stony-faced, then hesitantly unfurled her wings, the rest of her body as stiff as a board.

“Good, good. Now, wait fer the next breeze, and then angle yer wings like this.” He grasped her wings, and moved them down at such an angle.

She nodded, and waited for the next gust of wind. It came, and she moved her wings.

“No, no… loosen up a bit. Yeah, like that. Feel that pressure? Pushin’ yeh downwards?”

Celestia’s posture loosened, and her stone mask became a bit more animated. “This isn’t so bad…” she muttered.

For the next twenty minutes, Apple Crumble and Celestia worked together, performing simple exercises meant to give Celestia a feel for flight. She felt like a foal and a coward. On the contrary, Crumble seemed to be enjoying himself, relishing the opportunity to pass on knowledge. He was certainly not as patient as Clover, nor did he teach with the same skill, but their lesson was pleasant enough. Eventually, in between gusts of wind, they began to small talk.

“I’m tellin’ yeh, Cotton’s candy is just too sweet.”

“I think it’s delicious.” Celestia licked her lips. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind some right now.”

“It’s pure sugar! That’s literally all it is!”

“It sure is.” A gust of wind blew by, and Celestia bent her knees, angling her wings to slice through it. By now, she had gotten the hang of it. She tried not to feel happy about overcoming a simple exercise meant for foals, but she could not help but feel a twinge of pride.

“Heh. Well this old pegasus likes a little meat on his bones.”

There was silence, as the two stopped talking and the wind ceased its movement.

“What is wrong with Lucky?” Celestia suddenly asked.

Crumble blinked. “What’s… wrong with him?”

“I mean, why is he so ill-tempered? I know he doesn’t like me.” Celestia was surprised at how at-ease she felt, given the weight of her question.

It was Crumble who seemed to have the most difficulty with it, as he stroked his beard in silent contemplation. “Well,” he began, but he cut himself off to rephrase his words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before actually responding. “Well, that’s a difficult question, Celestia. Lucky Break ain’t ever been full o’ sunshine an’ rainbows.”

Celestia fought the urge to roll her eyes. Isn’t that a surprise?

“He’s had a hard life, that one. ‘Course, all of us have, with this infernal war goin’ on. But Lucky…” He shook his head, and growled. “Ahh, I told yeh it was a difficult question. Yer right, the colt is ill-tempered, but he was never… he was never this cruel. I’d bet my horseshoes it’s ‘cause of her death.”

“Her?” Celestia retracted her wings, and leaned forward in interest. “Who?”

“That’d be Daylight.”

“Daylight? The old commander?”

“Aye.”

Celestia took a couple steps back, away from the cliffside balcony. “I suppose so… but that still doesn’t seem to me like a valid excuse. She was everypony’s hero, after all, but even then-”

“No,” Crumble interrupted. “Not a hero. Not fer Lucky.” Crumble walked to the far side of the tower, and peered over the edge at the barracks courtyard.

Celestia was silent. After waiting for a while and feeling no breeze, she walked towards Crumble, and took a place beside him. Following his gaze to the training grounds below, she saw Commander Break, walking rounds amongst his troops, inspecting their progress and making corrections when needed.

“Daylight was the closest thing he ever had to a friend,” Crumble murmured. “Oh, you can bet she gave her all to her country, her soldiers, and her ponies back home. Lucky did the same. The thing they cared most about was their Equestria. Neither of ‘em had time fer ‘petty’ things like friendship.” He sighed, and Celestia wondered if he was quoting an actual conversation between him and Lucky.

“There’s a certain camaraderie between soldiers, make no mistake. I’ve known Lucky fer a long time now- in fact, I joined the Maiden’s Battalion when it was still just a group of rookies, as did he. ‘Course, I was a lot older.” Crumble laughed. “Colt could barely put on his own horseshoes when I first met ‘im.” He allowed himself a smile, but after a few more chuckles, it faded away, turning into a deeper frown than before.

“But there’s a difference between… it’s not the same as…” He trailed off, grumbling beneath his thick beard. “Let’s just put it this way. All that fightin’, an’ all that war, an’ all that death, it puts a grim perspective on things. Do yeh act the same way towards a pony who, tomorrow, might not be alive?” He shook his head. “There’s a difference between livin’, and livin’ like yer dyin’. An’ Lucky was undoubtedly dyin’.”

“I don’t understand,” Celestia said. “What do you mean, he was dying?”

“Hrmph.” Crumble took another moment to think. His beard was actually becoming less groomed, the more he stroked it. Stray, wiry hairs stuck out intermittently.

Below, Celestia saw Lucky talking with one of his captains. They were making agitated motions to the circular dueling platform. Were they arguing?

“It’s jus’ what happens when yer a soldier, ‘specially in a battalion whose success rate is only rivaled by its death toll. Take Daylight fer example. She relished every moment, held every pony dear, but she never invested herself into one pony too dearly; she loved everypony, but, before Lucky, she only really had a single friend, and it certainly weren’t nopony in her battalion.”

Celestia opened her mouth to question, but Crumble continued before she could speak. “Lucky was the extreme opposite. He was so… so above it all.” He tapped his temple, thinking of the word. “So aloof. He didn’t love anypony. By the way he acted, it seemed like he didn’t even like anypony. I was able to crack open that hard shell o’ his, but believe you me, it took a great many years, and many, many tries. It really says somethin’ that our standard greetin’ is an insult match.”

The exchange between the captain and Lucky began to escalate. He started making grander motions, and the captain shrank back just a bit, weakly protesting to whatever it was Lucky was saying.

“He had, and still has, a very sound mind. He’s a very clever tactician. Perhaps not as much as Daylight, but he has knack for predicting outcomes, figuring probability… and jus’ bein’ damn fortunate. Yeh could almost say it’s his special talent. It supplemented Daylight’s plans quite well, and it’s the reason why he was Lieutenant-Commander, and not meself.”

Celestia put both hooves on the railing, and leaned forward, watching the development of Lucky’s argument. She heard Lucky shout, and though she could not discern what was said, it was clearly in anger. She saw him point towards the barracks. The captain sullenly walked past him and towards the building, shooting him a dirty look when he was not looking.

“It certainly wasn’t because he’s friendly with the troops.” Crumble walked away from the side.

Celestia watched Lucky for another moment. He started walking towards a training station, and, to Celestia’s surprise, stopped, and looked up at the tower, straight at Celestia. She tilted her head, not actually able to see his expression. They locked gazes for a few moments, before he turned his head and resumed walking. She pushed off the railing and turned to look at Crumble, who had returned to the balcony.

“C’mon, sunshine,” he said, beckoning to her. “The wind’s picked back up. Let’s get to it.”

She trotted over to him, deployed her wings, and assumed a ready stance. “I still do not understand,” she said, catching a breeze with her wings. “If Lucky is so aloof and uncaring, why would Daylight’s passing affect him like that?”

“Tha’s just it. He began to thaw out.” Celestia tilted her head, and he continued. “‘Uncaring’ is the perfect word. He’s got bruises n’ scabs n’ scars… even that ear of his, the one that’s ripped in half. Yeh know why he’s marked up like that? ‘Cause he jus’ didn’t care. He’d go into battle, chargin’ like a madpony, doin’ stuff none of the rest of us dared to. Don’t tell him I said this, but these old eyes of mine, they saw righ’ through him. He held loyalty for Equestria, an’ that was it. No love fer nothin’ else. Not fer the places, or the ponies themselves. It was more like… like a principle than an actual emotion. An’ the battalion? The battalion jus’ gave ‘im direction, and the battlefield, a place to vent.

“But eventually, he began to change. On the down time between meetins’, and in between missions, yeh could see it. He an’ Daylight, they started actin’ like… well, like friends. They didn’t treat each other like dead ponies walkin’. Fer years this went on, and their grim camaraderie grew into somethin’ else. Somethin’ better. It was like true friendship. It gave ‘im direction, somethin’ to protect, an’ she was the only pony that ever did that fer him. He stopped bein’ so uncarin’, and was just… happier.”

“What about you, Crumble?” Celestia asked. “You were his friend, right?’

“Oh, sure I was. Still am. But I don’t quite have the same effect on ponies, n’ certainly not Lucky. Ruggedly handsome as I may be.” He chuckled, stroking his beard with pride.

Celestia frowned. “And so when she died…”

“When she died,” Crumble continued, “he was very sad. Sadder than a pony should ever have to be. For a while, he jus’ lost it. Was jus’ angry n’ fumin’. One day, he left the battalion by ‘imself. After a short while, he came back, an’ when he did, he was jus’… gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone. Emotionless. Completely uncaring. The anger had left, and with it, the happiness. After that, he volunteered for what everypony thought to be a side mission at the time. Said he had to get his mind off of things. Then he came back with you. He’s gotten a little better since then, believe it or not, but he still isn’t the same.”

“So why does he hate me? I’m sorry for his loss, but I had nothing to do with this.”

“I know, Celestia. I know. An’ I think he does, too. Remember what you were told, though, what we were all told. The magi brought you here to ‘replace’ her. He jus’ hates that idea, the thought that she could be ‘replaced’ by somepony. It’s not the same, we all know, but the way they phrased it to him jus’ really set him off. He doesn’t hate yeh. He just hates the idea of yeh.”

Celestia frowned, and looked away, her ears flat against her head. “I see…”

Seeing her dismay, Crumble gave an apologetic smile. “Ah, don’t worry, sunshine,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

“I hope so,” Celestia muttered. Hearing about Lucky’s past did not raise her opinion of him, but it might have allowed some sympathy to creep in. She considered how she would feel if the ponies that had been her friends died, and had to wonder where she would be without Clover’s patience, or, gods forbid, Cotton’s laughter. Celestia shuddered at the thought. Imagined as it was, it was a pain she would not wish upon anypony, not even Lucky. Then again, she might change her mind once she saw him again; their encounters never did end well.

“I am curious…”

Crumble was distracted, picking at a loose feather on the end of his wing. “Yes?”

“When you said they had become friends,” she began, “do you mean they fell-”

Celestia’s words were forced back into her throat as an enormous blast of air ripped through the balcony. They felt the tower sway to one direction, pushed by the strongest breeze seen yet. The gale force winds ripped and tore at Celestia’s wings. She panicked, unable to angle herself correctly and retract them. She narrowed her eyes, and her pink mane whipped wildly in the breeze. She stretched out a hoof and tried to call out to Crumble, but to no avail. He was busy bracing himself against the wind, all four hooves planted square on the ground, head bowed into the wind and eyes closed. Even if he had been able, it was no use; her voice was swept away with the current. Soon enough, Celestia was swept away as well, as the wind dragged on her wings and pulled her over the balcony railing.

She flailed her hooves forward, scrambling in vain to grab the railing in a last ditch effort. She felt her hind leg tap the stone. It was her last contact with the tower, and for a long, horrifying second, she hung motionlessly in the air. Through a screen of adrenaline that made the world seem to move slower, she saw Crumble lurching forward, one hoof extended towards her. He was squinting into the wind, and his teeth were bared in exertion. He caught himself on the rail, and stretched as far as he could. He swiped at Celestia’s hind leg, and missed by a hair’s breadth.

If he shouted, Celestia did not hear. Her weightlessness transformed into vertigo. She felt her heart lurch from her chest to her throat, and her insides squirmed in protest as the wind ceased to carry her, and left her plummeting off the side of the tower.

A scream tore itself from Celestia’s throat, but it was immediately lost to the rushing air. Furious wind ripped through her mane and swept by her ears, creating a terrifying sensory overload of which every sensation signaled her imminent demise. She dared to open her eyes, and was immediately punished for it. They were whipped by strands of pink hair and dried by the wind, and she had to squint. Even through the tumbling chaos, she could see the rapidly approaching ground below, and with it, her death. She yelped in pain as she lightly hit the cliff wall and was drenched by one of the Canterlot’s waterfalls. She bounced away from it and back into the open air, leveling out into a straight dive.

This was it. Only a few moments before she hit the ground. She wondered if they would find her body. She wondered if Lucky would be happy to be rid of her. She closed her eyes, steadied herself in the air, and let it happen…

…and then she felt it. The currents in her wings, the slipstream blowing past her mane. It was not angry, it was not howling. It was simply there. And she was riding on it.

Yes, simply riding on it.

She opened her eyes.

She was riding it straight to the ground.

Frantically, she set her wings straight. They sliced through the air, exactly how she imagined they should. With all her might, she titled them upwards, doing her best to make her body follow suit. In a moment of relief, she realized her trajectory was slowly correcting itself. In the same beat, she realized it might not be enough. The ground was approaching far too quickly.

Fifty feet. She could make out individual leaves on branches.

Twenty five feet. She prayed to the gods, that they would be make her death painless.

Five feet. Her teeth were grit, and her eyes closed at the sight of the earth, rapidly rising to meet her.

Except it never came. Cautiously, she opened her eyes, and saw the ground below her, still in motion, but not coming at her. Her hooves hovered inches above it.

Her jaw hung open, letting out a few rapid pants. She could barely comprehend the trees racing past her, the wind rushing by her, the earth moving below her. The preservation of her own self. Her panting became quicker and louder, until she realized something strange. She was laughing. She was filled with adrenaline and euphoria and life, and she was laughing. In an insane moment of joy, she shouted at the top of her lungs, happy to be alive. She beat her wings and ascended.

Celestia heard a second pair of wingbeats, just beside her. She looked over to see Apple Crumble, a huge grin on his face.

“Now that’s how yeh do it!” he shouted over the rushing wind. She grinned right back, and maneuvered left and right, testing her newfound ability. This was not hard at all!

“Don’t overdo it, sunshine!” Crumble shouted, trying to stay out of Celestia’s path. She barely heard him as she dodged through the forest, swerving between trees and ducking under branches. Her mane and coat, though still wet from the Canterlot waterfall, were being dried from the rushing wind. Her eyes narrowed in fierce, determined focus, and she ascended a ways, twisting to perform a midair backflip. It was so easy! Laughing with heartfelt exhilaration, she looked back to see if Crumble had noticed her trick.

“Yes, yes, very good. Now that’s enough- Celestia!” He pointed forward. Still grinning, Celestia turned forward, and barely had time to register a large tree trunk, directly in her flight path. She heard a scream that was probably her own. She felt a splitting pain that was definitely her own. A flurry of stars passed in front of her eyes before the world faded to nothing.

Her next waking moments were of aching and disorientation. She groaned, clutched her head, and realized she was lying on her back. She rolled onto her side and gave a few pained coughs. At the sound of hoofsteps she looked up. Crumble hovered above her, his lips twisted sideways into a half-concerned, half-amused smirk.

“Congratulations, sunshine.” Crumble put a hoof forward, offering to help her up. “Yeh’ve just earned yer second bruise.”

**********

Lucky paced back and forth across the grass. Where were they? He had said an hour, had he not?

He anxiously adjusted his commander’s jacket, fiddling with a button on his cuff. He hated wearing the thing. It was uncomfortable to begin with, but its design held little consideration for the departments of flexibility and maneuverability. Simply put, it did not allow him to fight. He looked wistfully at the sparring ring. Two earth ponies fought, blunted swords rapidly changing between mouth and hooves, meeting together with furious clangs. He wished he was in there. He wished someone would challenge him to a duel, or insult his honor deeply enough that he was justified in fighting, or something.

Of course, as a commander, he was much too busy for things like that. He had to train himself at very specific times, especially in Canterlot, when dealing with all the tedious bureaucracy. Besides, nopony challenged him anymore, and if anypony dared to insult him, it was always with a clear escape route in mind.

“’Ello, yeh pig-snouted mongrel.”

Well, except for him.

Lucky heard a thud from the ground behind him. He turned to see Crumble, still folding his wings after landing.

“Hello, you clay-brained…” Lucky trailed off, and looked around. “Where’s Celestia?”

Crumble smirked and nodded toward the sky. Lucky looked up to see Celestia, slowly descending, steadily beating her wings until she came to rest, just beside Crumble. Lucky tilted his head in questioning; Celestia’s coat was damp and glossy, and her mane and tail were slick with water. She took a brief moment after landing to shake herself dry, using her torn black cloak as a towel.

“Oh, good. You can fly.” Lucky dusted his jacket sleeve, as if it the fact was supremely disinteresting. “Nice to see you’re making actual progress.”

Celestia’s brows furrowed, and an irritated spark jumped across her eyes. “Yes, it is.”

Lucky lifted a hoof, nearly taking a surprised step backwards. “Uh, yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “Captain Garde has graciously decided to show up, so your combat training may begin.” He motioned to a spot on the field where stood an earth pony captain, the same one he had been yelling at before. There was a set of practice armor and an assortment of weapons sitting next to him.

Celestia only nodded, and trotted off to meet him. Lucky noticed she still had her black cloak, but it was only laying across her back, and torn down the middle.

“What happened?” Lucky asked, looking at Crumble.

His friend only smiled in response.

**********

“So, uh, have you ever held a sword before?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Oh, uh, well, that’s okay. Here, this is a standard length. Hold it like this.”

“Rike dis?” Celestia murmured, clutching a sword hilt in between her teeth.

Captain Garde gave her a curious look. “Uh, no. That’s, uh, that’s too low.”

“Yeh shurr?” she asked, teeth still bared. “Dis feel bedder. More comferble.”

“Well, uh, there are some styles that use that as a base stance, but they’re, uh, they’re harder to learn. Trust me, hold it a little higher.”

Celestia regarded her trainer with suspicion. He was an average-sized earth pony with a dark red mane and a turtle green coat. She snickered at her own comparison; “turtle” was likely the perfect word to describe Captain Garde. He was timid, quiet, and very withdrawn. Even looking at his cutie mark, she saw it was an oddly patterned oval that was either a shield or, indeed, a turtle shell. How he could be a warrior in the Maiden’s Battalion, Celestia did not know, but he had been spoken highly of by Clover, and hoof-picked by Lucky. He must have had some merit to his name.

“Weww, if you shay sho.” She stood a little taller, and craned her neck higher. It was difficult to move in her practice armor, and her coat, still slightly wet, rubbed against it uncomfortably. She supposed she just would have to get used to it.

“Good. That’s better. Now, uh, we have some targets set up over here. Why don’t we start with those?” He walked over to a series of straw dummies, each made in the rough shape of an enemy sinisteed. He picked up his own sword with a hoof. “Uh, like this.” He threw his sword up, caught it in his mouth, and in the same motion, gave a powerful, downwards swipe. It cut a good six inches into the torso of the dummy, even though the blade was blunted. He gave the sword a strong pull, and it came loose.

Captain Garde spat his sword into a sheath, and licked his lips. “Now you try.” He stepped away and motioned to the target.

Celestia awkwardly shuffled forward. She was quite aware that Captain Garde was not the only one watching her. Curious eyes had been drawn from all around the courtyard, as mares and stallions slowed their training or even stopped it completely to get a better at their newest member. Celestia’s black cloak fluttered in the breeze a little ways off, pinned underneath a rock. She cast a longing glance in its direction, feeling exposed without its cover. Looking around, she caught the gazes of several ponies. It was always her that looked away first.

“Uh, whenever you’re ready, Celestia,” Garde said. His tone was patient, but anxious as well, and he watched her intently. Celestia could tell even he wanted to see what she could do.

She shook her head. Now was not the time for this. She stepped forward to the target, and reared back for a swing, twisting her head and clenching her teeth.

“Wait wait wait,” Garde suddenly said, stepping in between her and the target and throwing his hooves up. Celestia’s hooves fell unceremoniously to the ground.

“Uh, that’s too low. Your neck is craned too deep.” He walked toward her and touched her neck, prodding it upwards. “It’s okay, just try again. Remember, chin up!”

She impatiently nodded, and held her neck higher. He stepped out of the way, and she drew back for another swing.

“No! No!” the captain exclaimed, once again stopping Celestia. She canceled her momentum, and looked at him. “Uh, too low. Again. Chin up!” He patted his own chin and bobbed his head high in reminder. Celestia sighed, and once again, raised her head.

“Little higher,” the captain implored.

She raised her head.

“Little higher.”

She raised her head again.

“Uh, a liiiiittle bit higher.” The captain delicately flicked upwards with his hoof.

She raised her head until it felt like all she could see was the sky.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, clopping his hooves together. “Now, give it a swing.”

Celestia, determined to stay in the perfect stance, even if it was uncomfortable, reared back, keeping a stiff neck. She swung forward, twisting her neck horizontally. “Hyyaah!” She must have missed the target, because her swing carried through, and her high, rigid stance threw her off balance. She spun a half circle and lost control, falling back to her haunches.

“Good, good!” the captain exclaimed. “That was excellent!”

Celestia’s pupils spun in her eyes. She put a hoof to her head, and steadied herself. The captain was in front of her, already propping her back up. He pushed on her flank, brought her to a stand, and spun her to face the target again.

“That was a good try. Your stance was perfect.” Celestia groaned, but Captain Garde continued. “Give it one more try, and uh, just aim lower this time. But not too low. Oh,” he added, patting Celestia’s chin up, “and keep that head high!”

**********

Crumble guffawed, huge, jovial bellows of air shaking his bulky frame. “Yeh should’a seen it!” he cried. “I’m jus’ sittin’ in the garden, mindin’ my own, when suddenly… heh heh, suddenly, this huge metal roof, just… just whoosh!” He swept his hoof through the air. “Flies righ’ over my head! An’ into Lord Pick’s dinin’ table in the garden no less! Ah, lordie! His face was deeper ‘n a red delicious durin’ buckin’ season!”

Lucky chucked absently, his gaze, and attention, drawn elsewhere. “I never did like Lord Pick.”

The two sat side by side on a wooden deck that was open to the courtyard, where commanding officers could review the progress of their troops. It was constructed to connect to the second floor of the barracks, but had stairs that went straight to the training ground. On it were several tables and comfortable chairs. Crumble lounged in one, and Lucky sat stiffly in another.

“Heh heh, why do yeh think I’m tellin’ yeh the story?” Crumble chuckled, bobbing his eyebrows at Lucky, who failed to notice. “Never did like him meself. Neither does most of the nobility. He’s a right bugger, sometimes. But he’s a big cap’n of industry, so they keep him around.”

Lucky only nodded, and Crumble continued. “An’ so later, I gotta go grab Celestia, and so I go to the observatory, righ’?” He did not wait for confirmation to continue. “And so, I walk in, an’ she’s sittin’ there, nailin’ a board to the roof, with a face like foal who’s flyin’ fer the first time. An’ she does it, and is jus’ so proud of herself! Oh, and get this,” he said, nudging Lucky’s arm, “When she actually does get around to flyin’, I find out she’s afraid of heights. And so what else does she do? Jumps off the bleedin’ tower, of course.”

Lucky turned to him with sudden interest. “She jumped off?”

Crumble tilted his head, and gave a half shrug. “Eh, well, fell off, more like. Big gust of wind. An’ right then and there, she learns to fly. Good thing, too. Otherwise, she’d be a mess of blood n’ bones at the bottom of Canterlot Cliff.” Crumble sighed, and gave a half smile. “Real piece of work, that one.”

“Yeah,” Lucky murmured, slowly turning his head back to the training ground. “Real piece of work.” He closely observed the training of a very specific soldier. She seemed to be having a hard time. Maybe he should go and help…

“I’ll be back,” Lucky suddenly said, hopping off of his chair. “So long as we’re just sitting here, I want to discuss our redeployment with you. I’m going to go find a copy of the plans.” He headed toward the barracks door.

“Sure, sure,” Crumble said, waving him off.

**********

“Captain Garde?” Celestia called.

“Uh, yes?”

“I don’t think this is working. Are you sure there isn’t something else I can try?”

“Well, uh, this is how all new recruits are taught. I’m sure you’ll get it eventually.”

Celestia sighed, and stuck the point of her sword into the ground. She kept one hoof on it and leaned against it, panting with exhaustion. “We’ve been at this for an hour now,” she protested. “I’ve only hit the target correctly a few times, and even one of those was because I let it slip out of my mouth.”

“Just, uh, just one more time.”

Celestia hung her head in defeat. By now, most of the battalion members had given up on watching, deeming the show to be uninteresting. They had returned to their own training stations, and she did not blame them for it. Celestia’s progress was slower than slow, and she felt like a failure. The stance that Captain Garde insisted she stay in was much too stiff. It may have been the soldier’s standard, but for Celestia, it simply was not working, and every time she tried to swing the weapon in a way she saw fit, he would stop her. Once, she tried to simply ignore him, and he rushed in front of her attack, deftly blocking it and subsequently disarming her. And then he had apologized. She sighed.

Garde saw her dismay and walked towards her and away from the target, intending to encourage her to try again.

Celestia glanced up. He was away from the target. Now was her chance.

She suddenly sprang up, simultaneously yanking her sword out of the ground. She tossed it forward, caught it with her mouth, and rushed towards the target, with nopony in her way to correct her stance or stop her attack. She reached it, skidded to a stop on all four hooves, and gave a low, rising strike. She caught the straw dummy in the neck, and cut right through it, slicing the head clean off. It flew a wide arc in the air, and hit the ground seconds later, rolling in a small circle.

Celestia looked at her handiwork and nodded, pleased with the results. “Shee?” she said with the sword still in her mouth. She released it into her hoof, and pointed it at the severed head. “Would it not be better if I did that instead?”

“Uhhh, well…” Captain Garde walked over to the straw head and picked it up, rotating it in his hoof. “I still don’t think…” He was cut off by an exasperated sigh from Celestia. “Well, uh, okay, how about this. We’re technically not supposed to do this yet but… uh, why don’t we use the sparring ring? It’s a little more exciting than straw dummies.”

Celestia’s head rose and her ears perked up in renewed interest. “You want me to spar with you?”

“Uh, sure, I guess. Only to teach you the proper technique, and to show you why it’s better.”

“Well...” Celestia took a step back, and rubbed at her elbow. The captain may have been uninteresting, and their training tedious, but she doubted she could duel him and put up a real fight. He was the sword trainer, after all, and what little of his ability she had seen had been impressive. Crumble’s warning about unintentional bruises came to mind.

She glanced at the training dummy. Anything had to be better than this. She took a step forward. “Yes, okay.” She looked toward the sparring ring. “Shall we go, then?”

“Oh, uh, one moment. I must don my training armor. One cannot be too careful, you know.” He spun in a circle around himself. “Now, uh, where did I put it…?”

Celestia scowled and slapped a frustrated hoof to her forehead. Eventually, the captain retrieved his armor, and after a slow, agonizing process in which he put it on and made sure everything was in absolute perfect condition, they walked toward the ring. There were already two ponies sparring inside, a unicorn stallion and an earth pony mare. The earth pony seemed to have the upper hand, swiping in quick, powerful motions that not even the unicorn’s telekinetically held sword could keep up with. He had been knocked to the floor, and was making last ditch efforts to fight back.

“Uh, excuse me,” Captain Garde said as they approached the ring. The ponies ceased their fighting and looked at him. “Me and the new recruit are going to practice. Uh, if you would be so kind….”

“Sure!” the stallion said, nodding eagerly. He rolled off the platform and grinned triumphantly, postponing a match that was sure to end in his defeat. The mare rolled her eyes.

“I thought sparring wasn’t allowed on the first month.”

“Special case,” Captain Garde replied.

She looked from him, to Celestia, and back. “Hmph.” She hopped off of the platform, and walked over to her sparring companion. He flashed a jeering grin at her. She punched him in the shoulder, and responded in kind.

Captain Garde motioned towards the platform. Celestia jumped up onto it, and he did the same. Glancing to the side, she saw the two previous fighters were still lingering, watching with curiosity. A few other ponies had wandered towards the ring as well. They murmured amongst each other. Was this allowed? Was the alicorn supposed to be fighting yet?

Celestia tried to pay them no mind, and she turned to Captain Garde, who had already assumed his stiff fighting stance.

“So, uh, we’ll just go the first round doing a normal spar. One touch to the torso or head, or three to the legs. Are you ready?”

Celestia spread her hooves, and stood low, putting her sword in her mouth. She looked at the ring, and then her opponent, mentally preparing herself. Beyond him was the barracks. Something caught her eye. Her brows furrowed, and the captain fell out of focus. She peered past him, squinting at the large double door that served as the main entrance to the building. Above it, she saw a collection of words, inscribed into the stone. The lettering was bold, but simple. Celestia took a step forward, trying to see what they were. In her occupied mouth, she murmured what she read.

“Victory in battle, and Harmony after.”

She murmured it aloud only once, but it repeated in her head many more times after that. Victory in battle, and Harmony after. Victory in battle, and Harmony after. Her heart seemed to skip a beat every time she heard it.

Victory, Harmony, Victory, Harmony, Victory, Harmony…

Her jaw went a little too slack, and her sword clattered to the ground. Her eyes snapped back into focus, and she gave a tiny gasp. She shook her head. Some of the onlookers let out quiet chuckles.

“Uh, Celestia? Are you okay?”

She looked back to him. Funny, he seemed concerned. She wondered why. She was more than okay! Her heart burned with a strange emotion, one of both exhilaration and peace.

“I am okay!” Celestia announced.

“Are, uh, are you ready?”

Celestia looked around. What were they doing again? Her gaze caught the sword on the ground. Oh yes, they were sparring! Good! She relished a chance to stretch her muscles. She bent over and picked up the sword in her mouth, crouching back into a ready position.

“Ready!”

The captain hesitantly resumed his fighting stance. “Uh, okay. Go.”

*********

Lucky absently shuffled through a stack of parchment. He cursed his misfortune; the redeployment agenda was a single page amongst a stack of hundreds. Finding it would take forever. It did not help that the room had no windows and only a single gloomy magelight in one corner.

He sighed, and set the parchment down. It was not in this stack. He opened another drawer, retrieved another stack of papers, and began shuffling through it.

Lucky’s ear twitched as he heard a sound. He ceased his searching, setting the papers down and staying quiet. It was a series of heavy hoofsteps, the kind that could be none other than Apple Crumble’s. He tilted his head in curiosity. It sounded like he was galloping. Sure enough, seconds later, the door burst open, and through it came his Lieutenant-Commander, still carrying his galloping momentum.

“Oi!” he shouted. “You…” He stopped, taking a moment to catch his breath. “You need to see this!”

“See wha-” Lucky was cut off as Crumble grabbed his collar, and pulled him out of the door. Lucky pushed his hoof away, but still followed him as he hurried downstairs, and threw open the door to the second floor balcony.

Lucky galloped through it, and allowed himself a moment to breath. He lowered his head to the floor. “What is so important,” he asked, looking up, “that I… have to…” He was unable to finish. His mouth hung slightly open as he looked at the center of his training field.

Celestia, their sensitive, timid, cutie-markless Celestia, was in the dueling ring, a sword grasped tightly in her mouth. Her wings were aggressively deployed, and her teeth were bared and growling. She crouched low, professionally poised in a stance that most ponies did not find natural to use. Even across the distance, Lucky could see her eyes, clear as day, lit with a blazing fire of determination. Across from her, another soldier, an earth pony who was clearly not Captain Garde, stood with a sword in his hoof, standing ready to fight. They circled each other dangerously.

To make his bewilderment complete, every single one of Lucky’s troops that were training had completely abandoned their posts, and stood in a cheering circle around the ring, excitedly stomping their hooves and rooting loudly for the combatants.

“What do yeh make of that?” Crumble asked, pointing incredulously at the dueling ring. Lucky just slowly shook his head, not taking his eyes off of the scene.

“How did this happen?” he murmured.

Crumble nervously chuckled. “Well, heh, I may have fallen asleep at some point.”

Lucky scowled at him.

“What? I was tired! Teachin’ that mare’s a right bit of work, it is! But when I woke up, well…” He swept his hoof in front of him. “This was happenin’.”

“I see…” Lucky muttered. The earth pony dashed forward, taking an overhead swing at Celestia. To Lucky’s surprise, she sidestepped it.

“Yeh’ve gotta do somethin’!” Crumble said.

“No,” Lucky calmly replied. “I don’t.”

“Wha-? She’s gonna get clobbered in that ring!”

Lucky held up his hoof towards his lieutenant. “Just wait.”

“Jus’ wait?” Crumble protested, throwing his hooves up. “Wait fer what? Fer her to get the livin’ daylights beat outta her? Ya gonna be happy then?”

Lucky did not respond, but watched the match intently.

“Yeh dog, I’ll jus’ go stop it myself!” Crumble extended his wings, and started to take off.

“Oh, would you hold your horses!” Lucky cried. “Look!” He pointed at the ring.

Crumble looked, and saw Celestia attacking the soldier, retaliating with an even greater ferocity. He blinked. Was this actually happening?

Celestia never relented. Stroke after stroke, she switched between teeth and hoof to deliver vicious blows that were both powerful and precise. Her sword was a blur in the air, and it was all the earth pony could do to deflect the endless barrage of incoming attacks. It was only a matter of time, and he made a mistake. Celestia saw an opening in his defense and immediately exploited it, spinning the sword out of his hooves and subsequently stabbing forward, catching him in the chest. The blunted sword tip pushed against his practice armor, and shoved him back. Celestia’s thrust had been powerful, enough to make her opponent stumble to the floor and drop off of the ring. He landed at the hooves of his comrades below.

The crowd of soldiers erupted into a frenzied cheer. Celestia dropped her sword, and let her head fall low to the ground. Her lungs visibly expanded and contracted as she took deep, panting breaths. She looked up, wiped the sweat from her brow, and sheepishly grinned at her audience.

Another earth pony, who Crumble recognized as Lance Corporeal Allez, climbed up into the ring, and triumphantly held Celestia’s hoof in the air. “Who’s next?” Allez cried, with all the audacity of a coliseum announcer. “Who can take on the mighty Celestia?”

Crumble motioned incredulously to the ring. Lucky saw him, but paid it no mind. His features were even and unmoving, but he noticed an intensity in Lucky’s gaze that had not been there before. Crumble growled and flew closer to the ring, leaving him behind. He saw Captain Garde on the outskirts of the crowd, and landed next to him.

He tapped him on the shoulder, and the captain turned towards him. “Would you mind tellin’ me what is going on here? Why is yer sister asking for challengers? Why is Celestia duelin’ in the first place?!”

Allez called out again. “Anypony? Anypony at all?”

Garde swallowed. “Uh, it wasn’t my fault, sir! That mare is… she’s amazing with a sword! She beat me! The only ponies better with a sword than myself were-!”

Crumble cut him off. “So you let her duel?”

His voice was tiny. “Uh…yes, sir…”

“How many?” Crumble demanded. “How many opponents?”

The captain mumbled an unintelligible response.

“Come again, Captain?”

“Twelve, sir.”

“And how many victories?”

“Twelve. Sir.”

Crumble just stared at him.

Meanwhile, on the platform, Corporeal Allez was still calling for a challenger. “C’mon, you yellow-bellied dogs!” she yelled. “Somepony come up here and show us how it’s done!”

“Actually,” Celestia mumbled, “I think I want to be done now…”

Allez did not hear her. “Who’s going to be lucky number thirteen?”

A shout came from across the crowd. “I will!”

They all instantly knew who it was. The soldier’s excited chattering died down into a whisper, and then, into silence. The crowd parted on one side to reveal the newest challenger. Dressed in practice armor, and with a sword sheathed across his back, Lucky Break stepped towards the ring.

“I will.”

XIII: Lucky Number Thirteen

Though muffled by grass, his hoofsteps seemed to echo and ring in the ears of all present, as if the dull beats carried with them not just a soldier, but a master, or a king. This was especially true for a certain alicorn mare, who, though she was dead tired only a moment ago, stood with vastly renewed attention. A blunted longsword hung loosely from her mouth. The tip scraped lightly across the wooden floorboards as she took an unconscious step back.

Lucky Break pressed forward through the crowd. They noiselessly parted, drifting away like ghosts through the grass, granting him passage. Not a single one of them dared to mutter a word, and not a single one of them dared to lift a hoof in objection. Many ducked their heads as he passed, lowering their eyes and avoiding his gaze. It looked almost as if those closest to him were bowing in reverence, awed and frightened by the apparent patron deity of the dueling ring. However, regardless of how fully he commanded their piety, the effect was lost as they looked right back up as he passed, curiosity far outweighing any guilt. Apple Crumble seemed to be the only one unimpressed by the display, scoffing in annoyance.

Lucky noticed none of it.

He came to one side of the ring, and climbed the staircase. The sudden change in noise from the ghostlike thump of treading grass to the clop of hooves on wood made Celestia flinch, as if that stallion walking towards her had changed from an ethereal presence to something very, very real. Lance Corporal Allez reacted similarly, her gaze trained on her commander as she tried to simultaneously watch his movement and hide her own guilt.

Still, Lucky noticed none of it.

Celestia looked at him, and realized his eyes, which had seemed so icy pale before, were filled with color. And those eyes, those vivid, bright blue eyes, were locked with her own. She turned her head left, and craned her neck low, but try as she might, she could not break the bond. She took another step back, and realized she was already at the edge of the rail-less wooden platform. She was able to break the eye contact for a moment, and a moment was all she needed to realize jumping off and running away was an impossibility. The ponies below might as well have been boiling lava for all the comfort they gave her.

Her wings felt clumsy at her sides. Perhaps they would have worked; they were perfectly healthy, after all, barring a few scratches here and there. However, as she tried to deploy them, even experimentally, she found she could only extend them a quarter length out before they hit an invisible, impassable wall. She blinked in surprise, and looked back at her wings, seeing nothing wrong with them but noticing very clearly an inexplicable block in the back of her mind. She tried again and was met with even less success. She could practically feel bands of stage fright tightening around her sides, pulling her wings close to her body, until she could do no more than pathetically shift them in place.

Her glance quickly snapped back forward, where Lucky was still standing, still staring. Still waiting for something. Celestia knew exactly what that something was, because gazing into that all too familiar expression of his, she saw it. Past that mask of stone, there was the tiniest bit of movement, something so small, and so intangible, it could have been imagined, and yet, she knew it was not. His nose wrinkled, the corners of his mouth twitched, and beyond it all, there was a certain something in his eyes, a spirit of its own that shivered with excitement.

There is only one way through this, Celestia thought. Forward.

She took a step away from the edge. She became very aware of a shade of doubt, familiar and frightening, growing in the corner of her mind, threatening to rise to the surface. Celestia shook her head; she would not let it. Her jaw clamped onto her sword a little tighter.

And Lucky noticed.

He drew his blade. The metallic ring shook the otherwise motionless air, and seemed to resonate with the the spirit in his eyes.

Lance Corporal Allez responded immediately. “Commander Break! Sir!” she cried. Her voice seemed to break a certain mysticism. A few ponies gave a startled jump as they snapped back to reality. “Forgive my insolence, sir! I brought Celestia up to fight, knowing full well the rules against allowing new recruits to duel!”

He was silent, his eyes still locked elsewhere. Allez stepped in between Lucky and Celestia, hoping to gain his attention. “I did so in full knowledge of consequence, and willingly accept discipline for my deeds!”

At this, Lucky merely extended a hoof towards the Lance Corporal and lightly pushed her away, craning his neck over her as he did so. It was not physically forceful, but she stepped to the side anyways. His gaze never seemed to have left Celestia, his eyes staying focused at the same distance, distraction notwithstanding. Allez’s head swiveled between the two, as did everypony else’s. Crumble seemed to be on the verge of action, leaning forward on his legs and holding one hoof above the ground. Still, the crowd had not uttered a word.

“Right, well,” Allez muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Allow me to mend my mistakes.” She walked towards Celestia and put a hoof around her chest, ushering her towards the platform’s stairs.

She did not budge.

“C’mon, recruit,” Allez insisted. “That’s enough trouble for one-”

“Corporal,” Lucky Break called.

She immediately wheeled around.

He had broken his gaze, and was instead looking at her. His words were muffled behind his sword hilt. “Were you not calling for challengers?”

Allez hurriedly looked away and found the gaze of her brother, Captain Garde, who was standing on the outskirts of the crowd, cringing at each new development. Any trouble here would be returned upon their heads twofold; Garde had gotten Celestia to duel, and Allez had perpetuated it. She shot him a desperate glance, and he could only helplessly shrug. She seemed to be in direct contrast with him, both in appearance and in personality. Her colors were a reversal of his; she had a dark red coat and a green mane. Her cutie mark was a rapier with an elaborate hilt and hoofguard, the same one that hung in a sheath at her side. Regardless of their differences, they most certainly shared much of the same concern. She turned back to Lucky.

“Yes, sir, I was.” Allez was an earth pony with a sharp wit. She was never at a loss for words, and would often come up with quick, humorous, often irreverent responses. However, at that moment, though her tongue was quick, she was at a severe loss, not for words, but for thoughts. Her mind could not keep up with her mouth, her aggressive attitude had faltered, and the awkwardness of her tone showed for it.

Lucky released his sword into his hoof. “What were your words again?” he pondered.

“I asked these yellow-bellied dogs to show us how it was done!” she said, motioning to the crowd. Some of them rolled their eyes, some of them scowled, but most just cringed at the specificity of the language. Allez cringed as well, biting down on her tongue, hard. “…Sir.”

Lucky raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Unsure of what he wanted, her answer came out more like a question. “…And I asked who wanted to be lucky number thirteen?”

“Yes,” Lucky said, pointedly jabbing a hoof in her direction. “You did. So here I am. Lucky, number thirteen.” He looked around at the crowd, his soldiers. “And maybe this ‘yellow-bellied dog,’” he called, a half grin on his face, “can show you how it’s done!”

It took a moment for them to react, as if they had been watching a play, and the fourth wall had just been broken. A few of them gave small, good-natured laughs, and they all seemed to release a collectively held breath.

Crumble refused to relax. Perhaps Celestia was some sort of prodigy. Perhaps she was blessed by the gods. Perhaps she was just more fortunate than the embodiment of fortune himself. And yet, there was no way he could envision this duel ending in her favor. Captain Garde had briefly relayed to him Celestia’s previous engagements. Apple Crumble had even seen the tail end of one of them. She had moved with a grace that astounded him, if only because it had been so completely and utterly unexpected. Nevertheless, she had already fought and won twelve battles. Her glistening coat reflected the light of the descending sun in a way only sweat could. Though out of combat, her chest expanded and collapsed with deep, drawing breaths. Her head was held low, her knees looked as though they were about to buckle, and her entire body seemed to sag. Crumble was a veteran, and he knew that posture all too well. It was the drooping stance of a tired soldier.

And she still had one more opponent. And that opponent was Lucky.

This had gone on far enough. Crumble deployed his wings and took a few steps forward. The boy could be hot-headed at times, but there was never a situation Crumble could not defuse with a little common sense. His knees were bent, and he was ready to take to the air. He cast another concerned glance at Celestia, and saw something he had missed. He stopped.

Past the sweat, the bruises, and the exhaustion, there were signs of something else. The determination in her scowl. The fire in her eyes. The set of her jaw around her sword. He saw all that, and was reminded of a certain pony, a grey-coated, earth tribe colt, who had worn that very same expression, all those years ago. The resemblance was uncanny, and, now that he thought about it, so was the circumstance.

He saw all that, and could not help but smile. His wings slowly folded, and he brought himself to a stand. “Heh. Alrigh’, sunshine,” he muttered, to nopony in particular. “He’s all yours. Show us what yeh’ve got.”

Lucky continued. “Does she know the rules?” He addressed Allez, but his voice could easily be heard by the spectators.

“Yes sir, she does.” She nodded. “We’ve been using the normal set. One hit to the torso, neck, or head, and three to the legs and hooves. Falling off the ring results in loss, but only if backed out of, or pushed by the blade. Best two out of three rounds win the match.”

“Good, good.” Lucky nodded. “Corporal Allez. Officiate for us, if you would.”

“Of course, sir.” Seeing her commander at relative ease, Allez had regained some poise, and she slipped back into a more relaxed, informal tone. “We have our match thirteen, everypony!”

There were a few isolated whistles and stomps. The crowd was cheering, but almost timidly so, as if there were still unsure of how to react. Regardless of their hesitance, everypony leaned in, took a step closer, or propped themselves up on the shoulders of their fellows to get a better view. Some pegasi had even flown to the training course and retrieved bits of cloudstuff, fashioning them into comfortable, floating couches in order to get an unobstructed view of the match. In the near distance, peeking over the low fence were a multitude of citizens, passersby that had happened to see the fighting and stopped to watch. As Celestia actually won her matches, the number of onlookers had increased exponentially, until there were hundreds of non-military ponies pressing against the fence and dotting the air, watching the alicorn with fascination and awe.

It was the first time Celestia had seen any of them. How had she not noticed before? The determined fire in her belly died down, just a little, wavering under the pressure of her audience’s eyes.

Allez moved to the middle of the ring. “Combatants, shake hooves.”

Celestia pulled her gaze away from the onlookers, and looked back to Lucky. He was already standing in the center, sword pinned against the ground with one hoof, looking at her expectantly. His gaze had not lost an ounce of intensity. Indeed, with the distractions out of the way, the fire in his eyes burned even brighter. She walked forward, and raised a hoof, offering it towards him. He returned the favor, raising his own, and pressing it against hers. It was a firm pressure, but not harsh, one that seemed to imply confidence underneath. To Celestia, it felt oddly… normal.

He retracted his hoof, picked up his sword, and walked back to his end of the ring. Celestia’s hoof hovered in the air for a second. She turned it towards herself and examined it, as if expecting something to have rubbed off from their contact. Nothing was different. Scowling, she put it down, and walked back to her end of the ring. She put her sword into her mouth, gingerly adjusting it with her tongue and teeth.

“Combatants, are you ready?” Allez called.

Celestia crouched low, put her sword at the ready, and stared at her opponent. Lucky was bigger than her, stronger than her, and was almost certainly more skilled than her. Celestia herself was no pushover; there had been multiple opportunities for her to test her own boundaries, and it was apparent that she was quite physically fit, even compared against a soldier’s standard. Injuries aside, her lean muscles and slender build lent to a surprising stamina and a natural, if unrefined, grace. Nevertheless, the opponent that stood before her held all of these qualities, and then some. He was strong, not so stocky and huge like Crumble, but was rather athletic . He possessed a powerful fluidity, muscular limbs that could dodge and maneuver just as easily as they could swing a greatsword, or put up a stalwart defense, all at a moment’s notice. It was frightening. His expression twitched in the smallest of motions, reacting to each and every movement Celestia made, reminding her very much of a predator examining its prey. Though it seemed to be the same face he always wore, in the context of battle, it was all too intimidating.

She shook her head. Now was not the time to worry. Lucky was surely skilled, but apparently, she was too. And yet, as she prepared herself for battle, she realized that exhilarating pounding in her chest was gone. Her heart no longer skipped beats, and her blood ceased to rush in her veins. It was as if she had forgotten the lyrics and rhythm to an important song. As she tried to recall the feeling, or at least, tried to recall why it was so important, the thought occurred to her for the very first time: how was she winning? How could she have possibly defeated a warrior of the Maiden’s Battalion? How could she have defeated twelve? Her mind reeled at the thought.

She gave a quiet, frustrated growl. It did not matter. She nodded to Allez.

Lucky, standing tall and perfectly still, eyed Celestia for a moment. He put his sword into his teeth, and crouched, and then stood back up, casting her another curious glance. His head was tilted, his eyes played over her body, and Celestia could practically see the gears working in his head, as if he were on the verge of figuring the solution to a mathematics problem. Suddenly, he tossed his sword up, and caught it so that it was pointing to his left, mirroring Celestia’s blade. Then, he settled into a fighting stance, bending his knees, not as low as Celestia, and nodded, first to himself, and then to Allez.

Allez looked from Lucky to Celestia, and, giving a satisfied nod, backed up to the edge of the wooden platform. Demanding the crowd move and make a hole for her, she jumped off of the ring and onto the grass below, disappearing into the mass of ponies.

“On your guard!” Allez’s voice shouted. The crowd went silent. Celestia’s foreleg twitched. A bead of sweat ran down her cheek. She readjusted her grip on her blade. She was anxious, ready to charge forward at the first signal, as she had for all of her other fights. Lucky, however, remained completely still, holding himself with poise and tension like a coiled spring.

“Go!”

Celestia immediately leapt forward, her face scrunched in determination. She would have shouted, had her mouth not been clamped around a sword. She settled for growling instead. Closing the distance in less than a second, she stopped in front of Lucky, who had yet to even move, and swept at the side of his neck in a low, rising strike. The blade sailed unhindered towards him. Too easy-

Celestia’s teeth rattled as she felt her blade collide with metal. Lucky craned his neck and swung with his head. Maneuvering the tip of his blade underneath hers, he guided it along the flat side of his sword, flicked up, and ducked, sending the Celestia’s swing over his head. He recovered from his own maneuver, sidestepped, and returned the blow with alarming speed, sending a thrust straight towards her. Celestia was still recovering from the momentum of her own attack. She had no chance. She did not even have time to flinch properly.

Lucky’s sword reached its target and crashed straight into Celestia’s ribs. Her eyes went wide and she let out a huge wheeze, ejecting the sword from her mouth. Even with the blunted training sword, and even with her padded armor, the blow was enough to completely topple her. She was knocked off of her hooves and sent spinning to the floor.

“Hit and match!” Allez cried.

She thought she heard the crowd “Ohh,” in sympathy, but was too busy regaining her breath to pay too much attention. Her eyes were shut tight, and she drew short, gasping breaths. She clutched with both hooves at her sides, especially on her right, where she could feel a horrible, throbbing ache. She shivered at the pain of it, unable to do anything but endure the spikes of sensation until they eventually subsided. It was a full twenty seconds before she could bring herself to open her eyes. Lucky Break was standing over her.

He was staring at her, right into her eyes. She half expected him to extend a helping hoof, and she freed one arm from her side and slowly put it towards him. He did not respond, except to continue searching her eyes. Her arm fell lamely to the floor. She tried to let out a frustrated growl, but it came out as more of a sigh.

“Go find a spyglass,” Celestia wheezed, mustering as much sarcasm as her recovering lungs would allow. “You’ll get a better look that way.” She rocked to her side, closed her eyes, and coughed.

Lucky’s eyes narrowed. “Hmph.” He looked up and walked away from her, taking his spot on his side of the ring.

Celestia struggled to her hooves, simultaneously reaching out to retrieve her sword. As soon as she picked it up, she noticed the spectators were cheering. Ponies all around were stomping their hooves and whistling, which in itself, she did not find strange, until she realized something. They were cheering for her. The moment she rose to her hooves, the ponies had ecstatically applauded, if only for the fact that she was still able to walk, move, and breathe after that last hit. As she looked around, it brought a timid smile to her face, seeing the eager faces of the ponies around her, even if she knew they were rooting for the underdog.

She shuffled to her side of the ring, her gait thrown off by the ache in her side. As she took her place, and showed she was still able to fight, they cheered even harder. One voice in particular rang high and loud above the din.

“Go, Celestia! Woo, yeah! Kick his flank!”

Celestia looked towards the courtyard fence, surveying the civilian crowd that pressed against it. That voice was familiar.

“C’mon, Celly! Just believe…!”

She saw a pink and purple mane, bobbing up and down just above the fence, and saw glimpses of cyan just behind it. Celestia smiled as she recognized a familiar, candy-coated unicorn jump up, plant her hooves on the top of the fence, and struggle forward, peeking her head just over the wooden planks.

“Just believe in yourself!” Cotton called, as loudly as she could.

Celestia broke out into a grin, and gave a small wave.

Cotton beamed, and raised one hoof to wave back. Somepony bumped into her, and her smile turned to surprise as she fell behind the fence again. Apparently, it was too tall for her to simply look over. Celestia did not have the chance to see if Cotton was able to regain her spot, as Lance Corporal Allez commanded her attention.

“Round one goes to Lucky Break!” The crowd continued cheering, and stomped their hooves in approval. Even if it was fun to cheer for an underdog, Lucky was a war hero. They knew when to give respect when respect was due.

“Round two!” Allez shouted over the din of the crowd. “Combatants, are you ready?”

Celestia crouched low, struggling to get into her stance. She put her sword into her mouth, thinking of how to modify her strategy. This time, she would swipe from a different angle, and lighter, so that if it was deflected, she had time to recover. She nodded at Allez.

Lucky put his sword into his mouth, and eyeballed Celestia, a shadow of contemplation playing over his features. It was same procedure as the last match, where he would stand, completely out of stance, and just think. His expression was not searching, but rather, it looked as though he were strategizing. He tapped his hoof against his sword, and Celestia could have sworn he was muttering to himself. Finally, he put his sword into his right hoof, instead of his mouth, and nodded towards the Lance Corporal.

“On your guard!” she shouted. The crowd quieted. Celestia’s gaze broke for half a second to see if Cotton was still watching.

“Go!”

Caught off guard, Celestia did not have the time to find her. Her gaze immediately swiveled back to see Lucky, jumping towards her. He was a half foot off the ground, and had his sword clutched in both hooves, swinging towards her in a powerful downwards stroke.

Celestia panicked. What was her plan again? She forgot, and instinct took over, as she dodged to the side a split second before his sword came crashing down. She felt the wind of the blade rush by her face as it sliced only inches away.

Lucky’s sword hit the wooden floorboards, which splintered in protest. His swing bounced off to reveal a huge dent. More in a surprised reaction than an actual counter attack, Celestia slashed at Lucky’s exposed forelimbs. Almost lazily, he jumped back, sliding just out of range, following it up with a single-hoofed, horizontal swipe. Celestia twisted her neck just in time to allow the blade in her mouth to catch it. Sparks appeared as metal collided with metal, Lucky’s blade grinding along the flat side of Celestia’s. She flicked her head, and pushed his blade away.

Seeing a brief opening, Celestia spat her blade into her hoof and again slashed at Lucky’s neck. It was blocked. Celestia blinked. Her sword was completely stopped on his. He recovered faster than she imagined was possible, and had absorbed all that momentum without flinching. For a brief moment, as their swords were locked, their eyes met. Celestia’s expression was surprised, afraid, even. Lucky’s was the same as ever, until at the last second, she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a disappointed, half-frown.

He tested his strength against hers, and found her lacking. He gave a sudden, forceful jolt of motion directly against her sword with his own, shoving her away. Celestia’s sword was knocked off balance, her arms and head whiplashing backwards. She was quick to recover, but not quick enough. There was barely enough time for her to raise her sword and deflect his first, fierce blow, and even less time to deflect his second. Lucky attacked with unbelievable agility and unrelenting force. His assault was without pause, and each stroke was that much closer to becoming a hit. He maintained a barrage of attacks that moved like clockwork, chipping away at rapidly declining defense, one swing sweeping into the next with perfect, brutal precision. Each metallic clang seemed to ring louder and louder, shaking Celestia’s bones, and her confidence.

Finally, Celestia could keep up no more. She made a feeble attempt at counter attacking, and Lucky parried her blow with ease, spinning the sword out of her hooves and into the air. One slash, he caught her left foreleg, and she faltered forward.

“Hit!”

Another slash, he caught her right foreleg. She stumbled to her knees.

“Hit!”

Lucky began a two-hoofed swing towards Celestia, though one hoof was empty. In what was either the most skilled or luckiest maneuver she had ever seen, Lucky caught Celestia’s own sword in his hoof, and carried it through with the same momentum as his own.

Wham! Wham!

The pair of blunted blades collided with Celestia’s temple and jaw. Her vision was clouded over by an explosion of black and white stars. The lightly padded training helmet she wore was not nearly enough to absorb the fierce blow. The sheer force of the strike sent her from her knees straight to the floor. She did not even have the good fortune to roll with the hit and tumble. Her head hit the wood, and all her momentum stopped against it.

“Hit and match!”

Celestia’s stirred on the ground, unaware of anything but her own agony. She softly moaned in pain, wanting very much to scream but lacking the strength and consciousness to do so.

“Round two goes to Lucky Break!”

She clutched her head, and pulled herself into the tiniest ball she could. Waves of pain and nausea coursed through her. She whimpered and moaned, feeling very much like a foal for doing so. In her current state, however, she could not bring herself to care. She felt bile rise in her throat, and was only barely able to swallow it back down.

“With two consecutive wins, the match also goes to Lucky Break!”

She tasted a salty film of blood coating the inside of her mouth. It pooled in her cheek and tickled the back of her throat. She coughed into her elbows. Squinting her eyes open, through her blurry vision, she could see flecks of blood on her pure white coat, sickeningly mixing with the sweat. Her eyes closed as another wave of nausea hit.

“Well done, commander. And you as well, Celestia, though not quite the performance you put on earli-… Celestia?”

She was in no condition to respond, as she felt her awareness gradually fading away. Her response came out as an unintelligible, slurred mumble. Even Celestia did not know what she had tried to say.

“Celestia? Hey!”

A hoof nudged her shoulder. It did nothing. She felt herself slipping.

Slipping, and somepony was calling her name.

Slipping, and somepony was calling her name, and their voice was concerned, though not particularly friendly, and the only thing she could think about was just how strange that was.

**********

The dream seemed to last forever.

And why shouldn’t it?

There were colors, everywhere. That was always the first thing she noticed. Of course, because that was the only thing to notice. The colors. But there was something else, like an echo behind it all. Something, a voice, perhaps? A question, or a declaration? If she stared at the colors hard enough, a shape appeared, but other ponies, strangers, kept getting in the way. She waved them off, and tried to speak, tried to ask it things.

that’s a strange question

why shouldn’t it do what? …dream…?

makes no sense

I have dreamt, and I will keep dreaming. The dream will last forever. Or, at least, it should.

dream of what?

Nothing, I think. Who knows. Worthy beliefs. Vain goals.

…

…hello…?

where did you go?

Old friendships.

friendships …I have no friends…

I don’t understand …they will hate me…

Victory. That’s what I dream of. What do you dream of?

not dreams,

nightmares,

of strangers,

and him,

and sometimes

of shadows …hatred…

Dangerous dreams. You poor thing. They’re getting worse, aren’t they? Your dreams, your nightmares. I can tell. Your diction is infantile, and you can barely keep a steady train of thought. I can barely keep a steady train of thought.

speak plain …I don’t understand…

Speak for yourself. Ha! Rummy would not appreciate such humor, would he? No, he wouldn’t.

I don’t understand …rummy…

It’s okay. They say the mind is a pony’s last, safe place.

I don’t understand …what is rummy…?

Listen. Listen to me. Here’s a tip. Let him come to you.

he is mean …I am scared…

Hush. Pay attention.

you are mean …help me…

He is looking for something he shall never find. You must convince him he has found it.

I don’t understand

Just listen.

**********

“That was uncalled for.”

She awoke, and brought her eyes to a painful squint, viewing the world through a blurry filter. Two indistinct, pony-shaped blurs were standing next to her. They were arguing, but their voices were muffled in her ears. They seemed so distant, and so unimportant. She felt somepony manipulating her head and hooves, turning them from side to side. Her ears twitched as she heard the slight, tinkling sound of magic, and she felt an unnatural sensation of pins and needles alternating between her arms, ribs, head, and jaw.

“It was legal.”

“It was brutal! Yeh had her on the ropes the entire blasted match! A poke to the chest would’ve had the same effect.”

“It would not have knocked her out.”

“Damn righ’, it wouldn’t have! The hell is wrong with yeh, lad? Why did yeh do it?”

The response was dejected, almost depressed. “I thought... I thought I saw...”

Celestia let out a soft gasp as one of her injured arms was handled a bit too roughly. It was quiet, almost pathetically so, but enough to draw the attention of the two figures nearby. One of them walked closer and hovered over her. She tried to blink her bleary eyes clear, and was only partially successful.

It was Lucky Break. She expected him to look relieved, or at least concerned. Instead, his expression was dismal, his features bearing an unhappy frown.

“Hmph. You see?” He lifted his head, and spoke to the pony behind him. “She’s fine.”

“What happened…?” Celestia muttered. Something caught the back of her throat, and she let out a few, wet sounding coughs.

Lucky looked back down at her. His tone was apathetic, almost angry. “You lost.”

Celestia’s vision swam before her eyes, and she could not focus enough to return with the scowl she would have liked. Instead, her expression was more dazed and confused, the look of someone who had indeed just been knocked unconscious. Lucky scoffed, and backed away as another pony continued working at her side.

“Bruising on the limbs, a concussion... bruised ribs, and possibly a cracked jaw,” the pony said. It was a male voice, and a familiar one. “Well, nothing lasting, at least. Not too bad, all things considered.” Celestia raised her head, and focused her eyes.

“Doctor Cross?”

“Hello, Celestia.”

Her head unceremoniously dropped back to the floor, eyes wide open but pupils unmoving. She could muster no response. Her faculties were only just returning, and she only had half of an idea of what was happening around her. Another set of hoofsteps stopped right beside her.

“Well, yer quite the trooper, ain’t yeh, sunshine?”

Celestia did not move. “Crumble?”

“Aye. Let it never be said yeh couldn’t take a hit.” He gave a single, humorless chuckle, and patted her playfully on the cheek. Celestia groaned in pain.

Doctor Cross swatted his hoof away. “Do not touch the patient, please.”

“Sorry.”

It was only another few seconds before the doctor spoke again. “Well, I have done everything I can do here. Let’s get you on your hooves.” Two sets of strong hooves began lifting her up.

She tried her best to comply, but much of her body simply felt lifeless and limp. “Where’d Lucky go?” she weakly asked.

“Never yeh mind,” Crumble said. “Yeh’ve already lost the match.”

The doctor nodded in agreement. “Indeed. Let's get you to the infirmary.”

“No, no…” She wriggled free of their grasp, and shooed them away. “I’m fine!”

Both the doctor and Crumble retreated a few steps, and Celestia struggled to find her balance, free of their support. As she lifted her head, she felt a rush of blood race through her temples. It put stars in her vision until she was nearly blind. She did not wait for it to pass before calling out to Lucky, who had only stayed to make sure she was taken care of, and was already walking away.

“Hey!” she shouted.

He stopped and turned his head, viewing her out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you just going to walk away like that? I…” Celestia swayed a bit, and put a hoof to her temple, cringing in pain. “…I want a rematch.”

“It was best two out of three. You already lost.” He turned forward again, and started walking. “So yes. I am going to walk away.”

And inside Celestia’s mind, something snapped. All of her tension, frustration, sadness, and anger let itself out, all at once.

“You know what your problem is? You’re bitter!”

Lucky stopped.

Celestia had nearly shrieked the accusation, yelling it louder than she had actually meant. Even so, now that she had started, it was too hard to stop. “You’re mean, and selfish, and cruel, and, and just bitter! You blame me for all your problems, and you are just too wrapped up in your own misery that you can’t see that none of this is my fault! It’s your fault, Lucky! You did this to yourself!”

In a sudden blur of grey and orange, Lucky turned, charged across the distance between them, and stopped right front of her. His nose was only inches from her own. Celestia tried not to flinch, and failed. “And do you know what your problem is?”

Celestia did not dignify his question with a response, partially because she was too focused on trying to keep a brave face. She could feel his breath, hot on her cheek.

“Your problem,” Lucky said, lowering his voice to a growling, venomous whisper, “is your stance. Do you know what they call it? ‘The Rising Sun’. Because it’s inspirational.” He spat the word as though it were bitter on his tongue.

Lucky was angry, angrier than she had ever seen. Even more so than the night she had seen him in Clover’s observatory. Even though he was only whispering, there was an inner fury that was unmistakable. It was curious, Celestia thought in the back of her mind, that she did not quite know what he was angry at.

“You start low, and you give up some defense for a posture that allows you to move around your immediate area quicker. You sacrifice your own safety for the safety of others. In that stance, you have no idea what you’re doing. She did. She used it. And she sure as hell used it better than you.” He raised a hoof and gave an unfriendly push to her chest.

Celestia spoke the first words that came to mind. “I. Am not. Daylight.” She turned and spat on the wood floor. Her saliva was red with blood.

Lucky stared at her for a long time. His cool, indifferent visage was completely broken, stricken through with rage. After a long while, his features relaxed. His furious snarl gave way to his usual grimace, and his furrowed brows rose, if only by a little, but Celestia knew the wrathful fire that burned away at his heart was far from gone.

“You want a rematch?” he muttered venomously. “Fine. We’ll fight. And this time, you’re going to stay down for a lot longer than sixty seconds.”

Lucky walked to his place on the ring, and picked up Celestia’s sword, which happened to be lying there. He tossed it forward, and it clattered to the ground in front of her. She picked it up, and walked to her starting spot.

“Lance Corporal!” Lucky barked. “One more match!”

At this, Doctor Cross spoke up. “Excuse me, Commander Break. I highly advise against this. She is in no state to duel. Any additional trauma, and her condition will become exponentially worse.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Lucky coolly replied. “You may leave the stage.”

The doctor hesitated, rocking back on his legs but not departing. “Sir, permanent damage could occur. And given the severity of her previous injuries-”

“Thank you, doctor,” he repeated.

The doctor’s words were caught in his throat. His mouth seemed to twitch as he thought about pursuing the matter, but he thought better of it. Cross gave him one last wary look, before hopping off the stage.

Seeing the doctor gone, Crumble approached him. “Lucky,” Crumble muttered, keeping his voice low to avoid eavesdropping. “What’re yeh doin’?”

Lucky shifted his shoulders and rolled his neck. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he responded lifelessly.

“It looks like yer about to make a big mistake, lad. It looks like yer overreactin’. But that’s jus’ me. What do you think?”

He made no reply.

Crumble walked beside him, and threw his arm over Lucky’s shoulders. “Listen, lad, why don’t yeh just put the blade down, an’ we’ll talk. There’s no shame in-”

Lucky pivoted in place, forcefully threw Crumble’s arm off, and shoved him away. Crumble stumbled backwards. He was in control of his balance, but looking at his bewildered expression, it was impossible to tell.

Lucky stomped a hoof on the wood. “Get off this stage. Now.”

“Lad, I-”

“Now.”

He did not move.

Lucky glared at him. “That is an order.”

Crumble stood still for another second, before his hooves began to move, slow and mechanical. His gaze was trained on Lucky, not with anger or contempt, but confused curiosity. He walked past Lucky on his way off, and leaned towards him, muttering into his torn left ear.

“Jus’ don’t break anythin’.”

Lucky’s ear twitched at the sound.

“I’ll return the favor sevenfold, I swear it.”

He gave no reaction.

Crumble gave one last concerned glance at Celestia, before deploying his wings and taking to the air, landing on the outskirts of the crowd. Her eyes followed his arc through the sky, but became distracted by something else entirely. A tiny shout pierced the air.

“Waaaaaait!” Cotton, propelled by a twister of her own magic, flew over the fence, spiraling in midair. She hit the ground with a thud, facing the wrong direction. Immediately, she rose to her hooves, shook her head, and spun around, galloping towards the ring.

“Don’t hurt her!” she yelled, charging across the yard. “You big meanie, don’t you dare hurt her! Don’t you touch a single hair on her head!”

She reached the edge of the crowd of soldiers, and was met by a green earth pony, with a hoof outstretched. Cotton tried to dodge and feint around him, but he would not allow it. She dove left, and her motion stopped as Captain Garde easily caught the small unicorn, preventing her from moving any further. His own momentum was relatively unaffected, and Cotton wriggled ineffectually in his grasp.

“Let me go, let me go! I’ll kick his flank!” Her hooves waved forward towards a dueling ring she would never reach. “Grrr! He’s just cruisin’ for a bruisin’! I’ll... I’m gonna-!”

“Stand down,” Lucky called, just loud enough for her Cotton to hear.

“You’re not the boss of me!”

Lucky glared at her. She glared right back. Seeking to defuse the tension between them, the captain set her down, and sat back on his haunches, blocking Cotton’s view of Lucky. Keeping his grip on her, he spoke to her in quiet tones. Cotton’s fury seemed lessened, if only a little.

Lucky looked towards Lance Corporal Allez.

She set her hooves on the ring and raised herself above the crowd. “Commander?”

“One more match.”

She hesitated, only for a moment. “...Yes, sir.” She cleared her throat. “Combatants… are you ready?” The way she said it, it was less announced, and more a genuine question, directed at one of the participants more than the other.

Lucky Break forewent his usual careful examination, instead immediately throwing his sword into his mouth, biting down, and nodding towards Allez.

Celestia looked around. The crowd was no longer cheering, and they certainly were not smiling. Even Cotton had lost her resolve; she sat motionless, still lightly held in Captain Garde’s grasp and helplessly gazing at her with concern, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Mutters ran through the crowd, many ponies speculating upon the sanity of either the mare who dared to fight again, or the stallion who seemed mad enough to beat her senseless.

Celestia put her sword in her mouth, and yelped as she tried to clamp down. Her jaw, she realized, was in terrible pain. She put her hoof to her mouth and gingerly pressed down on her teeth. She could hardly stand doing that, let alone putting a cloth-wrapped hilt attached to a heavy metal blade in her mouth, let alone dueling with it. Oh, what was the point? She was only prolonging the inevitable!

And then, she remembered something. Or rather, she almost remembered something. Her ears rang, and her vision swam, and she felt herself slipping…

**********

Just listen.

to what?

To me.

to you …who are you…?

Yes. You are an excellent listener, did you know? It’s too bad you cannot simply stay focused.

…
you say nothing

Not yet. Don’t worry. I will.

**********

“Celestia.”

She shook her head. No, she could not remember.

“Celestia,” Allez said, concern in her tone. “Are you ready?”

Celestia looked at her sword in dismay.

Use your mouth.

Hesitantly, she put the hilt in her mouth, cringing as a lightning bolt of pain shot through her jaw.

Ignore it.

She ignored it. Crouching into a stance she now knew to be the “Rising Sun”, she cocked her head back, and looked towards Allez.

No. Loosen up.

Celestia looked away, raising a confused eyebrow. Something did not feel right. She let her jaw fall a little slacker than it had been. There, that was better. She nodded her consent to the Lance Corporal.

Allez nodded back, but did not say anything. She turned back to the crowd, consulting with her brother, Captain Garde, in hushed tones. Her hooves made subdued, frantic gestures towards Celestia and Lucky, and her mouth spoke at a million miles per minute. Garde’s responses were slow and deliberate, but he seemed no less concerned for it. Lucky cast them an annoyed glance.

“Allez!” he shouted.

She turned and, in what seemed like a split second decision, shouted back at the top of her lungs.

“Go!!”

Lucky darted forward with lightning speed. Celestia flinched, not at the speed of his rush, but at the bloodlust in his eyes. She closed her eyes and prepared herself for the worst.

Well, don’t just stand there.

Celestia opened her eyes. Lucky’s attack was incoming.

Raise your sword.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Victory.

There was a great metallic clang. Celestia’s eyes widened in surprise, but not more than Lucky’s did. At the last second, in an impossible maneuver, she had brought her head up, and stopped his sword cold. The two blunted blades were still pressed together, still ringing. The vibrations traveled up the metal and into the ears of the ponies wielding them, singing to them a song of perseverance neither ever thought they would hear. The sound echoed throughout the courtyard, seeming to bear divine testament to a miracle that everypony could see, and nopony could believe. The alicorn, two seconds into the match, was still standing, and still alive. The gods still favored ponykind, it would seem. Or maybe this was one of their angels.

Lucky would have none of it. He rocked back, and attacked on the other side. Celestia shifted the sword in her mouth to match his, and blocked it again. Another miraculous vibration rang through the air. And now, it was three seconds.

He immediately withdrew to the edge of the ring, scowling at his opponent. They circled each other, slowly changing places on the ring. He regarded her with suspicion, looking for any sort of change. Celestia’s head was low, and her eyes were high, but beneath her muzzle, he saw it. Though warped by the sword in her mouth and trembling with the horrible pain in her jaw, there was no mistaking the smug half-grin that ever so slightly adorned her features. Lucky’s hard gaze lost some of its fury.

Celestia saw her chance, and leapt forward to attack, giving a powerful, rising strike. Lucky responded with a quick deflection, and returned with an attack to the neck. Celestia craned her head back, simultaneously spitting her sword into her hoof and thrusting forward. Lucky sidestepped it, and grabbed her swordhoof in an attempt to disarm her. Surprising him, she brought her free hoof up, stepped closer, and punched him in the gut. His eyes widened, and he shook himself free, and jumped back. Making contact with anything but a sword was did not count, and so it was not technically a hit, but was all the more surprising for it.

The crowd took notice, and muttered animatedly amongst themselves, asking each other, “Did you see that?” Which, of course, everypony did.

Refusing to miss a beat, Lucky dashed forward again, and swung forward with both hooves. Celestia ducked under it, and returned the favor with a rising strike. Lucky twisted out of the way, but he felt the blade brush past his short, orange mane. Again, it was still not technically a hit.

They went back and forth, following a pattern as old as time, dancing to a dangerous rhythm until their coats positively glistened with sweat. It was beautiful, thought many of the spectators, in the same way a hunting predator was beautiful. Dangerous, deadly, and nopony wished to be in the place of the prey; but beautiful nonetheless.

They had been fighting for a full minute, and neither showed signs of stopping. The interludes between their frantic swordplay were few and far between. Lucky took a sweeping, horizontal swipe, swinging his neck too far and overextending himself, if only by a little. Celestia’s eyes widened, and the world slowed to travel at a snail’s pace. She saw her chance. Sword in mouth, she pushed off of the ground with all four hooves, twisting herself into the air. She spiraled over Lucky’s attack, barrel rolling in midair. She was completely upside down when his blade came, only an inch of clearance between her and the steel. She landed, with her back left hoof first, and then her back right, and then her two front. She twisted her neck, conserving the momentum of her enormous movement and lashing out at Lucky with a similar, horizontal attack. It collided with something. The world sped up, and both combatants jumped back.

It was several seconds before anypony said anything, but when they did, it was clear. Quiet and dumbfounded, but very, very clear. Allez opened her mouth.

“Hit.”

Lucky’s gaze dropped. He lifted a hoof, and looked at it in disbelief. There was, behind the fur on his left foreleg, a nascent bruise, tender and red.

Celestia was ready for another attack, but did not receive it. He just stood there, twisting his arm back and forth, eyeing it as incredulously and disbelieving as if it had been a second head. She stomped her hoof to the ground and huffed, hoping to gain his attention. She did. He looked up, and his scowl was gone. Replaced by…

Celestia did not have time to see, as he suddenly charged at her. She raised her sword to parry his swing, but he did not attack as harshly as she expected him to. Instead, it was a light swing, almost a feint, followed by a bull rush, not stopping his charging momentum. His shoulder met her chest, and he dropped his sword, wrapping his arms around her in a reckless tackle. Taken completely by surprise, Celestia had no time to recover, and certainly no time to counter. She felt her hooves leave the wood, and the both of them became airborne, flying off the platform and into a hastily created opening amongst the spectators below.

“Ring out!”

Celestia wheezed as she hit the ground below, back first. She shut her eyes as she tumbled, hopelessly entangled in the arms of another pony. Eventually, she stopped on her back, belly up. Her arms and legs lay lifelessly at her side. Her sword was gone, Celestia having lost her grip on it in midair. She opened her eyes to a squint. Not-quite-standing above her was Lucky Break. His hooves were on either side of her, trapping her on the ground. His head hung exhausted next to hers, his panting breath only inches away from her ear.

“Illegal physical contact. Lucky Break is disqualified… Celestia wins.”

He raised his head, and looked at her, completely oblivious to the awed reaction of the crowd. He wore a scowl, but it was not angry, only confused, and searching.

“Beginner’s luck,” he breathed.

Celestia wondered if it was a statement, or a question. Her response was hoarse and airy.

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Rummy?”
You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Rummy?

His breath caught. He wore an expression she had never seen him wear. It looked so foreign to her, and yet, if anypony wore it well, it was Lucky. Funny that Celestia did not know quite what it was. Hope, maybe?

His mouth moved, voicing what might have been a question, but she did not hear it. He maneuvered off of her, as gently as he could, and extended a helping hoof towards her. She weakly raised an arm in response, but could not get it more than a foot off the ground before it fell lamely back to her side. Her vision closed to a pinhole, and she felt herself slipping.

Well done.

XIV: Miracles

The dream seemed to last forever.

And why shouldn’t it?

The lights and sounds seemed different, this time, less restless and tiresome. They shifted and sounded in a measure more subdued, and were much easier to view and comprehend. The noise was softer than it usually was. In fact, the sweeping sounds were almost like music, a melodic requiem, inspiring something that might have been melancholy happiness. She thought she could even pick out voices here and there, saying things that were unimportant, and yet, so very precious.

And then, they appeared, just like they always did. The specters of ponies seemed to create a circle around her. Their ghostly visages appeared and were washed away with the tide of color, forming and reforming into the most stable shapes she had yet seen.

She saw ponies she really, truly knew, and that knew her back. Clover the Clever was there, and so was Apple Crumble, and Cotton Cake, and the Arch-Mage. She tried to move her mouth, to tell them she was happy to see them, but found she could not. It was frustrating, but that was okay. They loved her anyways.

She saw her father and mother, with those robes they always wore. And, of course, there was her dearest friend of all, peeking around their skirts. For some reason, she could not remember their names. But that was okay. They loved her anyways.

The soldiers were there, too. She could not remember their names, either, but that was okay. They loved her anyways.

Lucky was there, too! He just stared at her with that face, and she was worried he was not happy, but then he smiled. He did not smile very often, and when he did, it was always so youthful, almost like he still needed practice. It was the greatest gift he could give her. The last time she had seen that look, it had been wasted; marred in her mind, poisoned by his ignorance.

Yet here, in unreality, things worked differently. She allowed herself to dream, because the dream would last forever.

It was not real, but it was all she had, and that was okay.

He loved her anyways.

Usually, easy change came to dreams, but not this one. This one was powerful, set in stone, a bastion against the shadow she knew lurked in the corner of her vision, creeping along the edge of the multitude. And yet, at this moment, it was simply too crowded to let the shadow in.

The dream seemed to last forever, and for that, she was supremely grateful. A happy, trembling smile formed on her face…

**********

…and a single tear trickled down her cheek.

“Doctor, why is she doing that?”

“What?”

“Look. She’s crying. Is she sad?”

Celestia stirred as she came to a gradual awareness of self. Her whole body seemed to ache. The very act of simply lying there was a chore, and her slow, tired breaths set a fire in her lungs, especially on her right side.

“Don’t worry yourself, Cotton. That’s normal. Sometimes the eyes will act up when under magical anesthesia.”

Cotton’s voice sounded unconvinced. “Are you sure…?”

Celestia’s response was hoarse and airy, but it seemed to be the loudest thing in the room. “I’m not sad.”

There was a brief silence, followed by a sudden squeal of delight. “Celly! You’re awake!”

Celestia tried slowly opening her eyes, but they were practically forced wide as she felt a sudden pressure on her lungs. She looked down to see Cotton’s arms wrapped around her, muzzle buried in the fur of her chest. Celestia groaned in pain, but her discomfort paled in comparison to her happiness at the gesture. She tried to return the hug as best she could, weakly lifting her arms around Cotton and resting them on her back.

“Do not touch the patient, please,” Doctor Cross said, sounding annoyed.

Cotton refused to let go until she had squeezed the maximum amount of enjoyment out of the hug.

Celestia did not mind, pain notwithstanding.

“I thought you would never wake up!” Cotton said, finally complying to the shooing hooves of Doctor Cross. Her hooves clopped onto the stone as she dropped from Celestia’s beside. “How do you feel?”

“I feel…” Celestia paused, looking at her surroundings. Around her was the familiar scenery of a Canterlot clinic. This one was different than before, however. She could tell she was not in the palace, but rather somewhere more “mundane”. The space was larger and with much less décor. She would have guessed that hers was not the only bed in the room, but could not tell with a purple L-shaped curtain drawn around her. However, the architecture looked similar, even with her limited view. Were they in the barracks infirmary?

She looked down at her own self, attempting to gauge how she actually felt. She was lying belly up, her back elevated at a slight angle, and the lower half of her body covered with a thin blanket. The bed beneath her was comfortable enough, but shifting against the stiff, unyielding padding, she found it was much less cozy than her borrowed bed in Cotton’s cottage. Her bruised limbs ached, and her ribs painfully throbbed with each new breath, but her jaw remained suspiciously painless. She put an experimental hoof to it, and felt it was completely numb. She raised an eyebrow as she pushed and pulled on what no longer felt like her cheek, but rather a mass of lifeless flesh somepony had glued to her body. Her tongue, though she could control it, was similarly numb. It felt huge in her mouth.

“Don’t do that,” Doctor Cross said, swatting her hoof away from her face. “Your jaw was so cracked, it was nearly broken. I had to numb your cheek. Luckily, I was able to magically mend the bone without making an incision, but bone mending is a tricky business. It’s done for the most part, but you’ll be feeling the soreness in about an hour or so. Until then, I must insist you do not touch your cheek.”

Celestia absently nodded, prodding her cheek one last time while he was not looking. She looked back at Cotton, who was still gazing at her expectantly. Each of Celestia’s ragged breaths was another spike of pain. Her limbs were the worst they had ever been. Her head was still pained with the aftereffects of a concussion, and, if what the doctor said was true, the worst was yet to come. And yet…

“I feel good.” Celestia looked down at Cotton, and realized there was already a smile on her own face. “Happy.”

Cotton tilted her head. “Really?”

“Yes.” She nodded, and shifted herself to sit more upright in her bed. She had no idea why she felt so content, she just did. “I suppose I’m just glad you’re here.”

It was good enough for Cotton, who did not seem to care what the reason was. “I’m glad I’m here, too!”

After completing some task at a nearby counter, Celestia saw Doctor Cross approaching her bedside. The unicorn’s coat was an icy blue, and his slicked mane a rather mundane brown, but she had previously failed to notice his curious cutie mark, a simple, t-shaped red cross. She did not know what to make of it, and made a note of asking him about it later. He reached her bedside, and nudged Cotton away, who briefly squirmed in protest before allowing herself to be moved.

“Well, Celestia, let me tell you, are a very fortunate mare.” The doctor brought up a small, wooden clipboard, and seemed to read from a list. “By the end of your duel, you had two cracked ribs, which I was able to mend. Your jaw was nearly split, which I was also able to mend. You had bruises all over your body, and while most of them are still there, I reduced the swelling a bit. You also had a concussion, but it went away with no lasting damage, except you might have a little less control over your magic for the next few days.”

Celestia rolled her eyes. Just what I needed.

He lowered the clipboard, and looked at her. “All in all, you emerged mostly intact. You were never in danger of dying, but those could have been crippling injuries. I must urge you to exercise some more caution.”

“So there’s no lasting damage?” Celestia asked, concerned.

The doctor sighed, annoyed that his warning was ignored. “Well, there is one thing.” He trotted over to Celestia’s right side, and tugged at her back. “Would you kindly sit up for me, just a bit?”

Celestia did so, and he grabbed her wing, gently deploying it. The doctor apologized as she hissed in pain.

“This is the only one I can see. At the very tip of your wing.” He brushed some of her feathers away, and rubbed the tip of her wing. “Feel that? The bone is bent, just a little.”

He held her wing up as Celestia reached a hoof out and gingerly touched the end of her wing. Sure enough, the bend of her wing ended in a slight, unnatural crook. It was tiny, barely a fraction of the size of her hoof, but it was definitely there.

“How…?” Celestia muttered, still feeling the end of her wing with equal parts bewilderment and worry.

“I cannot be sure,” the doctor replied, “but it probably has something to do with the way you landed when you hit the ground.”

“When I was tackled?” Celestia remembered. There had been a small pain in her wing, but compared to everything else, it hardly seemed notable.

The doctor seemed uneasy with her question. He hesitated before answering.

“…Yes.” He ushered her hoof away, and carefully folded her wing back underneath her.

“Can’t you fix it?”

Doctor Cross left her bedside. The space was immediately replaced by Cotton, who seemed content to stand with her forehooves on the frame and watch over Celestia.

“I could,” the doctor said, “but I’m afraid of doing more harm than good. The bend healed too quickly, before I realized it was there. Fixing it would mean magically readjusting the bone inside your body. Not only is that a painful process, but it somewhat dangerous to the rest of your wingbones. No, it would be best to simply leave it as is.”

The doctor paused to scribble something down on a piece of parchment. “There’s no need to worry. I’ve dealt with many injuries like this before. It’s just something that happens, and it’s fairly minor. You can barely see it, especially if you don’t know it’s there. And I’m no pegasus, but I’m told it shouldn’t interfere with flight.”

“Besides,” Cotton cheerily chimed, “now you have a permanent reminder of how good you were at dueling! Oh, it’s just like a cutie mark!” Her pupils moved into the corners of her eye, and she stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Except, you know, instead of being on your fur, it’s in your bone structure.” She shrugged.

Celestia was only able to ponder it for a brief moment. On the other side of the room, she heard the squeak of a wooden door swinging open and closed. She reflexively looked in the direction of the sound, but of course, all she saw was the purple privacy curtain. Two sets of hoofsteps clicked against the stone as they came closer to her bed. Apple Crumble rounded the corner, Clover the Clever following after him.

“It would seem we came just in time,” Clover said, slowly approaching her bedside. “How are you feeling, dear?”

Her response was quick. “Fine. Good, actually.”

“’Atta girl,” Crumble said. “Tougher than nails, yeh are, and ‘bout as sharp, too. They’re still talkin’ ‘bout yer glorious triumph over the Breaker.”

“’Glorious’ is a matter of opinion, I think,” Clover chided. “Foolish, more like.” It was in response to Crumble, but Celestia knew the old unicorn was speaking to her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me-”

“Oh no, child,” Clover interrupted, putting a hoof up and lowering her head, as if to reject her explanation. “Do not apologize to me. Apologize to yourself. Though I daresay your bruises and broken bones are recompense enough for any wrongdoing.”

Celestia looked at herself, raising her arms and shrugging her shoulders forward. Her muscles ached in return, making her inclined to agree. She tried to recall the duel, the exact nature of her “foolishness”, why she had done what she had done, and how she had done it.

She had become impatient. Captain Garde had taken her to the dueling ring. Something happened, and she beat him. Somepony else had challenged her, and she beat him too. Then somepony else, and then somepony else. She beat them all. And before each match, something happened. Lucky Break challenged her, beat her, and something happened, and she beat him back.

Celestia knew she was forgetting something important. The memory of the duels themselves were very vivid, and how could they not be? She had felt more alive than ever before. And yet, something, that something, was missing.

“Just promise you have learned your lesson, and I shall be content.”

Celestia was drawn away from her own thoughts, and nodded her head emphatically.

Clover smiled in approval.

“So,” Cotton began, “did you notice your gifts?” She pointed to a nearby table, where stood a modest wicker basket. The contents were covered with a small red cloth, but whatever it held, it positively bulged with items. Next to that, resting in a thin glass vase filled with water, was a single sunflower.

“What’s inside the-” Celestia began, but was cut off as the red cloth was sent spiraling into her face, flung by Cotton’s magic. She brushed it off, and looked back at the basket. Inside was a pile of candies of all shapes and sizes.

“Dig in!” Cotton happily said, levitating a chocolate and sending it towards Celestia.

Her telekinesis was met with a counter force. The pink magic surrounding the swirling candy was overlapped by green, and forced back into the basket.

“No solids,” Doctor Cross called from across the room, the glow still fading from his horn. “Not with that jaw of yours.”

Cotton seemed more disappointed than Celestia, whose gaze quickly turned back towards the vase and flower. She felt particularly transfixed by it. It was top-heavy, and though the stem was thick and sturdy, it drooped, just a little, as if world-weary and exhausted. She thought it beautiful, though. The petals, golden orange at the base and bright yellow at the tip, seemed to burst away from the flower in lovely rays of light. They surrounded the center like a delicate halo, a center which, by itself, was plain, brown, and rough. The contrast only added to the effect.

The sunflower was the solitary occupant of the vase, but stood as the only thing of color in a room that was otherwise white marble and purple fabric. Crumble’s red and Clover’s lavender, both faded with age, did not produce the same effect. Even Cotton’s pastel cyan seemed to fall short.

“It’s okay,” Celestia said, consoling a disappointed Cotton. “I love the flower you brought.”

Cotton retrieved the red cloth, and sullenly covered the basket. “Oh, that wasn’t me.”

“It wasn’t? Who was it?”

Cotton shrugged. “It was already here when I got here.”

Celestia turned to Crumble and Clover. Neither of them had answers for her, one nonchalantly shrugging and the other shaking her head. She gave the flower another curious look. None of them seemed to be as impressed with it as she was.

Crumble spoke up. “Well, as long as we’re givin’ gifts…” He craned his head back, reaching behind one of his saddlebags. With a long, metallic ring, he withdrew an item and presented it to Celestia, holding it forward with both hooves. It was her training sword.

Celestia wordlessly reached out and took it from him, holding it up to catch the light. Though it had been brand new, the blunted edge was already covered in chinks, and the flat side, covered in scrapes and scratches. It was still a little dirty, and if Celestia was not mistaken, there were a few flecks of dried blood towards the end, probably her own.

“’The blade that defeated twelve o’ the Maiden’s soldiers, an’ then, the Breaker ‘imself.’” He gave a deep chuckle. “Yeh’d best hang that on yer wall, sunshine. Legendary sword like that’s gonna be a family heirloom fer generations to come.”

**********

“And then what happened?”

The princess took a surprisingly nonchalant sip of tea. She was staring off into space, not with an absent expression, but with eyes that were very clearly fixed on something.

“Nothing.”

Twilight blinked. “What?”

Celestia’s gaze unfixed itself, and slowly turned back to her student. “Oh, forgive me. I mean to say, nothing important. I rested at the hospital for another couple of days, and resumed my training shortly after. Crumble found things for me to do away from the barracks that did not stress my injuries, and Clover the Clever taught me magical theory while waiting for the aftereffects of my concussion to wear off.”

She gave a small, almost mischievous smile. “And I was not allowed to duel.”

“Hmm.” Twilight put her quill to the paper, and wrote a single note. As she reached the end of the line, her writing became slower and slower, until she was meticulously drawing each individual letter with deliberate precision. She finished her sentence, and did not look up, instead tapping her quill on the parchment, her features becoming contemplative.

Celestia saw right through it; Twilight’s expression was not fake, but she was clearly stalling something. She waited for a moment, and broke the silence after it was apparent her student would not.

“What is it, Twilight?”

“Hm?” She looked up, and then back down. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking.” Her quill continued tapping. It was leaving inky black dots on the parchment.

“Did you have a question?” the princess asked patiently.

“No, just thinking,” Twilight repeated. Her quill stopped.

“Although,” she slowly began, “If I did have a question, it might be something about… well, I’m just thinking about your infirmary visit.” She looked up, and gestured with upturned hooves. “Just thinking.”

The princess nodded. “Of course.”

“But if I did have question, it would be about…” she trailed off, but Celestia her pupil’s glance sway in the direction of her wing. The princess looked at it, looked back, and smiled. She sat up, took a few steps forward, turned her right side towards Twilight, and extended her wing.

At full deployment, the princess’s wingspan was impressive and, to most ponies, including Twilight Sparkle, intimidating. The tip of her wing hovered in the air before her, the white feathers trembling ever so slightly in the air.

Twilight hesitated. “May I?” she asked.

Celestia nodded.

She reached a tentative hoof forward. They were close, and contact between them was not uncommon, yet Twilight felt strange about… examining her mentor, especially for something like a deformity. But, as always, curiosity won out. Her hoof reached Celestia’s wingtip, and sure enough, on the utmost end of the bone, literally invisible beneath the thick white plumage, was a small crook. It would have hardly been noticeable, especially if she had not known what she was looking for. Yet there it was, a small token of history, living proof of events long past.

When she was sure her student was done, Princess Celestia retracted her wing, and returned to her seat.

“Did he ever visit you?” Twilight asked, simultaneously writing something, determined not to miss a beat. “Commander Break, I mean. In the hospital.”

“No,” Celestia said lightly. “They wouldn’t let him.”

“He tried?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. If he did, Apple Crumble would not have allowed him to set a hoof in my room. Lucky was technically a higher rank, but even he knew where the line was.”

Twilight scribbled something. “When did you see him next?”

Celestia paused. “Well, I saw him the day I resumed my training. He was required to oversee it, after all. But I never talked to him, and he never talked to me, except in the way you might address a distant acquaintance. Really, the last time we had truly interacted was our duel.”

Her gaze strayed away again, and she looked at the study wall. Hung on the hearth, just above the fireplace was a wall mount, holding in place two swords. They were artistically crossed behind a shield bearing Equestria’s coat of arms. Over the past thousand years, the renditions of Equestria’s flag had been depictions of herself, raising the sun and moon. More recently, her sister Luna had been added. Not so on this one. This shield bore Equestria’s old coat of arms, a combination of the three pony tribes’ ancient banners, set into three equal quadrants. The bottom left held a depiction of the earth ponies’ fields, and the bottom right, a unicorn’s regal profile on a diamond-studded background. Above them both, a pegasus with wings outstretched hovered serenely in a starry night sky.

Even the closest examination would tell any normal onlooker that the swords were merely decorative. They were, after all, fake, being blunted on the edges. They were not even quality fakes, at that; the edges were chinked, the metal was substandard, and the cloth around the handles showed signs of obvious wear. The flat side of the blade had countless scratches and scrapes, no doubt the work of a careless smith. Why the princess would care to purchase such inferior work was beyond the comprehension of the guards that inspected the room, the servants that cleaned it, or the student that studied in it.

Celestia allowed herself a private smile. Some ponies just did not appreciate the value of antiques.

“So the two of you never spoke again?” Twilight asked, breaking the princess out of her trance.

“Oh no, Twilight. We did. I thought it would last forever, but things change. They always do. I spoke with him six days later, outside of training. It was on the day of Harmony.”

Twilight made a note of the date, but paused. She looked up from her parchment. “The day of… what?”

“The day of Harmony,” the princess repeated patiently.

“Is that some ancient Equestrian holiday, or something?”

The princess chuckled. “Hah. A holy day. I daresay it is.” Her student tilted her head and looked at her, as if still waiting for the punchline of a joke she did not yet understand.

Celestia’s tone was terse. “Sunday, Twilight.”

“Oh.” Twilight blushed. “Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright.” Celestia put her teacup down and casually stared out of a nearby window. “Equestria has certainly changed in the past one thousand years, hasn’t it?”

Twilight did not know how to respond. She merely sat there, waiting for her mentor to continue. The princess rose from her seat, and moved to the window, looking down upon the city below.

“Twilight,” she began, without turning around, “Have you ever been to the Canterlot Cathedral?”

Twilight was caught off guard. “Uh, well… maybe…” She took time to think. Her mentor patiently waited, content to gaze at the moonlit city of Canterlot. Her gaze lingered on one building in particular.

After a moment, Twilight’s eyes brightened in realization. “The building next to the palace, mostly secluded from the rest of the city, right? The one with the bell tower and all those spires. Didn’t somepony want to tear it down to build a new wing of the palace, and you-”

“And I wouldn’t let them. Correct.”

Twilight briefly pondered. “I might have been there once or twice.”

Celestia did not immediately respond. When she did, it was slow and deliberate. “I visit the place quite frequently.”

Twilight was anxious to continue the story, but was doubly curious about her mentor’s thoughtful repose. She thought about standing up and taking a place next to the princess, but the thought of breaking her peace seemed almost heretical. Instead, she asked the immortal question, voicing the word that bespoke both her inquiry and her endless quest.

“Why?”

Celestia still did not turn. Her answer was almost a whisper.

“To pray.”

Twilight sat motionless. Not even her quill moved. Eventually, Celestia turned away from the window and faced her student.

“Are you familiar with the Equestrian Pantheon?” she asked. Her voice seemed to regain its volume, and in the same stroke, her tranquility left her.

Of course Twilight was familiar. She had read countless mythologies, from children’s books, to professional documentations, to ancient texts she had trouble deciphering. Much of the lore she had learned as a result of her most recent project. The mythology of ‘the gods’ was a common theme in ancient history. But that was all it was… mythology.

Nevertheless, Twilight’s answer came quick. “Yes.”

“Back then, ponies believed all of that, you know. The cathedral was a very sacred place for them.”

Twilight knew exactly what she wanted to ask next, but was unsure of how to ask it, and almost afraid of how the princess would react. She waited to see if Celestia would continue. She did not. In fact, she appeared to be waiting for Twilight to speak.

Celestia knew her student all too well. There was not a question in the world that Twilight Sparkle’s curiosity would not drive her to ask, regardless of the subject matter. Questions with difficult answers, or questions with no answers at all. Where is your sister? How is the sun raised? Where do baby foals come from?

“Do you believe in the gods?”

Celestia’s answer was short but clear. “Maybe.”

Again, Twilight could only ask, “Why? How?”

The princess began pacing behind her chair. “I am not so conceited as to believe myself the highest power in the land. Goodness, no. And I am glad for it. If you are asking me for proof, however, then know that I have none. I know what I am, I know that I am powerful, but do not believe me to be connected to the unseen. I can raise the sun, but remember, Twilight Sparkle, it was once within every unicorn’s power to do so.” She paused, and looked at the moon outside, as if contemplating that fact.

“There is solace to be found in knowing there is something greater than yourself. Parents to guide you, teachers to instruct you…” Celestia paused, and ceased her pacing. She gave her student a piercing gaze. “Gods to protect you.”

Twilight could only gaze back, searching for a proper response. Gods to protect you. She immediately thought of the princess herself, which she supposed had been the intent. Celestia often professed herself to be a ‘normal’ pony, but nopony thought of her that way. How could they? Here was a being of immortal grace and unrivaled, otherworldly beauty. She had both wings and a horn, was twice as tall as a normal pony, and her ethereal mane seemed to flow with the breeze of an alternate world.

Imposing physicality aside, it was her mannerisms that always caught ponies. They always expected a harsh ruler, but never, ever experienced it. No, they heard the soft, almost playful tones of her alto voice, felt the gentleness of her motions like silk over skin, and could only think one thing: before me stands a princess. Perhaps the word ‘princess’ had carried a different meaning in ancient Equestria, but nowadays, it was something else entirely.

When they needed guidance, she lead them with the kind of wisdom only one thousand years of experience could afford. When they needed instruction, she taught more skillfully than the greatest scholars in all of Equestria. When they needed protection, she protected them.

Twilight considered herself very close to the princess, perhaps, in some ways, even closer than Luna. She heard Princess Celestia confess that she was normal, and believed her. The princess enjoyed a good prank every now and again, and held a soft spot for cake. And yet, Twilight could not help but be struck with that same, otherworldly awe when seeing the sun raised, or witnessing feats of incredible magic. In the back of her mind, Twilight saw her mentor as “something greater.”

As she thought about it, Twilight might have even been the most devout of them all. She understood Celestia better than nearly anypony, and even though she saw much of the reality of her princess, she was all the more devoted for it. As with the disciple of any doctrine, there was always mystery, but with her most recent project, the enigma was becoming clearer and clearer. Twilight “believed” in Celestia, apparently in the same way a pony might put faith in gods. Twilight had a limited basis for comparison, but found she was inclined to agree with the princess. She offhandedly wondered at the coincidence of her nickname and title. The faithful student.

Suddenly, something made sense, and she answered a question she had yet to even ask. Twilight had known about the Equestrian Pantheon for a long time, and had only given a brief thought as to why it had faded into history, and why ponies no longer believed in it, or even knew about it. Her explanation was the same it had been for the forgotten history of the past: ponies simply forgot, or lost the records, or ceased to care.

That was incorrect. Information can be lost, but ideas do not simply disappear. Ideas are resilient. They change, they are revolutionized. Or…

She gave a searching look to the princess in front of her, who gave her a tired look back.

Or, they are replaced.

But there was still one adherent to that ancient religion. It was interesting, Twilight thought, that the center of one faith believed something else entirely. But still…

“I don’t understand…” Twilight said hesitantly. “There’s no evidence. How can you believe in something like that?”

“Because, my faithful student.” Celestia returned to her seat. A fond smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Because, I have seen miracles.”

**********

A tender light streamed onto the city through the near mountains. Celestia yawned, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes. “Remind me what we are doing, again?”

Crumble sighed. “Fer the last time, its Harmony’s day. We’re goin’ to the cathedral to do a bit o’ good ol’ fashion worship, n’ whatnot. Lordie, sunshine, were yeh raised under a rock?”

“No!” Celestia said defensively. She shot him an annoyed look, even though she had no idea, and it was technically possible. “I was just wondering why we aren’t training today, instead. Isn’t that more important?”

“Maybe. To each their own. Some ponies don’t quit their trainin’, but when stationed in the city, most o’ the soldiers take the day off. They jus’ need a break, is all.”

He glanced at Celestia out of the corner of his eye. Even after a week of the lightest of training, her gait was still somewhat awkward. Both of her front legs were still recovering, and while she could walk, she was forced to minimize the pressure put on either leg at any given moment. This resulted in an unusual, hobbling stride, the obvious amble of a pony in pain. Her hooves clopped against the stone in irregular beats.

“And I’m thinkin’ yer one o’ them ponies that needs a break.”

“My first day of training was on a Sunday,” Celestia remarked. “Why then?”

Crumble grunted. “The council was overzealous. So were you, I might add. That courtyard would’a been thrice as full any other day. An’ even those who were trainin’ had already done their time in the cathedral. Well, most of ‘em, anyways.”

“Also, could you tell me why-” Celestia was cut off as her hoof caught an edge of her clothing, pinning in against the ground and making her stumble forward. Her wings instinctively flared to her sides, in order to regain balance. One of them hit Crumble in the face. She was able to make an awkward recovery, but scowled in frustration.

“Sorry,” she said, as Crumble rubbed his face with a hoof. “Tell me why we have to wear these cloaks. Mine is too long for me.”

She raised a hoof and brushed the fabric draped around her shoulders. The cloak she wore was a simple, singular piece of cloth. It had no pockets, the only notable features being a clasp around her neck, and a hood resting on her back. It was also indeed slightly too long for her, as the edges bounced and dragged along the Canterlot stone. If she stood perfectly still, it would hover only a fraction of an inch above the ground. Celestia cursed beneath her breath as she stumbled forward again.

Crumble moved a little closer, ready to catch her in case she fell. “It’s traditional, sunshine. Citizens’ll generally jus’ wear nice clothin’, but we get to wear cloaks. It goes back to the early years of the war. Soldiers’d be travelin’ with their battalions, which would occasionally be stationed in cities. ‘Course, those soldiers wanted their day in the chapel, either to pray or to… well, jus’ to get a day off.”

He scratched his chin. “The cathedrals would never let ‘em in, though. ‘Disrespectful’, they called it, to be wearin’ less than yer best. And of course, the soldiers never packed anythin’ but the essentials, so why would they be carryin’ their Sunday dress?

“Eventually, there was enough complaint, an’ it was considered acceptable fer a soldier to enter with jus’ a cloak on.”

Celestia was only half listening, much of her attention drawn to maintaining her poise.

“Why this one, though?” she asked. She glanced back at her cloak. The fabric was a light yellow, so light it was nearly white. As far as Celestia could tell, that color remained solid and unbroken throughout the whole of the cloth.

“’Cause, we were in a hurry, an’ it was the best I could find. Technically, yer supposed to wear the color of the patron yeh plan on prayin’ to, but seein’ as yer…” He paused, indecisively motioning at Celestia. “…You,” he continued, gesturing with a note of finality, “I figured any of ‘em would work. Yeh’ll have to tell me yer preference later.”

“My preference?” Celestia questioned. “For what? Cloaks? I’d just like one that fits.” She briefly thought of her old black cloak, which was still in the process of being sewn up.

Crumble stopped walking, and shot her an incredulous look. She stopped at his side, and innocently looked back. Had she done something wrong?

“Tell me yeh know somethin’ ‘bout the Pantheon.”

She tilted her head. “The what?”

“The Pantheon.”

She shook her head.

“Nothin’?”

She shrugged, and shook her head again.

Crumble sighed, and turned towards her. “Okay, we don’t have a whole lot of time, so let me give yeh the rundown…”

**********

Twilight Sparkle raised a hoof. Celestia nearly giggled in amusement; she looked as though she were a schoolfilly, wanting to be called upon.

The princess nodded her acknowledgement. “Yes?”

“Actually, princess, I already know the Pantheon,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Oh?” Celestia raised an eyebrow. “I know you are somewhat familiar, but…”

“I can name them all!”

“Really? Well, then…” Celestia made an outward motion, giving Twilight the floor. She cleared her throat, and sat up straight.

“As defined by Quiver Quill’s ‘Guide to Ancient Equestria’, the Equestrian Pantheon was divided into three groups, one for each pony tribe. Within each division, or ‘house’, as it was called, there resided three deities. Each deity embodied a different aspect unique to that tribe.

“In the unicorn house, there was Corona, Goddess of the Sun, Selena, Goddess of the Moon, and Aether, Goddess of Twilight. The time of day kind of twilight,” she added, “not the... me, kind.”

Celestia smiled amusedly, and Twilight blushed. It had been a silly thing to say. She cleared her throat and continued.

“The unicorn’s mastery of magic was attributed to Aether, whom they believed to be the source of magical energy.” Twilight looked to her mentor for confirmation.

Celestia nodded. “Go on.”

“In the pegasi house, there was Nimbus, God of Clouds, Tempesta, Goddess of Storms, and Ventus, God of Calm Winds. Ventus was also generally regarded as the patron of flight.

“In the earth pony house, there was Gaia, Goddess of Earth, Cibus, God of Feasts and Revelry, and…”

Twilight trailed off, tapping her quill to her chin. After a moment of contemplation, her eyes widened in remembrance, and she clopped her hooves together.

“And Tyche,” she said resolutely. “Goddess of Fortune.” She gave a satisfied nod to herself before continuing.

“Gaia was the patroness of harvest time, and was also where earth ponies are said to have received their above-average strength.

“Finally, above them all, uniting the three houses, was Concordia, Goddess of Harmony.” She finished with a note of finality.

Princess Celestia gave her student an approving nod. “Very impressive, Twilight.” She returned with a modest nod back, though a proud smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Yes, Crumble told me all of that, but I was not nearly as studious as you. Mostly, I only remembered the one whose colors I was supposedly wearing. Corona, of the Sun.” She chuckled. “At the time, I had no idea how ironic that was.”

Twilight agreed. She had always thought the forgotten collection of myths to somehow be the key to the princess’s past. Perhaps “Corona” and “Selena” had been interpretations of Celestia and Luna, or were possibly the sisters themselves. Still, it had made no sense, seeing as the name “Aether” seemed to come from nowhere, as did the other deities.

Now, it was both clearer, and more confusing. If what the princess was saying was true, the Pantheon had always existed, independent of her or anypony else. But where, then, did it originate?

Twilight made a note to herself, determined to make it a point for further study. For now, however, she was eager for her teacher to continue her story.

“So, you said you met Lucky that day. Was it in the cathedral?”

Celestia nodded. “Indeed, it was. But he was not the only important pony there that day.”

**********

On the outside, the cathedral was an impressive structure, even in comparison to the palace it neighbored. It was tall, wide, and imposing, constructed from the same, brilliant white stone and marble. However, while it was not uncommon for buildings, especially buildings in Canterlot, to be breathtaking due to sheer scale, the style of architecture was what really set the cathedral apart. Taking a cue from older, more eastern styles of construction, the exterior was lined with columns and decorated with grand arches. The amount of detail etched into the stone, especially considering the size of the place, was extraordinary. Carvings of all types, from simple, vertical columns, to actual, detailed works of art sculpted into the stone, made for a building that could be appreciated both at a distance and up close, for both its awesome scale and its painstaking attention to detail.

All of the architecture at the base of the cathedral lent to the formation of several spires at its top. Columns and arches culminated into four tall towers, one on each corner of the building. In the center was another tower, taller than the rest. Cradled underneath a large stone pavilion and exposed to the open air was a large church bell. Even in between the pillars that sheltered it, and even by the dim light of morning, rays of sun could still be seen glinting off of the shining brass.

The interior of the cathedral was no less impressive. There were rows of pews, with several long isles in between them, leading to a grand altar at the front. If completely filled on the base floor, it could hold five thousand or more ponies at once. That was not even counting the balcony stands, which were constructed of permanent cloudstuff, exclusively for pegasi. However, the most striking feature had never been its potential for occupancy. Entering the grand double doors at its front, the first thing that struck nearly everypony was its sheer verticality.

Rather than being separated into floors, the interior of the cathedral was one, massive room, with only a minimal amount of rooms adjoining it for the purposes of the clergy. This meant that the roof of the building, which appeared to be high on the outside, almost directly translated to the height of the ceiling on the inside. Seeing such a large space on the inside of a building was dizzying, even for veteran pegasi fliers, or perhaps even more so.

At the front of the cathedral, lining the far wall and standing in perfect view of every seat in the building, were four large shrines, one for each house. Within three of the shrines were three more altars, one for each deity.

To the left was the earth shrine, decorated with earthy shades of green and brown.

To the right, was the unicorn shrine, inlaid with gems and painted with a gradient of colors that shifted from night to day to venerable twilight.

Far above, taking advantage of the high ceiling, was the pegasus shrine, colored with the white, blue, and grey, the hues of the sky. Instead of the usual stone, the stands before it were made from permanently set cloudstuff, and as such, were only accessible to pegasi.

In the center of it all was the shrine to the goddess Concordia. It was painted with traditional colors, an odd rainbow believed to represent Harmony: turquoise, green, blue, and pink.

The cathedral was mostly empty. At this early hour of the day, it was reserved for officers of the army and, of course, members of the clergy. There were perhaps four hundred ponies or less, which, considering the massive interior, was practically nothing. Each officer could have had two or three rows all to themselves, should they so desire. The reverence held by each soldier, in addition to their already small number, made for a silence one could find nowhere else in the whole of Canterlot. Each pony could hear their own hoofsteps echo off the walls. Each whispered prayer seemed to hold the volume of a conversation, and each whispered conversation, the volume of a shout.

One pony in particular, shrouded in a faded green ranger’s cloak, bowed in front of the earth shrine, restfully musing upon a specific altar. Though his attire was an unbroken light green, and had no identifying marks to speak of, it was obviously not meant for Sunday prayer. It was too coarse and sturdy, and had utility pockets on the inside and out.

He heard a set of slow hoofsteps approaching. They stopped behind him. He knew who it was, and, without turning, he spoke.

“Well met, Father Bright. May all the gods’ good greetings be upon thee.”

“Well met, Lieutenant, and likewise to thee.”

Most ponies were sitting in the pews, allowing themselves a moment of respite, taking in a tranquility that nowadays was hard to come by. However, some were at the shrines themselves, standing and looking up to ponder, or else bowing or kneeling to pray. Regardless of position, each military pony wore a cloak, and each cloak’s hood was respectfully drawn.

“It’s Commander, now, actually.”

“Of course it is. My apologies.”

There was a silence, though it was not awkward. In this place, silence was natural, and perfectly comfortable. The stallion with the green cloak did not move from his reverent bow, nor did he lift his eyes from the altar upon which they rested.

The Father spoke. “Thine cloak is rough, for a stallion of your station.”

“It is the only one I have. It is the correct color, at least. May I confess something?”

“Of course, my little pony.”

The Father’s elderly voice was deep and dry, and strangely pleasing to the ear. It seemed to hold an inner power that perfectly suited his role as archbishop, providing quiet solace to a troubled soul just as easily as it might declare the sacred word of Harmony.

“I was never a man of the gods. I never kept a Sunday cloak. The only time I ever went to church was when she…” He trailed off.

“I know, my child. I know.”

There was another, comfortable silence.

“It’s a strange title, isn’t it? Commander. Doesn’t quite fit.”

“It suits thee as well as any. The name doth reside in good hooves, I think. Thine are better than most.”

He rose from his bow, but did not turn. “Are they?”

“Lucky.” The Father walked beside him, and put a consoling hoof on his shoulder. “Of course they are.”

Lucky craned his head low. “Forgive me.”

“Whatever for?”

Though Father Bright could not see it, it was easy to imagine the rueful, shameful expression beneath Lucky’s hood.

“For letting what happened happen. Daylight… your daughter… I should have been…”

“Stop.” Even though it was barely louder than a whisper, the Father’s voice made it powerful. Lucky immediately fell silent.

“I will not forgive you, for there is nothing to forgive. Lucky Break, are the habits of life, of war, unknown to thee? Thou art a soldier, and a patron of Tyche, no less. There is a difference between carelessness and ill fortune, and both of those are certainly different from outright sin.”

The Father took his hoof off of Lucky’s shoulder, and turned to face him. “My daughter knew the risks of such endeavors, as did countless others that perished in battle. I could not be prouder that she faced them anyways. As I am proud of you, Lucky Break, for continuing to face them. If somepony must be blamed, do not let it be thyself. Do not blame thy soldiers, or even thy ill fortune. The sin rests squarely upon the shoulders of that abominable demon.”

Lucky raised his head, and looked at the shrine in front of him. It was Tyche’s altar, the Goddess of Fortune. He turned away from it, and faced the Father.

Father Bright was an elderly unicorn, a stallion whose body had seen better days, but whose spirit remained unshaken. His coat was a mellow blonde color, and his mane, though thin and balding, was a greyish-white. His features were old, but his countenance seemed to remain in constant empathy, ready to listen and dispense advice in return. Around his shoulders, he wore an ornate robe with a drawn hood, colored with the odd rainbow of Harmony.

Lucky Break looked at him for a moment, hesitation playing over his features, as if deciding what to say. Eventually he only muttered, “I promise, we will carry on. Her death was not in vain.” He almost looked ashamed of having said it.

“The vanity would have been in living, when the gods beckoned her to their sides.”

Lucky absently nodded. He glanced again at the earth shrine, and then gave the cathedral a quick sweep with his eyes.

“Where is the little deaconess?” He finished his sweep, and looked back to the Father Bright. “Still sleeping, as usual?”

Bright’s countenance seemed to darken, just a bit. “She has left.”

“She… what?” Lucky raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. He did not understand.

“She is gone. A few weeks ago, she departed Canterlot, and left for Marechester. She is joining the army.”

“She’s what?!” Though Lucky’s voice had only elevated to the volume of a normal speaking tone, in the silence of the cathedral, it was practically a thunderclap. His voice reverberated off of the stone walls more than once, and he drew a few curious glances. Lucky’s ears went flat as he cringed at the sound of his own voice, and his gaze swiveled sheepishly around the room.

“She’s what?” he repeated, his voice lowering back to a whisper.

“Thou didst hear correct, I am afraid.”

“How could she…?” Lucky shook his head disbelievingly. “Why? She is only, what, fourteen…?”

“Fifteen, which is, as I remember it, the same age at which thou enlisted in the 21st Division, and the same year thou didst earned the title of ‘Breaker.’ Only to be slightly outdone by my daughter, who, at age fourteen, was given a battalion, the official title of ‘commander’, and the unofficial title of ‘Maiden’.”

The Father sighed. “Is it really all that surprising, Lucky Break, with such legends to live up to? She only wanted to do what was right for Equestria, to live the life of her idol. Would that every pony was so inclined.” He turned towards Concordia’s shrine. “If it be the gods’ will, she shall return in safety.”

Lucky only stood there, not knowing where to look, or what to say. Suddenly, the cathedral seemed so very empty, emptier than it had already been.

“Not a day goes by that I do not think about her, and not a prayer is said in which she is not the center.”

“I shall find her,” Lucky suddenly said. “Bring her back for you.”

Father Bright shook his head. “That is not necessary, my child.”

“She doesn’t belong out there,” Lucky urgently whispered, throwing a hoof towards the cathedral doors. “She’s a filly, a... a deaconess. Not a soldier.”

“I daresay none of us belong out there.” The Father’s gaze played over the front of Lucky’s torso and legs, regarding his many scars. “And yet, we go anyways.”

Lucky kept his arm outstretched, and motioned again to the door. “But…”

“Thou art a busy stallion,” Bright interrupted. “The newly christened commander of a rather famous battalion, or so I hear. The same battalion that will be, in a few weeks’ time, deployed back onto the frontlines of battle. Dost thou truly consider thyself able to find a single lost child, in a city that is miles and miles away?”

Lucky dropped his hoof in defeat. He turned his head, and looked at the doors ruefully. “Then allow me to promise you this. I will win this war, before she must ever see a battlefield. On that day, I will find her, and I will bring her home. I swear it.”

His voice was full of conviction, and though the Father could not see it, a determined fire burned in his eyes. Lucky meant every word he said.

Father Bright gave a sad smile. “Thou needst not worry thyself. The gods will protect her, I am sure of it. But know this; thy words give this old stallion hope.” He turned followed Lucky’s gaze towards the doors, simultaneously surveying his meager congregation.

“My eldest daughter’s hoofsteps are hard ones to follow, but hope can come from interesting places.” He cast Lucky a curious look. “Speaking of, word has reached my ears of a new member entering my daughter’s battalion. An alicorn.”

Lucky seemed to flinch at the mention, but did not speak.

“Is there hope to be had in thy newest soldier? In the battalion itself?”

Lucky watched as the grand cathedral doors opened. A pair of ponies were inspected by a Royal Guard, and were permitted to enter.

“Yes,” Lucky muttered. “There is hope. There is still hope.”

**********

After her stay in Canterlot, Celestia had gotten quite used to seeing larger-than-life buildings made from stunningly beautiful material. And yet, as she set hoof into the Canterlot Cathedral, she, once again, had her breath taken away. It was absolutely enormous! It almost looked as though it was bigger on the inside than the outside. The floors were immaculate white marble, the pews were made of the finest oaken wood, and the stone walls were carved with amazing craftsmanship. Stained glass adorned the walls, each depicting a past event, some with the gods, others being simple history. She particularly liked one showing the goddess Concordia blessing a lavender unicorn with the knowledge of Hearth’s Fire, banishing a blizzard to the corners of the window.

At the front of it all were the three plus one shrines to the houses of the gods, the very ones Crumble had instructed her on only moments before. The whole, majestic scene made her feel inadequate, almost as if she were back in the courtroom, under the eyes of scrutinizing ponies. Yet, as she looked around, she saw the room was relatively empty, and most of the attendants had not even spared her a glance.

“Why are there so few people?” Celestia whispered, almost afraid to break the silence.

“Righ’ now, it’s officers only,” Apple Crumble muttered back. “After that, it’ll be soldiers, and then, the rest o’ the city. Hey, put yer hood up, yeh cheeky filly.”

Celestia reached back for her hood, but was beat to it by Crumble, who did it for her. Scowling, she adjusted it on her head.

Celestia gave another searching glance around the room. “Where’s Clover?” she whispered. “Is she not here yet?”

“Well, technically, only army officers are allowed in this early, ‘member? That said, Clover does get some… special privileges.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter today, though. I hear they found one o’ her Adepts yesterday, jus’ wanderin’ into town.”

Celestia turned toward him, surprised. “Somepony from Canterbury? Somepony survived?”

“Shhh!” Crumble hushed, putting his hoof to his lips. “Keep yer voice down. Aye, somepony from Canterbury. Beat up real bad, though. Clover’s with ‘er in the hospital, waitin’ fer a recovery.”

Celestia marveled at the news, wondering if it would be somepony she recognized.

At the front of the cathedral, which seemed an almost impractical distance away, a pony whom Celestia recognized to be a priest, saw her from across the room, finished his conversation with another churchgoer, and began making his way towards them. His multicolored cloak fluttered behind him and his slow, reverent hoofsteps echoed off the walls.

“M’kay,” Crumble began, his voice low and quiet, “I’d usually spend a bit more time here, but seein’ as yeh don’t know what yer doin’, we’ll make it quick. Jus’ go to the unicorn shrine, say a prayer, and sit down in the stands.”

“Say a prayer? About what?”

“What do yeh mean, about what?” he grumbled. “Anythin’ yeh like!”

“Isn’t there some routine?” Celestia asked, apprehension in her voice. “Something I’m supposed to say?”

She looked towards Crumble. The anxiety was on her features was clear. She felt as though she were taking a test, and had no prior knowledge of the subject matter.

“Well, sure,” Crumble remarked. “In addition to jus’ prayin’, there are some spoken cadences. But I don’t have time to teach yeh. ‘Sides, I don’t know what it is fer Corona. Just go up there, mumble somethin’ to yerself, and nopony will be the wiser.”

“Greetings.”

Celestia jumped at the sound, and swiveled her gaze forward. Without her noticing, the priest had closed the distance between them.

“Well met, Father. May all the gods’ good greetin’s be upon yeh.”

“Likewise to thee, Apple Crumble. And you,” he said, turning to her, “must be Celestia.”

She nervously nodded, though her nervousness was mostly a remainder of the surprise. His calm, kind voice was disarming.

“Well met. I am Father Shine Bright.” He extended his hoof towards her. She did the same, and they shook.

“I understand thy welcome to our city was less than amiable.” He stepped to the side, and swept his hoof towards the cathedral shrines. “Please, be at peace in my chapel. The gods care not for circumstance; pray freely, and for as long as you like. The sermon shall not begin until the citizens are permitted this afternoon, but thou art welcome all day.”

“Thank you,” Celestia muttered, taken by the unexpected display of kindness.

“Thou art welcome.” Father Bright gave a small nod, dismissing himself. “Harmony guide your steps.”

“And yours,” Crumble returned. “And Father,” he added, before the priest turned and left. “Please accept my humble condolences for yer daughter. She was a good commander, and a better friend.”

“Thank you, my child,” the Father said graciously, bowing his head. “She is with the gods now. She still watches over us, and aids us from above.”

“O’ course,” Crumble said noncommittally, but not unkindly.

The Father smiled, and walked away towards the front of the chapel.

“Who was that?” Celestia whispered after he was gone.

“That,” Crumble muttered back, “was Daylight’s father.”

Celestia looked at him, surprised. “Her father?” She would have expected the priest to be much more distressed.

“Aye.” Crumble nodded. “Well, adoptive father, anyways. He’s a good fella. Kind-hearted, n’ soft spoken. He’s a bit too... calm, for my taste, but he really knows how to get a pony right ‘ere.” He patted the center of his own chest, right over his heart. “Speaks straight to the soul, he does. ‘Spose he passed that on to Daylight ‘erself. Or maybe Daylight gave it to ‘im.”

“Huh...” Celestia wondered after him, watching him walk along the benches and stopping to have brief conversations. She had no idea who most of the ponies were, but they all seemed pleased to see him.

“Alrigh’, sunshine,” Crumble said, after waiting a few moments. “I’ll see yeh in a few.”

Celestia snapped out of her observation. “Wait, Crumble, I-”

But it was too late. Crumble was already airborne, flying towards the cloud balcony and the pegasus shrine. Celestia looked after him for another moment, before returning her gaze below.

Just go to the shrine, say a prayer, and sit down in the stands. Celestia weakly nodded to herself. Easy enough.

She began walking towards the front of the chapel, keeping her eyes trained on the floor below her. Eventually, she reached the front, where the paths divided to go to either the earth shrine or the unicorn shrine. She looked up, and was about to head right, when her hooves stopped in place. At the earth shrine, among a sparse few amount of ponies, was not somepony, but something she recognized. The ponies there wore earthy green and brown cloaks, but she recognized one in particular.

“Lucky…” she muttered under her breath. She shook her head, took another step towards the right, but hesitated again. After a moment of contemplation, she gave a defeated sigh. Feeling very much like a glutton for punishment, Celestia made her way towards the earth shrine, and towards Lucky Break.

She stopped beside him. He was kneeling, and his face was obscured beneath his hood, but he did not seem to notice her. She heard him speaking to himself, in the quietest of whispers; Celestia could only hear tiny pops on certain consonants, followed by nearly inaudible breaths of air.

“What god is this?” she asked him, looking at the altar before them.

He remained seemingly oblivious, and his toneless, whispering prayer continued uninterrupted. Celestia’s ears drooped, and she lowered her head. She had not known what she was expecting, or why she had even bothered talking to the stallion who had caused her injuries she was still suffering from, but for some reason, his silence disappointed her. She turned, and walked away.

“Tyche,” came a sudden response.

Celestia turned around. “What?”

“Tyche,” Lucky repeated. “The goddess of fortune. Lady Luck.”

Celestia hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to get in an argument in a church. What on earth had told her this was a good idea? Yet, she did not feel like she could back away now.

“She is your… preference?” Celestia asked, remembering Crumble’s words before. “Your favorite?”

“My favorite?” Lucky, still kneeling, shook his head. “No. But it does seem most appropriate.”

“I suppose,” Celestia replied, her tone noncommittal. “The similarity between your names…”

“Not just my name. I’m sure there is more than one stallion out there bearing the name ‘Lucky’. It was part of my brothers’ names, and my birth father’s, too.”

Celestia remained silent, unsure of his point. “Why do you pray to Tyche, then?”

There was a moment’s silence. “Ever heard of Tyche’s muse?”

Celestia shook her head, and, realizing he was not actually looking at her, said, “No.”

He drew a breath, seeming to prepare an explanation. “When you pray to Tyche, you are really praying for Tyche’s muse, an angel that she sends to provide her devout with good fortune. Except, that is wrong.”

She tilted her head, not knowing what he was getting at.“Wrong?”

Lucky rose from his knees, but did not turn to face her. “On the battlefield, things are different. War is its own world. Steel clashes against steel, collides against hide and skin and bone, and cries of anguish fill the air, emanating from both armies. A beast may be a beast, but its death knell is no less haunting than any pony’s.”

He shuddered at some distant memory. “In the face of such a symphony, even the bravest lose their spirit. The flesh grows weak, blood runs chill, and fear inevitably finds purchase.

“What then, can one count upon? The sun, the moon? One could fly miles into the sky, and never reach the celestial bodies. Clouds, or storms? What solace have they ever provided? No. The only thing you can truly rely on, the one thing that will remain constant, is your own fortune.”

He looked up at the altar, staring at it. “Good or bad, you may adjust for it, and act upon it. On the battlefield, it is not a soldier’s luck that kills him. It is his fear. It is his inability to act.

“Tyche is not a goddess of good luck. Just luck, of any kind. Fate is, as they say, a cruel mistress. Praying for Tyche’s muse is not the same as praying for good fortune. It is praying for guidance.”

He turned around, finally finally facing Celestia. She was surprised at his expression; his features were not hardened, like she expected them to be. Instead, his usual grimness was replaced by a strange mixture of serenity and uncertainty. Whatever it was, his relative relaxation struck Celestia as completely uncharacteristic. It was almost as if she were seeing Lucky for the first time.

“Guidance is something I’m afraid I have been lacking, as of late,” he told her. She remained silent, examining, appreciating the way his brows were not furrowed, the way his mouth was not contorted into a grimace. The way his eyes did not seem to accuse her of something.

He took a step towards her, and she took a half step back.

“That was some good dueling out there,” he remarked. She only nodded. “How did you do it?”

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. She had no idea.

“Nopony has beaten me in years, you know.”

She shook her head again. No, she did not know.

He stirred uncomfortably. “Maybe we can have a rematch. Just a friendly one-on-one. I can be more... reserved. We can use the wooden blades, if you want, rather than steel. I can teach you. Maybe you can teach me, too?” His tone was slightly anxious, uncertain, but not unkind. In fact, he seemed almost vulnerable, out of his element, with the way his eyes could not remain locked on hers, the way he shifted his weight from side to side.

The idea of a friendly anything with Lucky seemed absurd. “They say I’m not allowed, right now,” Celestia murmured.

“Oh.” Her lack of enthusiasm seemed to disappoint him. “Well… I suppose we shall see, then.” He turned away from Celestia, and towards the door took a few steps towards the door.

Suddenly, he stopped beside her, so that their shoulders were side by side. He turned slightly towards her, and raised his left hoof off the floor. It hovered in the air, perhaps moving towards her, perhaps not. Celestia made no move, except to watch him with curiosity.

“Celestia, I-”

He stopped himself. His hoof fell lamely back to the floor, hitting the stone with a soft click.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He stood still for another moment, before nodding to himself, looking at Celestia, and nodding to her as well. Then, he continued walking, his hoofsteps echoing down the rows until he reached the door and exited the cathedral.

Celestia gazed at the cathedral doors until they came to a full close. A part of her had wanted to say ‘me too’, if only to comfort him, though she knew it was probably not true. Why she would even want to comfort him was beyond her. Celestia scowled at the floor. She felt confused.

Her gaze swiveled to the nearby earth shrine, to the altar of Tyche. She walked towards it, knelt on the stone, and prayed as hard as she could for Tyche’s muse, for guidance.

When Crumble descended from the pegasus shrine, she was still praying. When the regular soldiers were granted entry, she was still praying. When the citizens arrived, she was still praying. After the sermon had been given, and after the congregation had left, and when the Royal Guard came to insist that she leave, she was still praying.

**********

Twilight looked up. “So after that, you became friends?”

“Friends? Mmm.” Princess Celestia closed her eyes, and contemplated the question.

“Friendship comes in many forms, Twilight Sparkle.” She reopened her eyes, and smiled at her student. “Something I don’t have to tell you, of all ponies, I think. What he showed me afterwards was more like…” She paused, looking up as she searched for the word. “Respect.”

Twilight gave a disappointed frown. Respect was perfectly fine. Twilight had garnered plenty of respect as a scholar before she moved to Ponyville. But it was not the same.

She knew what it was like, to be too busy to make friends. She also knew how lonely it became, and how much better life was with friends. Her mentor had been busy serving a desperate nation embroiled in war, but even that would be all the more reason to keep one’s friends close.

“But friendship, eventually. Right?”

The princess smiled.

XV: Seeds of Strife

Twilight stared at Princess Celestia, trying to think of the right question, something the princess could not brush off or answer with ambiguity. Her teacher’s cryptic remarks really were frustrating sometimes. The tale itself was detailed enough, but when pressed for answers, Celestia absolutely refused to “skip ahead.” It was a story, she argued, and it needed to be told the right way. Twilight did not necessarily agree, but how could she complain? An immortal being was telling her tale to a pony who was, by all rights, an infant in comparison. Any frustration she felt was outweighed by the simple gratitude that she could hear it firsthand, and the knowledge that all the answers would come in time.

And yet, as the princess gave her that coy smile back, Twilight could not help but feel like Celestia enjoyed her impatience. It was almost as if Twilight were a filly in the classroom, and her older, wiser, grown-up teacher was taunting her with that frustrating phrase she had heard so many times before: “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” Or, perhaps more accurately, an older classmate teasing her with those maddening, childish words, “I know something you don’t know.”

Twilight tried to hide her sigh of disappointment, and was not entirely successful. “So. You gained his respect.”

The princess brought her teacup up to her mouth, allowing herself a much needed moment to smother her smile.

Twilight tapped her hoof with impatience. She almost wished the tea was not there; she liked it well enough, but it gave her mentor an excuse to stop, or else hide some expression of emotion Twilight would liked to have seen. Instead, she was able to take a sip whenever and for however long it pleased her, until she could pretend like it was nothing.

When Celestia brought the cup back down, it was almost gone, though her lips were still pursed and trembling ever so slightly in what seemed to be a suppressed smile.

“That is correct.” The simple act of speaking allowed Celestia to regain her composure, and resume an expression that was mostly serious.

“And this was important to you?”

“Hmm.” The princess contemplated for a moment. “Well, he saved my life, in a way, and I saved his. It’s not that I felt indebted to him. In fact, I was quite vindictive about the way he had been treating me.” She sighed. “There was much I did not know back then. But I suppose, in a way, I always felt...”

She trailed off, trying to find the right words. Eventually, she seemed to give up, and followed with, “Yes, it was important to me.”

“But he was so… well, he was a jerk!” The princess raised an eyebrow, but Twilight continued regardless. “You wanted his respect, but it doesn’t seem like he wanted yours.”

“Oh, he wanted my respect,” the princess amusedly remarked, “after I beat him in the dueling ring.”

Twilight frowned, and Celestia could practically see the thought forming in her head. It was a technicality. You didn’t actually beat him at all. She spoke before Twilight could ask.

“Aside from at the hooves of Daylight, he had been undefeated in years. Granted, after he became a Lieutenant, and eventually, a Commander, he did not have the time to use the ring very frequently. Even still, he remained the undisputed champion of it. Nopony had beaten him, even on a technicality, in a long, long time. He was curious about me. Everypony was curious about me, I was curious about me, but Lucky… he really did wonder.”

The princess paused. “As for myself… think of it like this. Lucky was supposed to be my instructor. Have you ever wanted the respect of somepony, just because you knew they were going to teach you? Because you wanted to show them you learned something, or because their respect was a symbol of your own accomplishment?”

Twilight briefly looked at her mentor, whose eyes were locked on her own. The question was obviously leading, as she instantly thought of her own relationship with the princess. It was not the quite the same, but Twilight thought she could see her reasoning.

“Yes, I have,” she responded.

“Well…” Celestia shrugged, and smiled.

Twilight’s head went back to her notes. The princess waited for her to finish. After she had scratched a line or two into her parchment, Twilight shuffled the papers together, and cleared her throat.

“So, the day was April 29th, 50au. It was a Monday.”

“That’s correct. Impressive. Somepony has been paying attention.”

“Thank you.” Twilight allowed herself a quick blush before continuing. “So, when did you continue your training? Your real training, I mean.”

“Exactly six days later, I had recovered enough to resume my regimen with the regulars of the 21st. However,” she added, making Twilight finish writing a note with extra speed. “Before that, they held a meeting.”

Twilight looked up. “Who did? The Royal Council?”

Celestia nodded. “They held a meeting every so often anyways, but the point of this one was, among other things, to check on my progress, to plan the redeployment of the 21st, and to ‘show me off’ to a... wider audience.”

“Oh, okay. Well, how did that go?”

Celestia could see Twilight did not yet realize the importance of this particular event. Perhaps she thought it was just another detail. Not a boring one; Twilight never found Equestrian history to be a boring subject, no matter how minute the detail might be. However, some things were less important than others.

Celestia did not blame her for thinking so. Nopony in their right mind could have expected the incidents of that day. Clover the Clever, Apple Crumble, the whole Royal Council, even Celestia herself; they had all been caught off guard. Perhaps Lucky had been the most ready, and even still, things went poorly for him.

Her countenance fell, and her tone was grim. “Not very well.”

Twilight was surprised at the sudden darkness in her mentor’s voice. It was almost as if she had forced herself to say it. There were times when she was slow and thoughtful, hesitant even, but Princess Celestia had never been anything but truthful to her pupil. Now, it seemed as though she were actually struggling. Or perhaps Twilight had imagined it?

She must have been. Taking a second look, any trace of darkness in Celestia’s expression, real or imagined, was gone, smothered by tranquility. Nevertheless, Twilight’s curiosity was piqued.

“Why not?”

**********

Deep morning light seeped into the room through mostly closed curtains, streaming onto the sheets of a dormant bed. The beams of light glinted and reflected off of motes of dust, almost appearing as hard columns of gentle, orange brilliance. The air was still, and the dust was tranquilly drifting in all directions. The quietude of the place made it seem like a veritable sanctuary.

That was until the far door slammed open, and a little cyan unicorn came briskly trotting through.

“Good morning, Celly! Wakey wakey, it’s day breaky!”

Cotton trotted up to the side of bed, and planted her hooves on the frame.

“Come on, sleepyhead. The meeting is in an hour. We’ve gotta get you in tip-top shape!”

There was no response, not a shifting of blankets or even a tired groan. The alicorn-shaped lump beneath the covers was practically lifeless.

“Oh, c’mon, Celly. It’s not so bad. It’ll only be for a little bit, and afterwards, I can introduce you to Coffee! He said he wants to meet you.”

No response. She frowned, ran out of the room, and returned with an item in hoof.

“Look, I’ve got cotton candy. Purple flavored!” Cotton waved it around the room as she danced up to the bedside. She brought it to her nose, and gave it a deep whiff.

“Mmmm… don’t you want some?” She wagged it above the bed, right next to a lump in the blankets that was probably Celestia’s head. “I made this one with extra love! Just taste it!” Cotton began poking the blankets with the candy, leaving tiny splotches of purple here and there. She frowned, surprised and disappointed at the continued lack of response.

“Fine,” she huffed. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.” She pushed off of the bed and took a few careful steps back, measuring until she was at a precise distance. When she finally stopped, she put the handle-end of the cotton candy into her mouth, and dragged a hoof along the floor. Snorting through her nostrils once, she charged forward, and leapt into the air, setting herself on a wild collision course with the bed.

She released the candy into her hoof in midair, and gave a loud battle cry. “Cotton Candy Hammer of Justice!”

Half a second later, she landed on the bed, and brought the ‘hammer’ down. At the same time, she employed one of her most practiced skills, and began simultaneously tickling the lump of blankets.

Cotton giggled joyously, jabbing with one hoof and swinging an utterly soft hammer with the other, until slowly, her activity died down, and her laughter faded. Something was not right. She frowned, and tossed the candy away. It hit the wall in the corner of the room, bounced, and came to rest on the top of a pile of a dozen other cotton candy cones, already stockpiled in Celestia’s room to ensure she did not “starve to death”. Cotton grabbed the edge of the blankets.

“Celly?” she called, concern creeping into her voice.

She pulled the covers back to reveal an alarming lack of sleeping alicorns. What she had thought to look like a lump of pillows underneath blankets actually was a lump of pillows underneath blankets, arranged into the rough shape of a pony.

Cotton gasped. “Celly! You’ve turned into blankets!”

This time, there was a response. “Gotcha.”

Cotton looked towards the sound of the noise. Directly above her was Celestia, stealthily clinging onto one of the support beams on the ceiling. Her body shook with exertion in maintaining the maneuver. One of her eyes were closed, and the other was at a squint. On her face was a smile, strained with effort, but mischievous and triumphant.

Cotton breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, there you are! You sure got me!” She waved a good-natured hoof at the ceiling, admitting her defeat. “Now come on down from there, so we can-”

“Hiiii-YA!”

Without warning, Celestia dropped from the ceiling and tackled Cotton to the bed, pinning her against the cushions. With much less practiced hooves, but hooves that were eager nonetheless, the alicorn jabbed at her with gleeful fury. Cotton laughed until she was red in the face, half at the situation, and half at the poking in her sides.

Celestia laughed just as hard. She forgot all her training, forgot her injuries, forgot the meeting, forgot herself, and became blissfully lost in happiness. This was what it felt like to have friends, to feel accepted among ponies, even if, for now, it was only one. As Cotton had said, “you must feel good about you.” She did, and it made her want to laugh until her lungs were sore.

None of her previous accomplishments mattered. Not her magic, her flight, nor even her miraculous dueling. At the moment, this felt like her greatest and happiest triumph yet, even as she was suddenly flipped, and found herself on the receiving end of a barrage of tickles. It truly was a victory.

**********

The Ponies’ Courthouse was more crowded than ever, positively overflowing with spectators. Celestia had thought it impossible to fit any more bodies inside ― she was wrong. The seats inside were, once again, filled to the maximum and then some, both on the first floor and the balcony. Ponies of every race sat haunch to haunch, not minding the closeness, so long as they could get another good look at the curious creature with wings and a horn.

Even the diplomats’ floor seemed more crowded than usual. In attendance were ponies from all over, politicians and citizens from Canterlot and far beyond. Word only had so long to get out about the last meeting, but now that Celestia had been in Canterlot for over two weeks, nearly everypony had heard the news. An alicorn had arrived in Canterlot, and one that was not evil, no less! Or so, rumor had it.

Nearly half an hour before the meeting began, Celestia had been escorted next to her table, which, this time, was nestled snugly in between the tables of Clover the Clever and Lucky Break. Her seat was only yards away from either of them, easily within talking distance. Next to Lucky sat Crumble, the both of them chatting conversationally, adding to the dull chatter of the spectators around them. Next to Clover was a mage she did not recognize. Even as Celestia found her seat, the two of them rose to acknowledge her.

“Celestia!” Clover happily greeted.

“Good greetings, Clover.” Celestia nodded.

“Greetings! How do you fare, this fine morning?” She smiled.

Celestia smiled back. “Very well, thank you.” She noted that the Master-Adept seemed to be in a particularly good mood.

“I would like you to meet one of my students.” Clover stepped to the side, and swept her arm towards the stranger, who stepped towards her.

“Hello,” the unicorn mage said kindly. “Nice to finally meet you. I am Adept Reverie.” Her voice had a slight roughness to it, but was not unpleasant.

She put her hoof forward, which Celestia summarily shook. She was very pretty, thought Celestia. A straight, multicolored mane ran down the side of her neck and across her eyes. Warm reds, oranges, and yellows all accented the cream of her coat very nicely. She was young, perhaps the same age as Celestia herself. Draped over her back was a mage’s cloak similar to Clover’s, though it was not quite as deep of a navy blue.

“Well met, Reverie. I am Celestia.” Her hoof dropped back to the floor, and she looked the mage over. All across the exposed parts of her coat were horrific scratches and bites, and though her fur had been neatly combed over to hide the marks, they were still very much visible. More than just scars, these were wounds that had only recently closed.

Suddenly, Celestia recognized her. It was one of the mages that had stayed behind to defend her, all those weeks ago.

“Are you…?”

“The other one who escaped from Canterbury?” she finished. “The very same.”

Celestia frowned, and gave her an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry to have been the cause of so much trouble.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” She winked at Celestia. “And don’t feel bad, it’s not your fault. Besides, I can take care of myself. The Arch-Mage isn’t the only one who can teleport.”

Celestia gave Reverie’s scars another involuntary glance. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”

Though it was quick, Reverie saw Celestia’s gaze wander. She almost ashamedly crossed her front legs and pulled her cloak tighter, hiding some of the more worrisome injuries. “I’m okay. Really. I know it doesn’t look it, but the doctors did a good job. I feel like a new mare!” A determined fire lit in her eyes. “In fact, Discord had better watch his back, ‘cause I’m ready to go back out right now!”

She popped up onto her hind legs, and threw a few punches with her forehooves. Celestia took a step back, and gave a surprised smile. She envied her bravado.

“Yes, well, I don’t know about that,” Clover interrupted, putting a hoof on Reverie’s back and gently nudging her down. “But she did make a miraculous recovery in the hospital.”

Celestia jumped as a voice boomed from behind her. “’Course she did!”

She turned to see Apple Crumble, towering over her. She shuffled out of the way as he stepped forward.

“She used to be one o’ the Maiden’s finest, until she took the easy job!” He guffawed, a smile on his face.

“Really?” Celestia questioned.

Reverie did not seem to hear. She jabbed at him with a hoof and smiled. “Hey, whose job is easy? I summoned an alicorn, and then escaped from Discord himself! And then, I walked back to Canterlot on four injured legs! Four! Let’s see you do that, oldie!”

Crumble had a response forming on his lips, when another voice came from behind. “Adept Reverie.”

Celestia looked back again to see Lucky Break walking towards them.

“Hey there, Lieutenant.” Reverie swung a hoof in his direction. “Er, sorry. I guess it’s Commander now, huh?”

He stopped next to Crumble. Celestia inched away, ever so slightly.

“Indeed it is.” He put his hoof forward, and the two of them shook. His tone was polite and businesslike, very much like a Commander inspecting one of his troops. “It’s good to see you safe. How are you?”

Reverie looked at her surroundings, and gave a relieved, breathy sigh. “A lot better, now that I’m here.”

“Good, good to hear.” Lucky nodded. “After so many weeks, we assumed the worst.”

She shrugged with her shoulders, and tilted her head. “Don’t worry about it. Everypony did. I’m just glad to be back.”

“Yes.” Lucky’s tone was contemplative. Celestia was not sure why, but it seemed oddly out of place.

“I know it’s soon, but I’m curious, and I’ve been meaning to ask — How did you escape?”

Celestia’s eyebrows raised. He was right, it was a little soon to be asking that question. Nevertheless, the Adept did not seem to be bothered by it.

“Nah, I don’t mind. Except… well, that’s the thing, Lieutenant. Er, my bad. Commander.” She scratched her head. “I don’t really remember.”

Lucky’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t?”

She only shrugged. “Not really. I was fighting some of Discord’s baddies, when Frostcloak went down. I turned to help him, but then I remember taking a blow to the head. It gets a little fuzzy after that. I think it gave me a concussion, but I figure I must have kept on fighting anyways, because the next thing I know, I’m wandering towards Canterlot.”

“That’s a long journey. Are you sure you don’t remember any of it?”

“Nope. I know, it’s strange. Must’ve been one nasty concussion. That’s what they said at the hospital, anyways. Sorry Lieu- Sorry, Commander.”

“Did you stop at any-”

Lucky was stopped as a horn sounded from the second floor balcony, announcing the near-commencement of the meeting, and the arrival of some special guests.

“Oh! We’ll catch up later, Lieutenant. And Crumble,” Reverie said, holding a hoof forward, “Nice to see ya, man.”

Crumble grinned, thrust his hoof forward to bump hers, and everypony began walking back to their seats. As they passed behind her, Celestia heard Crumble and Lucky muttering to each other.

“…wrong? I know yeh know somethin’s wrong.”

“Yeah, something’s wrong.”

Crumble growled. “Blast. Do yeh know what?”

“No. Can’t put my hoof on it. Where are my weapons…?”

And that was it. They took their seats and waited for the meeting to begin.

The diplomat’s floor was already crowded with ponies, but an entire half of the room held only empty tables. Celestia did not have long to wonder why, as she saw the ‘special guests’ walk into the room.

Griffons, four of them, were escorted by a mixed entourage of Royal Guards and elite griffon soldiers. She almost jumped in surprise; they were bigger than she expected, half again the size of a normal pony. Though, she realized she had never seen a griffon before. What had she been expecting?

They walked to a larger table prepared specifically for them, and took a seat. Their diplomats were observant and aloof, not unlike their pony counterparts. However, their warriors’ appearance seemed, to Celestia, to be a bit more… savage, almost, as if they were armored beasts rather than soldiers. Their metal armor had sharp spikes jutting on many sides, which she suspected to be just as practical as it was decorative. In many places, the metal of their armor was painted over with markings, symbols of the griffon culture. They carried no weapons, but each had metal gauntlets over their claws that clicked on the marble floor with each step. Over each talon was a long, metal piece that seemed to be a sharper extension of their natural claw. Overall, it very much gave them an intimidating aura, not one of a mere soldier, but rather an able-bodied predator.

Even if their appearance was savage, their mannerism was not. As they marched in, they kept perfect rank and file, standing very proudly behind their superiors. As the griffon politicians sat, one of the elites posted a banner behind them, a claw grasping three arrows, encircled with a gold ribbon. Celestia briefly wondered what it would be like to fight alongside them, and in the same beat, wondered what it would be like to fight against them. She came to the easy conclusion that she would rather not find out.

The diversity did not stop with the griffons. Next to them, a group of zebras took their seats, their diplomats adorned with golden jewelry around their hooves, necks, and ears. The Zebrican soldiers behind them carried either long spears, or strange swords that were curved backward like scythes. They were dressed with curious wooden armor, held together by cloth straps. On their heads, instead of helmets, they wore wooden, tribal masks, carved with intimidating expressions of war. Celestia did not think it looked very defensible, but when she questioned Clover about it, she had told her that the zebras were master alchemists. For what they lacked in magic, they made up for in potions and brews of all kinds, many of which could be considered magical themselves.

“For example,” Clover whispered, pointing to the zebra soldiers, “Their elite soldiers, the Yangombi Umpakati, wear wooden armor because it is imbued with special properties. The wood is treated with a solution that makes it harder than traditional steel, and since it is wood, it weighs half as much.”

She sounded almost jealous, not of the armor, but of the science and magic going into it.

Next to the zebras, seated at a table that was even taller than the griffons’, was a group of badland hounds. Their representatives were dressed in thick, rough, flowing desert cloth that wrapped across their torsos in large folds. The style was very indicative of their homeland, the harsh deserts and rocky badlands to the far south. Much of their clothing was also studded with gleaming gems of all colors, so much so that Celestia thought it looked uncomfortable to wear. It was no wonder that the hounds were more commonly known among ponykind as “diamond dogs.”

The hound elite soldiers stood vigilant behind them, holding spears, glaives, or scimitars in their huge forepaws. They wore simple steel armor, and, while they did not have the military professionalism of the griffons, or the exotic poise of the zebras, they were intimidating nonetheless. For any lacking they had in grace, they made up for in sheer physique, looking as though they might play the role of heavy infantry on the battlefield. They certainly had the weapons, muscles, and mass for the job.

Finally, marching last in the long line of diplomats and taking their seat next to the hounds, were the donkeys. Their clothing was very similar to the diamond dogs’, which, Celestia supposed, was only natural, seeing as they also made their home in the southern deserts. Their flowing desert cloth, while not adorned with gems, was of no lesser quality; the donkeys were shrewd traders, and their wealth showed for it. Many were nomadic, traveling in caravans to sell their wares to their best customers, the ponies of Equestria. Because of this, the donkeys themselves were very intertwined with Equestrian culture, so much so that many of them had simply settled down to live there. Regardless, they had their own proud culture, their own lands, and therefore, their own representatives.

The donkeys’ elite warriors wore all black, a choice Celestia thought strange, especially considering the deserts they hailed from. Aside from the clothing, which was not particularly thick, they wore little to no armor, which again, Celestia found strange. Apparently, the color was supposed to help with nighttime stealth, and the tight fit of the cloth, with mobility. With their bound limbs and stoic expressions, they had a mystique to rival the zebras. Their swords were straight and single-edged, and appeared to be very sharp. For all their stoicism, they seemed to regard their proximity to the diamond dogs with a measure of disgust.

Diplomats of every size, shape, and indeed, race, took their seats. With so many different species in one place, it seemed to be a veritable zoo. Everypony, or rather, everybody was quiet, as Governor Bottom Line was escorted into the room, towards her stand.

Celestia thought she would have been more comfortable, now that she had a few weeks to acclimate to Canterlot and the ponies that lived there, and vice versa. Perhaps she even had been for a small while. Then, the foreign diplomats had entered, and as she looked around, she realized that all of their eyes were on her, griffon, zebra, diamond dog, and donkey alike. It was not such a nerve-wracking experience as before; she had come to terms with herself, at least in part, and was on the road to making other ponies accept her as well. She did not care so much for the approval of these newcomers, and yet, it was still enough to make her fidget with discomfort.

She distracted herself by looking at the crowd above. Many of the ponies were also looking at her, but as she stared into their eyes, she did not see the animosity she had half-expected. Instead, they were only curious, and she supposed she could not begrudge them for that.

Celestia tried to spot Cotton in the crowd. It took only a moment; she was on the first floor, sitting on the front row, in perfect view. However, Celestia could not seem to catch her eyes. Cotton’s head was swiveling back and forth, her curly mane bouncing with her movement. Anxiety was clear on her features. Was she looking for somepony, too? Celestia remembered what she had said about one of her friends, a pony named “Coffee”. Celestia saw no coffee-colored stallion, nor did she see anypony with a coffee-related cutie mark. Though she knew names could be deceiving, nopony seemed to be chatting with Cotton, and Celestia could only assume he had not shown up.

If that was the case, apparently it was important. Cotton stood up from her bench, squeezed through several ponies to the isle, and walked toward the exit. Celestia tried waving, but to no avail.

“Cotton!” Celestia whispered, even though there was no way she could hear. Her spirits dropped as Cotton walked out the door, and disappeared from sight. She inwardly sighed. They had promised to make silly faces at each other.

“Order!” Governor Line demanded, cracking a gavel onto her stand. She did not need to say it very loud, or wait very long.

“Greetings, one and all. Equestria extends a hoof of fellowship and utmost gratitude to those who could make it today.”

The governor turned to the foreign tables, and acknowledged them individually. “Griffons, of Aquileos, welcome. Zebras, of Zebrica, welcome. Hounds of the Southern Badlands, welcome. Donkeys, of the Southern Deserts, welcome. We wish to excuse the dragons and the buffalo, whose representatives were unable to attend.”

Celestia sighed. She was not sure if she had the stamina to stand another meeting. Regardless, it seemed to go on without waiting for her approval.

“Now, let us begin. Scribe Blot, the war reports, if you please…”

**********

A loud banging echoed throughout the empty street.

“Hey! Coffee!”

There was no response. Cotton rapped on the door even harder.

“Heyyyyyy!”

Still, there was nothing.

The city buildings around them were deathly quiet. Shops were closed, streets were empty, and Canterlot seemed utterly abandoned. Absent was the usual hustle and bustle of Equestrian industry; the city itself seemed to have taken brief vacation. Nearly everypony was at the courthouse, and those who were not were either having fun outside of the walls, or else staying home and resting. Why would they go to work? The city was sleeping; there was no work to do.

“Coffee!” She gave another series of knocks, to no avail.

In this tiny corner of Canterlot, there was very little activity, even on a normal day. That was why Coffee had chosen to live here; he liked his solitude, though she did not know why anypony would choose to isolate themselves like he did. Most ponies were social creatures. Cotton herself was a social butterfly. Perhaps Coffee was different?

Perhaps, Cotton thought, but he never seemed particularly happy when he was alone. In fact, sometimes he was downright depressed, and it was not difficult for Cotton to guess why. When he came to Canterlot all those years ago, Cotton had seen somepony who needed some serious cheering up, and since then, it had been her undying mission to do so. It took a while, but he had warmed up to her, and they became friends.

Even though it had been years, his demeanor was not naturally cheerful. Regardless, Cotton had “taught him some things,” as he had put it, and who knew she would have learned so much in return?

That did not stop her from pounding on his door, yelling his name with frustration.

“Coffee! You open this door at once!”

The only sounds were an excited buzz coming from the courthouse a couple miles away, Cotton’s hooves pounding on the wooden door, and her voice echoing up and down the otherwise silent street-

Suddenly, as if to answer her knocking, from within the small stone dwelling came a dull, powerful bang! It shook the ground below her, and was muffled by the stone, but was all the more distinctive for it, especially considering the voice that came after it. Inside the house, presumably in the basement, somepony was angrily yelling. The tongue was foreign, but Cotton knew enough of it to recognize it as shouted profanities.

This sort of happening used to scare the ponies of Canterlot; indeed, after Coffee had moved into the tiny, cottage-like house, many of his neighbors had moved away. After so many years, however, the lights and sounds had become as commonplace as lightning and thunder, something to note, perhaps even something to be startled at, but certainly not something to fear. Not usually, anyways; lightning strikes were rare, but not unheard of.

Coffee was eventually regarded as less of an outcast, and more as the friendly neighborhood witch doctor, an urban shaman working metal miracles. He was an oddity, for sure, but there was nothing he did that could not be waved away and explained with the simple, “That’s just Coffee.”

And when it came down to it, who could shun a patriot? He was, after all, Equestria’s finest weapons engineer.

In any case, Cotton was not afraid. She was far too familiar with malfunctioning machinery to be anxious about a measly explosion. She reared back on her hind legs, and rapidly knocked with both hooves, one after the other.

“I know you’re in there!”

The angry voice from within the house came to a sudden stop, and Cotton ceased her knocking. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, it called to her through the stone, tentative but loud.

“Cotton?”

“Coffee!” She called back. There was another silence. She scowled.

“Don’t make me come in through the window! I’ll do it!” She reared back a second time, and pounded several times with both hooves at once.

The voice responded quickly. “Hold your horses! I’m coming, I’m coming!”

There was crash, the sound of metal banging against metal, followed by yet another string of foreign curses. She heard a pair of steps ascend a staircase to the ground floor, and walk to the door. Metallic clicks and clacks sounded from behind the wood as locks were undone and bolts retracted. Cotton rolled her eyes; she never did understand why Coffee had so many locks on his door. Then again, she did not understand many of the things he did.

The door swung open. Coffee stood there, face and mane blackened by grease and, if Cotton was not mistaken, ash. He sipped at a large, steaming mug of his namesake.

“Hello,” he said. He retrieved a rag from a coat pocket, and wiped his face with it. The cloth was already black as pitch, and did not do anything but rearrange the grime. He swept some of the ash out of his mane, shaking away the black to reveal some of the natural brown.

She did not speak, only staring at him with furrowed brows and pursed lips. He briefly looked at her, then poked his head out into the open air, looking up and down the street.

“Where is everybody?” he asked, stowing his dirty rag back into his overcoat. His voice was rough, and he spoke with a slight accent.

Cotton did not respond, change her expression, or even shift her gaze away. Coffee shrugged, took a sip of his drink, and looked back at her. Seeing her expression, he raised an eyebrow, and backed up a step.

“What?” he said defensively.

He was much, much taller than her, and she had to look up while she spoke. Regardless of the difference in height, she did not seem intimidated. In fact, if anypony was intimidating, it was her.

“You know what,” she said dangerously. “You are in a lot of trouble, mister.”

Coffee hesitated. “…What?”

Cotton sighed. “The meeting! The meeting is today, Coffee!” Some of the hardness left her features, and her voice shifted from accusation to disappointment.

“You said you were going to be there! I saved you a seat and everything!” She looked away, and gazed longingly in the direction of the courthouse. “And I had snacks, and afterwards, we were going to meet Celestia! You said you wanted to meet her.”

Before Coffee could think about it, there was another loud bang behind them, echoing up from the basement and through the stairway. He swore, and rushed back inside, accidentally dropping his mug and spilling its contents all over the floor.

“Uh, just come on in, Cotton! I’ll be back in a second!” He rushed away, his green overcoat trailing behind him.

Cotton walked inside, and shut the door behind her, carefully stepping around the brown liquid. As always, his house was a mess, recent spill notwithstanding. What might have once been a kitchen looked more like a drawing studio, with counters covered in blueprints and charcoal pencils. What might have been a comfortable living area was littered with tools, parts, and scraps, made from all calibers of metal. Gleaming steel mingled with rusted iron, covering almost every open surface in sizes both great and minute. Cotton had been in the cottage many times before, but she always had to watch her step. More than once, she had stepped on a creation smaller than her hoof, only to discover later that it was a delicate, one-of-a-kind component to some important machine.

Before the liquid could spill onto any of Coffee’s prized components, Cotton grabbed one of his cleaner rags, and began to wipe it up.

There was another bang, and smoke began to billow forth from the basement. After she was done with the liquid, she instinctively crept through the metalwork to one of the walls, and opened a window.

After another minute, a few more bangs, and much frustrated yelling, the column of smoke ceased to be, and Coffee ascended from his basement, features once again covered pitch blackness. He wiped his face with his dirty rag.

“What was all that smoke from?” Cotton asked, coughing a bit of it out of her lungs.

“Oh, just a malfunctioning cannon they want me to fix. Something’s wrong with the burst chamber. Whenever the pin hits the primer, the compression detonates wrong. The pressure isn’t being directed properly for some reason, and it’s cracking the metal. Apparently, some poor soldier took some flak to the shoulder after it fired and the barrel just exploded.”

“Well, have you tried resealing the casing?” Cotton offered, still waving smoke out of the air.

“Yeah, I’ve welded it back up, but it keeps cracking in that one spot. And before you ask, yes, I’ve gotten new compression samples and new cannonballs, so I know it’s not that. I’m thinking I’ll have to go in and tinker with the firing pin. But I can do that later. Actually, I’m glad you’re here! I’ve got something to show you!”

I’m glad you’re here. Oh, how long she had worked to hear those words come out of his mouth.

“Actually, Coffee, the reason I came is because you promised to-”

“Yeah, yeah, just one second. You have to see my new invention.” He went to one corner of the room, and opened a chest. It was not long before he found what he was looking for. He grabbed some device, and thrust into the air, regarding it with pride. Cotton’s horn glowed as she raised it out of his grasp to get a better look, her spiral magic making it rotate slowly in the air. He gave it a surprised look, grabbed it away from the telekinesis, and returned to Cotton.

“Okay, look at this. I call it the ‘hookshot’.” He thrust it towards Cotton, who shied away from it.

“We really don’t have time to-”

“I know, I know, just try it out for me!” He pushed it a little further towards her. Cotton looked at it skeptically.

“Can’t you test it yourself?”

“Well, yeah. I have. But you know it’s not the same.”

Cotton’s gaze went from the hookshot, to Coffee, and back to the hookshot.

“Alright,” she said, slowly grabbing it with a hoof, “but if this explodes like last time, you owe me some free maintenance on my candy machines. And bandages.”

“I always do free maintenance on your machines.”

“And the bandages?”

“I ran out.” Coffee shrugged. “You worry too much.”

Cotton looked again at the hookshot. It was in the shape of a long cylinder, with a circular opening at the base that she assumed she could slide around her hoof. On the end was a wide triangle spearhead, connected to a chain that led into the inner workings of the device, with the eventual excess coiled around the exterior.

“What does it do?” Cotton asked, equipping it on her hoof.

“Well, there’s a button on the interior, at the very end. Feel that?”

Cotton wiggled her hoof around for a moment. “Yeah.”

“Press that, and-”

He was cut off by a sudden, metal click, followed by what sounded like a loud burst of decompressing air. The spearhead, still attached to the device with a chain, flew towards the far wall, out of the open window, and into a wooden sign across the street.

For a moment, there was silence. A long metal chain quivered in the air, still connected to the device on Cotton’s hoof. Wide-eyed, she slowly turned to look at Coffee, who in turn, looked back at her. A slow smile formed on his face.

“It does that.”

Cotton looked back at the chain. To an onlooker, it seemed as though she were in shock. Coffee knew better, though. Soon enough, a huge grin took to her face.

“Isn’t that great?” Coffee exclaimed, more declaring it to be than asking for confirmation that it was.

“Okay, that was pretty neat.” She tugged on the chain, and giggled. “Is there a way to retract it?”

Coffee rubbed the back of his head. “Well, not yet. That’s the next step.”

Cotton unequipped the hookshot, but still held it with her hooves. She rotated and elevated the device, giving it a careful examination from every angle. “Hmm. You might try…”

She paused. After a moment, she dropped the hookshot, and wheeled around towards Coffee.

“Hey!” She pointed an accusing hoof towards him.

“What?”

“The meeting! With Celestia! I’m supposed to be there, and you are too!” She turned, threw open the door, and stepped outside. “We have to go, now!”

He followed after her. “Wait, Cotton!”

She stopped, but did not seem to hear him. “Oh, I hope we’re not too late.” She took a step in the direction of the courthouse and cast an anxious look down the street.

“What meeting?” Coffee called to her before she could take off again.

Cotton turned back to him, dancing with agitation. “You know, the meeting! With the zebras, and the griffons, and the doggies, and the donkeys, and Celestia! She’s not very good at meetings. Ponies treat her bad, sometimes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Cotton. Who treats who bad?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, you know I don’t like going to…”

He trailed off. “Wait. ‘Celestia’. Is that the alicorn?”

“She’s a pony who doesn’t like it when everypony else stares at her and calls her things she’s not, and we should be there for her! I should be there for her!”

“The alicorn.” He snapped his fingers. “Of course! Of course I remember. I did say I wanted to meet her, didn’t I?”

Cotton’s response was quick. “Yes!”

“Okay, let me grab some things. I’ll be right back.”

He ran into his house, and returned only a moment later, grasping an object of metal firmly in his hands. Cotton knew it was his weapon. She frowned.

“Do you really need to bring that?”

Coffee smiled. “Never leave home without it.” He slid it into a holster near his chest, underneath his faded green trench coat, and patted it once it was in. It bounced comfortably against his ribs in reply.

“It is the world’s most powerful handgun.” He bent over, his fingers swiftly working to do up the laces on his boots. Cotton did not have the heart to tell him something he no doubt already knew, that it was likely the world’s only handgun. He finished his laces, stood up, and cracked his knuckles. He nodded toward Cotton, who bolted off. He followed closely.

“Can I ask a favor, this time?” he asked Cotton. She turned her head towards him, but kept running forward.

“Only if you hurry!” she replied.

“When you introduce me to ponies, don’t tell them my name is ‘Coffee’. It’s weird, being named after a drink.”

“But it suits you!” Cotton cried. After he did not respond, she asked, “What would you like me to introduce you to Celestia as, then?”

“You can tell her I am the Hieyuma Empire’s finest combat engineer, the greatest inventor ever, Joe-!”

His words were cut off, as they turned into a surprised shout. He tumbled to the ground, his foot catching on an out-of-place metal chain that just happened to be stretching across the street. He growled in pain as he rolled to his side, and sat up. Cotton in front of him, body still facing forward, head swiveled only halfway back.

“Coffee it is.”

She took off down the street, followed by an irate hieyuman engineer.

**********

“Those revolting creatures you call ‘hounds’ are no more than common thugs!” a diplomat at the donkeys’ table brayed in disgust. “Hmph, diamond dogs indeed.”

“Lies!” one of the hounds barked back, his voice a typical throaty whine. “What proof you have?”

“You’re wearing all the proof I need!” he said, pointing in accusation to the gem-studded robes of the diamond dog. “Our caravans are raided constantly by your filth. You steal the gems, then take the traders as slaves!”

“Lies! All lies!” The hound set his paws onto the table, and stood up. His claws dug into the wood, and he bared his fangs. “We no raid caravans! We hunt own diamonds! Little donkey only bitter we not buy what he sell. Prices too high!”

“Filthy mutt!”

“Stupid ass!”

They continued arguing.

The whole courtroom was in chaos. Celestia was not sure how it started, but there was no indication it would be ending soon. Creatures of every race shouted to make their opinion known in a courtroom where nopony was listening.

The diamond dogs were known slavers. It was a horrible crime of the worst sort of moral violation, but Equestria simply did not have the means to deal with the problem, and so, they turned a blind eye and it went unchecked. Living roughly the same region as the hounds bred an unhealthy hatred in the hearts of the donkeys. Their own warriors were elite, but their numbers were few, and so they retaliated in the best way the merchant race knew how: by selling them necessary goods for outrageous prices. Of course, it only served to escalate the conflict.

The griffons, while powerful, adamant allies, were arrogant, declaring that they did not need the help of the donkeys, hounds, or the zebras, all races that had yet to aid the war effort in a major way. The Royal Council sought to change that, and the griffons’ bold remarks were certainly not helping their case.

Though, it seemed nothing would help in the zebras’ case. The races allied against Discord desperately sought their help. Whoever could convince them to join the cause would not only have enlisted a fresh, unbeaten army, but gained a vast array of alchemic weapons. However, despite their resources and horsepower, they remained frustratingly neutral. No amount of promised riches could change their mind. It seemed they were convinced Equestria and its allies would lose, and instead of helping, they recalled their forces to their far homeland, readying their own nation for the inevitable horde.

The noticeably absent dragons were mysterious and unorganized. They came to what meetings they pleased, and aided in what battles suited them. Their aloofness was frustrating, especially to the battle strategists, who could never count on their aid. The buffalo were unfortunately similar, though they provided even less aid. Their tribal structure led to a civilization that was fractured and unhelpful, often being too busy fighting amongst themselves to offer any real support.

Take all these truths, put them in a courtroom, and Celestia was sure she could guess the result. It was playing out in front of her, after all.

“You think you so rich? You only rich because you lick ponies’ hooves, donkey!”

“Better than licking the desert sand, because without us, that’s all you would have to eat. Isn’t that right, dog?”

Governor Bottom Line tried to intervene, as she had tried many times before. “Please, stop, the both of you. The caravans of the donkeys are welcome indeed, and the strength of the hounds knows no equal.”

“Without the aid of Aquileos,” a griffon diplomat smugly interjected, “you would all be in Discord’s claws already.” He clasped his talons together, as if to prove his point.

“And if it wasn’t for us,” a unicorn at one of the tables yelled, “you’d be extinct!” Celestia recognized the jet black mane and burnt brown coat. It was the representative of the unicorns, Princess Obsidian.

The zebras still had yet to say a word, even in greeting or acknowledgement.

It was stupid, Celestia thought. Their alliance was not even the reason the meeting had been called. The official reason was to coordinate their forces, and report on the affairs of the war. The unofficial reason was to show off Celestia. And yet, neither of those things had been truly addressed.

A vein pulsed in her temple. She wished they would just shut up. A twinge of anger ran through her heart towards whoever had organized this godsforsaken meeting. She leaned over towards Lucky Break to speak to him, and thought better of it, as he sat there, arms folded, looking even more cross than she was. If she was not mistaken, there was a switchblade attached to his right hoof. He was silent, deploying, sheathing, and redeploying the blade in a dangerous, impatient idle action.

She hated that. Could he not just be happy for once? Or, at the very least, approachable? Still, she left him alone, and leaned towards Clover instead.

“Does this usually happen?” Celestia muttered through grit teeth.

Clover had just given up on trying to quell the argument between Princess Obsidian and the griffon representative, and turned to her.

“No,” she said, uncharacteristically irate. “It doesn’t. I don’t know what’s gotten into everypony. Oh, Lord Pick, I don’t think that’s a good idea…” She rose from her seat, hoping to stop a courtroom brawl.

On the other side of her seat sat Adept Reverie. To Celestia’s surprise and concern, she looked somewhat sickly. Her arms were folded tightly, and she rocked back and forth in her seat, still watching the chaos with fascination. She was shivering, and her warm rainbow mane seemed an off-colored pale.

Or, perhaps not pale, Celestia thought. Grey.

“Are you well?” Celestia murmured through the chaos. She flinched in surprise as Reverie barked out a quick, humorless laugh.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Yeah. Some meeting, huh?” Reverie looked at her, and weakly gestured to the proceedings. “Actually, I don’t feel so good…”

She did not say another word, but turned back to her table and held herself, obviously sick, but watching every moment of the chaos, giggling with amusement at some of the proceedings, or else moaning in nausea. Celestia eased away, casting her once last curious glance.

A vein pulsed in her head again as somepony shouted particularly loud. She gingerly rubbed her temples. Celestia hated this place. She wished Cotton was here.

And suddenly, Cotton was there. She trotted through the doorway on the first floor, and stopped, surveying the chaos with surprise on her face. Eventually, she caught Celestia’s eye, and immediately sent her an apologetic look. Celestia gave a small, pained smile and shrugged, simply happy to see her. Cotton beamed back. That simple gesture seemed to banish some of her own frustration, seemed to make everything clearer. It was as if a heady perfume had been blown away, and she took her the first breath of fresh air.

Celestia’s smile broke very suddenly, however, when she saw what was trailing behind her. Lumbering after Cotton, and ducking to get through the doorway, was an unfamiliar creature, tall and thin, absolutely towering over all the ponies it was near. It had a greasy black and brown mane, and almost no fur on its body. It wore a dirty green overcoat, with workings of metal woven seamlessly into the cloth. The strangest thing, however, was the way it moved: it took long, two-legged strides everywhere it went. While a pony could do that, and many times had to do that in order to move and swing a weapon simultaneously, this creature was holding no weapons. It moved along as if it were perfectly natural to do so.

Celestia was about to cry out in warning, but before she could do so, Cotton turned around and talked to it. She seemed to say a few friendly words, and then pointed straight to her. The creature looked at Celestia and locked eyes for a brief moment. It nodded, and then followed Cotton to a seat.

Celestia made no attempt to return its reaction. She shook her head; among all the creatures in the room, this was the strangest, but whatever it was, it was tame. To her surprise, the ponies in the stands did not seem worried. They barely spared it half a glance before returning to their spectating and arguments. She wondered why they did not react to the creature. Perhaps they were too busy with their arguments, or, and Celestia hoped it was this, they simply did not care. It gave her some assurance; perhaps these ponies had seen it before? Were used to it?

She was not given long to contemplate it. Her ears perked, and across the room, amidst a thousand other heated debates, she heard somepony talking about her.

“We have an alicorn! What do you have, Ironclaw?”

It was Princess Obsidian, who was away from her table, staring defiantly at one of the griffons. Of course, it was not too surprising; most of the diplomats had left their seats at this point.

“My iron claws, what else?” He grinned, and brandished his talons. “Want a closer look?”

The princess rolled her eyes, and stuck out her tongue in a very un-princesslike way. “Pfft. Where have your claws ever gotten you? We’re the ones that have a weapon worth boasting about!”

Weapon. Celestia hated that word.

“Oh, you mean the meek little lamb in the corner of the room, there?” Ironclaw glanced at her, and then looked back. “Pathetic.”

“Bah! You’re just afraid. We could destroy you without half a thought.”

“Is that so? Why doesn’t she just come over here, then? I’m curious to see how exactly she’ll do that.”

Celestia immediately saw where it was going. She shrunk low into her seat, and looked away. Regardless, the princess called her out, her voice loud and clear.

“Alicorn! Alicorn, come over here!”

Celestia did not respond. She looked at Lucky, hoping for some sort of aid. He was still looking straight ahead, sliding his hoof-mounted switchblade in and out of his sheath. His expression had impossibly become degrees more irate, until it looked like he was only a step away from taking some very drastic actions.

“Now, alicorn! Prove your worth, why don’t you?”

She looked to her right, and saw the Master-Adept was still gone. Her young student, Adept Reverie, was still sitting there, her head resting against her desk. Her arms still tightly clutched her stomach, and she seemed to be muttering something to herself. And were those tears in her eyes?

“Alicorn!”

Celestia slipped even further, until she was practically underneath her table. No way was she rising to the challenge of a unicorn she did not like, against a griffon that would tear her into pieces.

“Bah! Fine!” Princess Obsidian scoffed.

And even from across the room, she heard the princess’ next words. The phrase pierced through the chaos like an arrow through a fierce wind, swift and true, straight for the bull’s-eye of her ears.

“Useless tool.”

She sat up. Her eyes widened.

…a tool in the clothing of a mare.

…a marionette’s farce.

…a weapon, and naught else.

Hatred.

Celestia immediately rose to her hooves, tipping her wooden chair backwards. She took a bold stride forward, pushing the table out of her way. It slid back, and nearly tipped over. Her hooves pushed and shoved the shoulders of donkeys, griffons, hounds, and even zebras, as she waded through crowd of angry creatures. By now, the floor was in the kind of disarray that usually preceded a bar room brawl. She would have thought it tedious and silly, but by the gods, if she had to participate to get some respect, then she would do it.

She adopted a furious grimace, one she learned from a mentor of hers. She would deal with him later. But now, as she shoved the last pony out of her path, she stopped, and some of the fury left her gaze.

Cotton was already there.

“Hey!” she shouted. Princess Obsidian stood half a head taller than her, and the griffon was nearly twice her height. Nevertheless, her lips curled, her brows furrowed, and her nose wrinkled into the angriest scowl she could muster.

Judging by her proximity to the wall, she had probably jumped down from the stands, and was now practically cornered against it. Nevertheless, she was all the more ferocious for it.

“You big meanie! She has a name, you know! It’s Celestia!”

The unicorn princess did not look pleased. Cotton continued anyways.

“Celestia! C-E-L-S-T… no, I missed a letter. Well, you should call her by her name! And you should ask her if she wants to show this big ugly griffon who’s boss, not tell her to! No offense, mister griffon, sir-”

She was cut off by a sudden, vicious blast of volume.

“LEARN YOUR PLACE, YOU IGNORANT FOAL!”

Princess Obsidian had jumped close and used the Royal Canterlot Voice, shouting inches away from Cotton’s face. She had not expected it, was not braced for it at all. The quasi-magical blast of both volume and force caught her unawares, and her neck whipped back. Cotton gave a sudden, high pitched yelp, and the back of her head collided with the stone wall behind her, hard.

Cotton’s eyes met Celestia’s. She gave a weak, apologetic smile, before letting her eyes roll back in her head, and falling forward to the marble floor.

The chaos of the meeting continued unhindered, but for Celestia, time stood momentarily still. She simply looked at her friend, lying motionless on the ground.

Hatred.

What came next was instinctive.

“WHY DON’T YOU LEARN YOUR PLACE, YOU ROTTEN, NO GOOD, SORRY EXCUSE FOR A PRINCESS!!”

The princess wheeled around, squinting into the sudden blast of noise and air. Celestia did not hesitate. She rushed towards the unicorn, and swung a backhanded hoof at her. Surprisingly, she blocked it, knocking it off course with a burst of magical energy, but Celestia’s momentum did not stop. She redirected herself, and came from below, rising and catching her by the neck. Carrying the attack through, she grappled with the princess and pinned her to the wall, holding her forearm against her throat. Her diamond studded tiara fell free from her head, and clattered to the ground. Celestia realized she was much stronger than her opponent, who struggled frantically against her grip, but could not break free.

“Let go of me you, you…!”

Princess Obsidian gagged, unable to finish her sentence as Celestia pressed against her throat even harder. Her hooves were lifted off the floor, and her motions became weaker and weaker. She tried to use magic, but her horn only weakly flickered before going out and remaining dormant.

Celestia could feel her blood getting hotter, her skin crawling with aggression. Her teeth were savagely bared. Her pupils were dilated, shining through with an angry inferno. Princess Obsidian’s eyes flicked to and fro, panicked and desperate. Eventually, they rested on Celestia’s. They were full of the worst kind of fear.

That was not good enough.

Little by little, the life bled out of them, until the spark was completely gone. Her struggling arms became limp against Celestia’s. She finally released her hold, and the princess’ body slid lifelessly to the floor.

Celestia stood there, panting. Her gaze swiveled back and forth between the princess and Cotton. She knew she should have done something, checked on the welfare of her friend, perhaps, but her hooves were rooted to the floor. Her head swam. Nothing seemed real. She was so hot.

She turned around, and realized that the whole courtroom had become silent. Everybody was looking directly at her. Lucky stood a few feet away, switchblade drawn and the broken spear of a Royal Guard in his mouth, but to her surprise, he was not facing her. Rather, he was facing away from her, towards a group of Royal Guards and griffon Hunters that formed a semi-circle around her. Their weapons were drawn and pointed in her, or rather, his direction. Their intent was not friendly. Some of their number lay on the ground behind them, stirring in pain.

Had Lucky defended her?

She opened her mouth to say something to him, but was cut off. Everybody’s attention moved from her to the opposite side of the room, where they heard a subdued, yet somehow loud chuckle.

“Heheheheh… ahh, that’s funny…”

It was coming from the Royal Magi’s table. Clover was still absent, but Adept Reverie still sat there, head against the desk. Her shoulders shook as she laughed.

“Heheheheh. You ponies. And griffons, and zebras, and donkeys, and hounds, and hieyumans. Or, rather, hieyu-mannn.”

Her voice had changed, somehow. It was like claws on a chalkboard, not outright painful, but having a quality of such horridness as to make most of the creatures in the room cringe. Reverie slowly raised her head from the desk. The semi-circle of soldiers around Celestia parted, and she took a step towards her. Across the room, she saw Clover do the same.

“Reverie…?” Celestia hesitantly called. Her quiet voice could be heard throughout the whole room.

The adept chuckled, and shook her head. Her eyes flashed a bright red.

“Well done, Celestia.”

Additional Research: The Profaned

“The princess… and Cotton. Were they… d-dead?”

Celestia could easily see the real question in Twilight’s eyes, the same one she had asked herself those centuries ago.

Did you kill her?

Princess Celestia sighed, and shook her head. “No, neither the princess nor Cotton died. Cotton received a concussion, and Princess Obsidian passed out due to… asphyxiation. Both injuries were nonlethal, and had no lasting effect.” Her tone was very businesslike. “The number of Royal Guards and Griffon Hunters dispatched by Lucky were also unharmed. Relatively. Needless to say, they would not be in fighting condition for some time. Still, they weren’t dead.”

“O-oh.” She stared just for another moment, her eyes playing over the princess’s body. Back then, or so she had told Twilight, Celestia had been smaller, the size of a normal pony. It was within the realm of believability, and so while it was a challenge to change her image of the princess, Twilight had eventually been able to do it. As the story went on, however, that image became more and more cracked, until now, it was on the brink of shattering. Her mental picture of a smaller, younger, pink-maned princess who was almost innocent, and perhaps slightly confused, simply was not congruous with the pony Princess Celestia was describing: a fierce, soldier-to-be alicorn that choked ponies who insulted her.

Twilight glanced at the slender, but powerful forearms of the pony before her. The image of Princess Celestia, fully grown, choking the life out of somepony briefly played out in her mind.

“Well that’s good,” Twilight quickly finished, eyes shooting down towards her desk. She allowed her purple mane to fall over her eyes as she busied herself with writing a few notes.

The princess just waited and watched. Yes, indeed it was good, Celestia thought. Killing one’s fellow pony was an unspeakable, unforgivable act, something she would never willingly do.

Twilight finished her notes, and looked back up, her gaze meeting Celestia’s. She struggled for a moment, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, before again averting her eyes. “So, the courtroom sounded somewhat… disorganized.”

“It was chaos,” Celestia corrected.

Twilight nodded. “Right. Was the adept the one causing it? You made her sound pretty suspicious.”

“No, I mean, it was chaos.”

Twilight tilted her head, and furrowed her brows. “I don’t understand.”

Celestia patiently nodded. “That’s alright. You’re partially right, Adept Reverie was the instrument of our disharmony. But Reverie, the real Reverie, would have never, ever wanted that. It was Discord.”

Taken by curiosity, Twilight’s discomfort towards the princess seemed to ease away, if only momentarily.“But princess,” she objected, “how could it have been Discord? Was Reverie an illusion? Was he on the roof, or something?”

“No, my student. Reverie was quite real. She had been profaned.”

“‘Profaned’?”

“That’s right.” She paused, looking upwards in thought. “Do you remember the day that Discord broke free?”

Twilight nodded. How could she forget?

“Do you remember when he tricked you into believing something that wasn’t right, or even something that wasn’t real? You changed, didn’t you?”

Her student shuddered, in memory of the event. It had felt painfully cold, almost numbing, but worse than that was the emotional torment. She had believed herself to be abandoned by her friends, hopeless, helpless, and utterly alone. It was a type of torture she never wanted to experience again; she would rather have been in physical agony than be changed in such a way. Worst of all, for Twilight especially, was the knowledge that for all her smarts, character, and mental fortitude, the inner workings of her mind had been so easily and frivolously altered, to the point where she was ready to abandon everything she knew and loved.

“It was horrible,” Twilight simply said.

“Indeed, it was. You were ‘greyed out’, as some ponies called it. Profaned. Taken by the illusions and lies of Discord.” Celestia shook her head. “I can only be grateful that I had seen it before. Even then, few things can cure such an illness. Not everypony has an understanding of the magic of friendship like you do, Twilight Sparkle. That kind of magic was, and still is, the simplest and most effective way to banish the profanity, and yet... it was harder to come by than you might think.”

“So, she was ‘greyed out’? What does that mean? I mean, it drove me away from my friends, but…” Twilight looked towards Celestia for answers.

“When a pony is profaned, some truly awful things happen to her. She is not herself. Sometimes, she is a complete reversal of herself, in the most negative way possible. But there is more to it. Thankfully, all those years in stone made Discord weak, as he stood, dwindling away in idleness. Granted, he would have eventually regained his power, but the Discord you and your friends faced was only a shell of his true self.”

“He... what?” Twilight sounded skeptical.

She somberly nodded her head. “Back then, things were different. He had more power, more options, and craftier manners of trickery. The profanity was perhaps the worst of it all. When a pony was profaned, they weren’t simply changed. They were controlled. He would strike fear into his prisoners, scare them into an agreement, and send them on some task. Many ponies were resilient towards it, but even if they did succumb, the profane touch was difficult to hide. The profaned would return to pony society, and in many instances, they were dispatched without incident, as the signs of Discord’s influence were obvious.

“For some ponies, however, it was more difficult to tell. They would speak, look, and act the same, some not even knowing their ill fate, not even suspecting the dark spore they held within them. They served as unknowing double agents, spies, assassins, and in this case, unwilling messengers.

“They could be cured, but in most instances, they had to be killed instead. In fact, killing the profaned was seen by many to be a mercy. Soldiers often spoke to each other about it, telling their friends their preference for what they wanted done, just in case they were discovered to be profaned. To remove the darkness from a pony’s heart without also rending his soul in the process was a difficult maneuver indeed. In most cases, it failed. In all cases, it was unbelievably painful.”

Her tone became low and angry. “I would expect nothing less from that vile fiend. Most of the time, the process of becoming profaned was not as simple as a gentle touch. It is a horrendous process, as I’m sure you know, Twilight, but some instances were… worse, than others.”

A dark fire lit in Princess Celestia’s eyes. A dark line carved itself between her furrowed brows. Her mane cast a shadow over her eyes, something Twilight did not know it could do, and for once, did not seem so bright.

Twilight drew back in her seat, eyes wide and worried, darting back and forth between the eyes of the princess. She had seen the princess angry before, even aggressive in some instances, but never this passionate. This was not the aloof judgement of a higher being; before her was somepony who really felt. But then, even “passionate anger” did not seem to do it justice. What was it that suddenly made the princess she knew all her life seem so different, so threatening?

Hatred?

“For his crimes, there is no punishment in the world that could satisfy justice. Discord deserved more than the comfortable stone prison we gave him.”

**********

A cry of anguish emanated from deep within the Equestrian wilderness. It was a pony’s, it was female, and it was more than the sound of somepony in pain. It was the sound of somepony who was terrified.

It was neither day, nor night, nor twilight. The sun had set, the moon had faded, and the stars had been blown out, one by one, like tiny, delicate candles. She seemed to be in a forest, but she knew it was not a true forest. Maybe it had been, once, but now, it could have been something from another plane of existence. There was grass, there was dirt, there were certainly trees, but it was all wrong, as if the anatomy was incorrect, somehow. The grass felt odd, the dirt was cracked into strange shapes, and the trees were only saddened facades of what they once were, twisted roots digging into the ground and gnarled branches jutting in all directions. The grace of Mother Gaia was slowly creeping out as the entropy seeped in, and the forest, wherever it was, had been made an abominable hybrid, like something from a dream that had gone horribly, terribly wrong.

Another pained cry seemed to shake the leaves on the trees.

It should not have been scary, it should not have frightened her, but it did. She had been with the meanest, roughest group of military misfits, and had gotten into more life-or-death situations than any pony had a right to be in. She had been made an Adept of the Royal Magi, the youngest of the whole group. Her name was Reverie, and she was tough.

And right now, she was utterly terrified.

She prayed to Mother Gaia, prayed for her speedy return. She prayed to Corona to send a single beam of sunlight, and Selena, to put the celestial map back into the sky. Even as she whispered them, she knew her desperate pleas were lost, empty words in a godforsaken place. The deities had long since fled from here.

Another tormented scream. Where was it coming from?

Reverie would have fled the place, too, had she not been bound with chains to the trunk of a thick tree. She would have galloped as far as her limbs could have carried her, had her hind legs not already been broken. She would have bid this place farewell forever, had there not been a multitude of sinisteeds surrounding her, hissing insults at each display of defiance, and jeering with glee at each new pain inflicted upon her by her torturer.

Another shout of pain. She realized it was coming from her own mouth.

Neither the creatures nor the pain were the most frightening thing around. She had killed her share of sinisteeds, and experienced her share of pain. No, what scared her was the fog. A thick, claustrophobic mist hung heavy over the forest, choking the life out of all it touched. No plant was spared, no insect left chirping. Worst of all, it seemed to sap the colors out of everything it came to rest upon. If she looked directly at things, she could see the colors, as if they suddenly snapped back into place when she was watching. But as soon as she turned her eyes, she knew the greyness would come back. Monochrome crept in on her peripheral vision, and everything around her was grey on grey.

A sudden, serpentine hiss sounded only inches away. “Pony-yyyyy.” She felt a slight wind rustle the fur in her left ear. It twitched in response.

Reverie weakly lifted her head. Her tormentor drew back, and stood in front of her, a small knife in his black, decaying hoof. The sinisteeds were pony-like, but just different enough that their emotions and expressions were muddled to a pony’s view, and were often unreadable. However, there was no mistaking the sadistic gleam in his eye.

“What’s wrong, pony?” he said in that odd, double voice sinisteeds always spoke in. “Don’t want to keep playing? I thought you liked fighting!”

She did not respond, instead trying to avoid his gaze. The group of sinisteeds nearby snickered in amusement.

Equestrian was not their first language. Instead, they spoke with an unnerving, bug-like clicking and chittering sound. Some did speak Equestrian, however, and the hissing accent they let creep into their words was all the more unsettling for it.

“Oh, come on, pony. Can’t you be a good sport?”

Most sinisteeds were, to a pony, too identical to tell apart, not that any pony would care about such a thing. This particular one, however, had huge, rough scar running vertically down his face, passing directly over his right eye. Or, it would have passed over his eye if he had one. Where a beady, bug-like blue eye should have been, there was simply a dark, empty socket.

“I’ll even let you choose the next game. Pick your poison.”

Reverie kept her head down, and her eyes half lidded. Even through the chains, she could see herself, and what she saw startled her. There were horrible cuts and bruises, everywhere on her cream colored coat. Streaks of fresh blood ran through her fur. Her mane and tail, which had once been a rainbow of warm colors, the pride and joy of her appearance, were disheveled and messy, clinging together with sweat and blood. Her mane ran down the sides of her face in wet strands. The monochrome fog sapped at its color, too.

On her face, she felt her cheeks bruised and swollen from injury. One of her eyes was similarly swollen, almost to the point where it was impossible to open.

“What should we use next? Knife? Hammer?” His lips parted into what might have been a smile, animalistic and utterly savage, revealing a row of sharp, pointed fangs.

There was a sudden flash of metal, and then a dull thunk. The sinisteed had brought the knife up, and stabbed it into the tree right beside her neck. The steel was buried a good two inches into the wood. She felt a wet trickle down the side of her neck, and realized the sinisteed had actually cut her with the knife, leaving a tiny, bleeding wound.

“Or maybe, just hoof and fang?” He leaned in close to her chin, and made his way down to her neck, nostrils intermittently flaring as he sniffed. It was all she could do to lift her head up away from his, weakly shifting against her chain bindings.

“They say blood of pony tastes good.” She nearly screamed again as she felt a cold tongue run along the side of her neck. A whimper escaped her closed lips as she felt it trail up and over her newest wound.

The tormentor drew back, and frowned at her. “Too warm.” He shrugged. “Oh well. It will do.”

He made a sudden motion towards her, and she found herself screaming as the sinisteed buried his fangs deep into her neck. His comrades cheered.

She had tried to stay unbreakable, to refrain from screaming. When Reverie knew she had been captured, she had promised herself she would not reveal anything to them. That resolve had broken hours ago, when she realized something. They never asked her any questions, never wanted anything from her. They were not torturing her for information. They were torturing her for the fun of it. And at the end of it all, she would be dead.

When she realized that, she let out her first, bloodcurdling scream. Since then, it had been nearly non-stop.

Now, finally, she saw the end. With the sinisteed’s fangs in her neck, her throat would no doubt be punctured, and she would soon asphyxiate. Bile rose to her mouth, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she felt herself fading from the waking world…

A sudden, powerful voice filled the air.

“Cimex!”

Everything seemed to stop. The voice echoed throughout the forest and in her head, carrying with it strange undertones, like the whisperings of a madpony. The fangs slid out of her flesh like daggers, and her head drooped limply forward.

“M-master?” The sinisteed’s voice seemed small and inconsequential in comparison to whoever he was addressing. “Master, I-”

“I told you not to kill her, Cimex.”

“She’s not dead! She’s not dead!” the sinisteed said frantically. “See?”

Reverie felt her head propped up by a cold hoof. Her eyes fluttered open ever so slightly, and in front of her she saw… something. A strange creature that she did not have time to fully comprehend before the sinisteed’s hoof released her chin.

“Sssee?” he pleadingly repeated.

As if on cue, Reverie’s head jerked forward, and she coughed up a sickening mix of phlegm and blood. There was a silence. She felt fluid dribble down her chin.

“Disappointing. If she dies, Cimex, you are next.”

The sinisteed stuttered to himself, in his own native tongue. Eventually, he found the only words he could speak. “B-but, Master-!”

“Enough. You tire me. Bug off!”

There was no delay between the powerful voice’s command, and the sinisteeds’ action. Cimex chittered a frantic order to his group, and in an instant, the buzz of their insect wings filled the air. They all took to the sky with the haste of a life-or-death retreat.

Soon, all was quiet, but even in her half-concious state, Reverie knew better. She could feel the presence of another being stirring in front of her. They sat a minute in silence before it made a sound, and when it did, to Reverie’s surprise, it giggled.

“Tee hee hee hee…”

Reverie made a weak attempt to raise her head, but could not. The thing’s laugh got louder.

“A ha ha ha ha! Oh, I am good! See what I did there?” A hard finger flicked her chin. Her head jerked up a little, but just as quickly lowered again. “Bug off. Because they’re bugs. Right? Get it?”

She meekly groaned in response.

“Oh. Right. The whole dying thing.” The voice sighed. “Ugh, fine.”

A hand, or rather, a paw firmly grasped her chin, and propped it up. “I hate healing magic. So… orderly. This blood vessel must reattach here, this bone must be fixed like this. Your stupid little body just has to have a heart in there somewhere.” The creature snorted in disgust. “No room for creativity.”

Behind her closed eyes, Reverie saw a light, shining through her eyelids. Miraculously, she was beginning to feel better. Her cheeks deflated, her swollen eye felt less sore, and the bite on her neck began to close. It felt similar to the familiar white magic of unicorn doctors, but different. Cold, uncomfortable, unsettling. She almost wished it would stop.

“You ponies are such fragile creatures, you know that? The sinisteeds have an exoskeleton, at least. Well, kind of. It’s more like a twisty, fluid skin that hardens on impact. They can heal themselves, sort of, because they aren’t so stingy with their anatomy.”

She finally dared to open her eyes. Bit by bit, her eyelids eased back, closing again sometimes, either flinching from pain or light.

“I should know…”

She finally opened her eyes, and let out a weak gasp.

“…I created them.”

Reverie’s eyes were wide. Her mouth opened, and shut.

“Come now, my little pony. Let’s just get this over with.” The creature released her chin, opened his arms wide, and waited. “Go on, say it.”

For a moment, she was silent. “Discord.”

“Correct!” He pushed off of the ground and launched into the air, spreading his limbs wide with glee. “King of Chaos, Master of the Malignant, Prince of Pain!”

The air around him distorted, and a thousand things happened at once. Lightning struck directly above him, the ground shook below him, the fog swirled around him, and colors seemed to burst in random spots. Sounds of all kinds assaulted her ears; thunder clapped, glass broke, dogs barked, and she even thought she heard a group of ducks quack. There was no describing it, because there was no way to properly experience and comprehend it.

The chaos stopped as abruptly as it started, and he put a contemplative talon under his chin. “Aaaaand ruler of a bunch of other stuff, too. I don’t know, someday I’ll make a list. Or not.” He shrugged. “No, probably not. That sounds too… orderly.”

He returned to the ground, and looked back to her. “Oh, I apologize, my little pony,” he said, patronizingly. “You’re still in chains! Well, not anymore.”

He stood there, seemingly not having done anything. Still bound to the tree, she looked at him with fear and reluctant curiosity. After a moment, Discord rolled his eyes, and pointed to Reverie’s chest. She looked down, and realized the chains were gone. A second later, she tumbled to the forest floor.

“So,” he casually began. “You must be Reverie. Am I right?”

He waited for the unicorn to struggle to her hooves. She slowly gained her balance, rising from a low stance, facing away from him. Her legs shook for a moment, but then, in a sudden, energetic burst of motion, she sprang towards him, stopped on all four hooves, and pointed her horn in his direction. Her teeth were grit, her brows furrowed, and unleashing all the energy she possessed, Reverie willed a spell to her horn that would send a deluge of searing flame towards him. She gave a furious battle cry.

Nothing happened.

Discord stared for a moment, snorted, and began to laugh hilariously.

Reverie stood motionless, her fury immediately replaced with disbelief. She took a step back, and looked up at her horn.

“H-how…?”

He tutted and wagged a talon. “How what, my little pony? Be specific. If you are referring to how I knew your name, it should be obvious. I mean, there are only thirteen Adepts to begin with, and only a handful of ponies have pretty rainbow manes like yours.” His body seemed to slither through the air as he closed the distance between them. “How could one not hear about a young, gorgeous unicorn such as yourself?”

Discord ran a single, cold talon under her chin. She grimaced, and rolled her head away from his paw. His only reaction was to chuckle, and pat her on the cheek.

“However, if you were referring to your lack of magic, well…” He looked around himself. A wide grin took to his face. “Isn’t this fog just magnificent? So mellow, so immaterial, like a shadow. So grey.” He bobbed his eyebrows.

The grey crept in just a little tighter.

Reverie’s whole body was shaking, and her breathing was heavy. It took all the courage she had to uproot one of her hooves from the ground, take a step back, and then run in the opposite direction.

She had only taken thirteen steps when she dodged around a tree, and stopped dead in her tracks. Discord was right there, lounging in midair, nonchalantly picking at his teeth.

“Hello.”

She jumped in surprise, turned, and ran a different direction. It took even less time before she ran into him again, sitting in the same position, by a tree that was perfectly identical to the first.

“Hello.” He scratched his one, jutting fang.

“I’m not scared of you!” Reverie desperately shouted, as if saying it would make it true. Discord only gave a small smile, and watched as she again galloped away. He did not even need to move, before she came right back to him.

“This is too fun,” she heard Discord say, a tiny grin on his face. She only galloped away.

The grey crept in even more, threatening to grab her, threatening to kill her. She gave a frightened yelp, and kept moving. All of the colors, she knew they were a lie. They were not real. The forest was, all of it, utterly grey.

This time, she did not find him again, but as she galloped through the endless, lifeless forest, his voice followed her everywhere.

“That really is a pretty mane, though,” the voice said, a powerful, offhanded tone echoing through the forest. “So many colors.”

The monochrome fog seemed to close in, tighter and tighter, and she had a hard time of seeing where she was headed. A trail of disturbed dirt and broken branches was left in her wake as she galloped with no heading to speak of. Her only direction was “away”.

She had to get away. She had to. Before it caught her.

“Roy G. Biv.” His voice became singsong. “Hmm hmm hmm, roy-yyyy geeeee biv-vvvv. Would you look at all those colors? On your mane, and your tail? It’s like two rainbows. Like, a double rainbow. All the way. Ha ha ha, I’m so funny…”

She did not answer, for she did not dare. Suddenly, she dug her hooves into the dirt, and grinded to an immediate halt. Discord was right there, his serpentine figure leaning against a tree. He pushed off of it, and crouched low, putting his face right next to hers.

“What’s your favorite color?” he hissed.

Her response was instinctive, both terrified and defiant.

“Red!” She spat a globe of crimson blood onto his cheek.

Discord grinned, raising himself again to his full height. A long serpent’s tongue protruded from his mouth, and licked his cheek clean.

“What a coincidence,” he said, smacking his lips. “Mine too.”

In an instant, a huge lion’s paw came crashing down towards Reverie. She had no chance of dodging it. It clipped the side of her head, and sent her spiraling towards the nearest tree. She hit it, and slid down the trunk to the base, leaving a short trail of red. Across her cheek was a trio of ragged gashes.

She did not move from her position at the base of the tree, electing instead to curl into the tightest ball possible as a last, hopeless defense. She was crying freely and loudly.

“Go away!” Reverie shouted. Tears streamed down her face. Her chest heaved with great, labored sobs. “Leave me alone!”

Discord ignored her. “Actually, that isn’t true. Red is only my second favorite color. You know what my favorite color is?”

He was suddenly standing above her, his head right next to her ear.

“Grey.” He snapped his claws. The air around them shimmered ominously. All was still for a moment, before the shivering unicorn’s eyes widened, focusing on an empty spot in the air. She saw something, and immediately lost all control.

Reverie cried deliriously. “NO!! Get it away! Don’t let it touch me!!”

“Hmm. I don’t know.” Discord drew back from her. “Didn’t you just tell me to go away? Maybe I will just leave you alone. You’ve been so polite, after all.”

She sat up, set her back to the tree, and swung ineffectually at the air, repelling visions of ghosts only she could see. “No! Help! Somepony help!” She made heavy, pitiful grunts of effort as she swung her hooves, a mix between screams and sobs.

Discord looked at her, head tilted, claw under his chin.

“Nah.” He turned around, and started walking away.

“Please! Anything!!”

He stopped, and turned around. “What was that?”

“I’ll do anything! Just get it away!”

Discord allowed himself a huge smile. “Excellent.”

He snapped his claws again. Reverie immediately stopped her swinging and sat there, panting with exhaustion. She brought her hooves to her eyes, and softly cried.

“There, there, my little pony.” Discord slid through the air next to her, and patted her on the back.

Reverie gave a small gasp and flinched, shying away from the touch. Even after she had broken the contact, it made her skin crawl, as if it had infected her with something.

“That’s all you needed to say to make it stop. I’ll keep the it away. I only needed an assistant... oh, for a day, we’ll say. A total of twenty-four measly hours. After that, you’re as free as a bird.”

She cried for a while longer, and Discord patiently waited. He gave a small, private smile. He had already won, he could afford to wait.

Eventually, she lifted her hooves away from her eyes. “W-what… what d-do I have to do?”

“You’re going to deliver a message for me,” Discord said, uncharacteristically gentle.

“A… m-message?”

He shrugged. “Among other things.”

Reverie hesitated and looked away, chest still heaving with deep breaths. She spoke without looking back.

“O-okay.” She sniffled, and wiped another tear away.

A wide, wolfish grin spread across Discord’s face. “Good. Very good. Now, hold still. This will help you feel better.”

Discord put a single talon up to her forehead, and pressed hard against it. Reverie felt a chill creep down her entire body, as if she had just been drenched with a bucket of slow-moving ice water. A part of her immediately protested, but it was soon silenced. The sensation felt strange and unnatural, but good, too. Her body ceased to tremble, her wounds stopped bleeding, and her chest moved in smaller and smaller motions until her rate of breathing was back to normal. Eventually, she stood up, all her fear replaced with unfeeling.

“Where?” she asked. Her tone was dreamy and apathetic.

Discords stepped back to admire his handiwork. Reverie, with her rainbow mane and cream colored coat, was one shade greyer. He grinned even wider.

“To Canterlot.”

XVI: Who Banished Fear

Reverie’s head hung against her desk, her body seemed to sag, and her rainbow mane fell in front of her eyes. Her shoulders shrugged up and down as she let out a dark chuckle, and her neck drunkenly swayed back and forth, as if she were not in complete control of it.

Without looking up, the adept put her hooves above her head and began to clop them together in applause, slowly and rhythmically. The sound echoed through the chamber’s oppressive silence.

“Oh yes, Celestia. Well done indeed.”

Her voice was choking and uneven, the usual, pleasant grit of her tone perverted into something that could come from the mouth of no natural pony. It made Celestia’s hair stand on end, and sent shivers through her spine. She realized she was gritting her teeth at simply hearing the horrible voice.

The courtroom remained quiet, as everypony waited for something, anything to happen. Even the guards seemed to be frozen in place. They all knew something was wrong, but nopony seemed to know what. Nopony except for Clover the Clever, who stood across the room, horn glowing readily, and Lucky Break, who stood with switchblade deployed and a broken spear in his mouth, regarding Reverie with the kind of caution and hostility he might show an enemy on the battlefield.

Reverie opened her mouth, and took a deep, rattling breath.

“It does me good to see-”

“No!”

The whole courtroom turned in the direction of Clover the Clever, taking a defiant step towards her student.

“Fight it, Reverie! Fight it! You mustn’t give in!” Her horn was still glowing with a slight, sparkling lavender, not actually performing magic, but ready to at any moment.

Reverie seemed perturbed. Her head remained against the desk, but she began muttering to herself.

“…could you please… I just, would you…”

“We’ve studied this, trained for this! Reverie, you know what’s happening here!” She took another step forward, and stretched forth a beseeching hoof. Regardless of her pleas, however, the rest of her posture suggested she was ready for conflict. Ready for her diplomacy to fail.

Still, not a creature in the room took any sort of action.

“…I just want to… would you just let me say something…?”

“I know you’re in there! Dis-”

Reverie’s eyes suddenly flashed a bright, blood red, and she stood up, planting her hooves firmly on the table. On her face was a contorted, ugly expression of sudden anger.

“You are being very rude!” Her horn took on a sudden glow. It was an unnatural grey, and instead of illuminating the room, it seemed to suck the light out of whatever it shined upon. Without further warning, a jagged lightning bolt of pure energy issued forth from her horn, directed straight towards Clover.

She reacted much quicker than expected, but not quick enough. The bolt arced through the air, and into a thin, magical bubble shield that had did not have long enough to charge. Clover’s ward immediately cracked and, a moment later, shattered in a spectacle that was not unlike breaking glass. Shards of magic hung in the air for a moment before disappearing. Clover’s frail body had been flung across the room, into the Zebrican diplomat’s table.

The courtroom was once again silent, as everybody looked wide-eyed at the weak, stirring body of Clover the Clever.

Reverie sat back in her seat, this time assuming a very rigid, proper posture.

“Well would you look at that? I’d say the body count has risen drastically in the past few minutes. Seconds, actually. But we can do better, can’t we?”

Every head turned back towards her. All around were dark expressions of recognition, anger, and, most predominately, fear. They suddenly knew what they were dealing with.

“Can’t we?”

As if someone had sounded a trumpet and signaled an attack, nearly every single soldier in the room charged towards the creature that was not Reverie. Spears were raised, swords were drawn, claws were brandished, and battle cries were yelled, as the elite warriors of every species rushed forward. In the same beat, as though a twin trumpet of retreat had been blown, all the spectators and all the diplomats got up at once, and began rushing toward the doors.

The creature that was not Reverie smiled.

She had just enough time to rise to her hooves, remove her mage’s cloak, and draw a dagger before they reached her. What was supposed to be a rainbow of reds and yellows behind a twinkling star for her cutie mark was a dulled-out grey, the same as the rest of her coat.

A griffon closed the distance first, diving towards her with outstretched metal claws, and yelling with the distinctive cross between a lion’s roar and an eagle’s shriek. She spun around, grabbed her chair, and brought it back with both hooves, swinging it with unnatural force and smashing it hard into his face. The blow knocked him sideways and sent him spiraling to the floor. The wooden chair exploded into pieces, along with the griffon’s beak. He rolled on the ground, screaming and clutching at his face.

A zebra brayed as it reached Reverie next, closely followed by a pony of the Royal Guard. The zebra swung a curved sickle blade in a wide arc, and missed only barely, leaving herself open for a stab from Reverie’s dagger, aimed for the gaps in between her ironwood armor. She did not relent, and swung again. This time, Reverie quickly withdrew her weapon and grabbed the zebra’s hoof, twisting it so that she released the sickle-sword, letting it fly into the air. While still disabled, Reverie rolled to the other side of her body and pushed, presenting her captor as a meat shield and blocking the oncoming spear of a Royal Guard. The pegasus stared wide-eyed at the end of his weapon, before the two of them were knocked back by a burst of magic.

“I can do this all day, but we really- Oops!”

She jumped back as one of the donkeys clad in black came down with an overhead swipe, and jumped forward again as Apple Crumble landed from an aerial dive, pounding a crack into the marble behind her and shouting a with powerful battle cry. He had no weapons, but seemed even fiercer because of it. Farther off, a unicorn from the royal guard began firing off spells, short, precise bursts of fire. Elsewhere, she felt another unicorn mage tugging at her limbs with telekinesis, unable to completely grab her, but making her movements more sluggish nonetheless.

A distinct crack rang through the air; the strange, tall creature that had followed Cotton in was pointing some sort of metal device towards Reverie. Grey smoke rose from the end of it. He put a hand on the railing, and jumped away from the stands and onto the diplomat’s floor, his faded green trench coat fluttering behind him as he did so. The fight went on as he circled around, trying to get a clear angle on his target.

Celestia’s limbs slowly worked themselves backwards, not towards a door, but simply away from the creature that was not Reverie. Eventually, she bumped into wall, and barely seemed to notice it. Her eyes were fixated on the Adept.

A wave of confused, almost unnatural emotions coursed through her, making her dizzy with fatigue. She felt unbreakable fascination, as she watched not-Reverie’s nimble movements. The confident mage had become a veritable monster; her face was fixed into a beastly, smiling snarl as she blocked blows, broke limbs, and swiped her dagger at the numerous foes around her.

Celestia also felt fear, which she supposed was normal, given the circumstance. She looked towards the exits, watching the diplomats as they clamored away from the scene. Or, at least, as they tried to get away. The doors seemed to be magically sealed shut, and no amount of pushing would open them.

Above all, however, there was one emotion that ran through her like hot blood, setting her eyes ablaze, urging her forward to go and fight, were there any room for her. It was not so dissimilar from what she had just been feeling, the same thing that had made her... choke… Princess Obsidian…

She wheeled around and looked behind her.

“Princess!” Her cry was lost in the chaos. She galloped to the body, fell to her haunches, and examined her, setting a hoof gently against her neck.

There was a pulse.

She felt a wave of relief, followed very closely by remorse. This was not like beating soldiers in the dueling ring, nor was it even like being beat. Trainees were hurt all the time in the barracks. Even in cases like her own, where she had been beaten, broken, rendered unconscious and nearly crippled; the best could only be forged in the crucible of training, and the heat of battle. To have a few get injured along the way was to be expected. If their weapon had to be burned in the smith’s forge to be made sharper, so be it.

But this… assaulting a royal on the floor of debate… It was undoubtedly different, and it was almost more than Celestia could bear. Ponies hardly sympathized with her to begin with. Who then would they sympathize with when judgment would be passed? Her, or the pony she had nearly choked to death? There would undoubtedly be a price to pay.

Celestia’s anger had been so utterly complete, it had felt like there was no other choice. Had the princess even deserved it? What had come over her?

She was not given long to wonder about it. Out of the corner of her eye, Celestia glanced something of far greater importance than her own worry.

“Cotton!” She immediately sprang over the princess’s body, and next to Cotton, who was on her side, all four hooves splayed limply on the floor.

“Cotton…” She fell to her haunches and got low to the floor, urgently shaking her friend. She bit her lip, tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

There was no response.

She put a hoof up to Cotton’s neck, pushing firmly and feeling for a pulse.

She felt none.

“It’s going to be okay, please, please let it be okay…” Celestia gingerly tucked her hooves under Cotton’s unmoving form, and brought her up, pushing against her back with one hoof, and cradling her head with the other. The pink and purple curls of her mane bounced as her head rolled limply in Celestia’s arms. Her mouth was parted, just a bit, and her eyes were closed.

“Please be okay, please be okay…” Celestia murmured to Cotton, pleading, repeating the words over and over. “Please be okay.” She brushed her own mane out of the way, and put an ear to Cotton’s chest, closing her eyes. “Please be okay.”

There was silence. She listened harder.

Thump, thump.

Her own heart skipped a beat. It was faint, but it was there, a soft but steady heartbeat, weakly insistent that its owner was still alive.

Celestia let out a happy gasp, wrapping her arms around Cotton’s form and holding her close. A weak voice came from above her head.

“Celly…?”

“Cotton!” Celestia drew her head back. Cotton’s eyes flickered open, and were held at a tired squint.

“What’s going…” She trailed off. Her voice was weak and scratchy, but for all its quietness, it was the only thing in the room Celestia could hear.

Cotton weakly scowled. Her eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the ferocious yelling and violent bursts of light and sound. Whether or not she could, Celestia was unsure.

Her eyes returned to Celestia.

“…D-did you meet Coffee, yet?” she quietly asked.

No, she probably had no idea what was happening.

“Not yet. Listen to me, Cotton,” Celestia said urgently, sniffling and wiping away some of the moisture in her eyes, “Just keep your head down, okay? Everything will be alright.”

Cotton just stared at her for a moment with a blank expression. “Okay,” she absently agreed.

Satisfied, Celestia nodded, and dared to take a moment to glance back. She immediately wished she had not. Sailing through the air towards her the massive body of a griffon soldier, its back facing towards them, armor spikes glinting in the courtroom light. They only had a moment before it hit them.

She turned back towards Cotton, pulled her tight and spread her wings, encompassing her in a protective, albeit flimsy barrier. Her teeth were grit and her eyes shut, bracing for the impact.

There was a grunt of exertion, and Celestia flinched as she heard a massive collision only a few feet away.

Seconds passed, and Celestia cautiously opened her eyes. Next to her lay the body of a griffon. Next to that was Lucky Break, freeing himself from a midair tackle, pushing away from the griffon and bringing himself to his hooves.

Celestia opened her mouth, but he spoke before her.

“They managed to get that door open.” He motioned to a side of the room, where diplomats and citizens alike were crowded, clamoring for a small, single door exit.

“Go.”

He started towards the fight, where Reverie was beginning to look tired. In the brief time it had been going on, Lucky had found a second switchblade, which he attached to his left hoof, and a spear, which he carried in his mouth.

“What about Cotton?” Celestia called after him. “And the princess?”

He paused.

“Be quick about it.”

He took off. Celestia looked after him only briefly, before looking back at Cotton. It seemed she was again unconscious. Celestia exhaled, and gently wrapped her arms around Cotton’s. Once Celestia was sure she was secure, she began dragging her towards the exit. It was fairly easy – Cotton did not seem weigh very much. More difficult was navigating the frenzied crowd, scrambling and pushing towards the single exit, each creature fleeing for their own self. Some fights even broke out between them, making the whole process take that much longer. Celestia hoisted Cotton up onto her back, her legs drooping across either side of her, and while she was easy to carry, it did not seem to help much. With her free hooves, she returned to Princess Obsidian, and began dragging her towards the crowded exit as well.

On the other side of the room, Reverie was still fighting, completely surrounded in a corner on the diplomat’s floor. She ducked, dodged, and weaved in between attacks, lashing out with her own when she could. She was not given the opportunity to attack very often, but when she was, the results were devastating. Even so, eventually, it was all she could do to summon a thick, magical shield to block attacks coming in from every angle, from every type of combatant.

“Enough!”

Reverie folded herself into a tight ball, and there was a brief but intense silence, like a second-long calm before a storm. Motion everywhere seemed to slow, and the lull in noise was conspicuously encompassing. Then, without further warning, Reverie flung her limbs outward, her body extending in every direction. A huge burst of kinetic energy blasted out in a full circle radius around her, completely stopping the attacks and knocking her assailants away. Every one of them tumbled to the ground, dazed, confused, and some, unmoving.

The blast toppled some of the escaping diplomats. Celestia was able to keep her balance, though she was forced to adjust Cotton on her back, slightly propping up her wings to prevent her from falling off.

Reverie was in the center of the courtroom, hovering half a foot off the ground, enveloped by grey magic. Below her, the marble tile bore a spider web of cracks that was slightly larger than the size of her body.

“Tsk, tsk. All I need is for you to listen.” Her hooves slowly returned to the ground. A sly smile took to her face. “Afterwards, I promise you can hurt me as much as you-”

“Shut up!”

A spear came hurling through the air, straight towards Reverie’s forehead. With no time to spare, she ducked out of the way. The spearhead caught the very fringe of her mane, shaving a few strands of red and orange hair away, but did not connect with her skin.

Across the room was Lucky, recovering from the motion of a powerful javelin throw. The debris in his coat was telling; he had indeed been knocked back by Reverie’s sudden sphere of force. Nevertheless, he seemed to have recovered extraordinarily quickly, and was already picking up a second spear nearby, winding up to hurl it as well.

She smiled. “Well, well, mister Lucky Break. I’ve been meaning to talk-”

A second spear came her way. Her eyes widened, and she deflected it with a second burst of magic, sending it ricocheting off of the marble wall behind her. She turned back, and growled.

“Not in the talking mood?”

Lucky had already retrieved another weapon, an abandoned crossbow with a bolt still in the chamber. Reverie gave a delirious chuckle, face still contorted into a tight scowl.

She spoke through a gritting smile. “I suppose I should have figured.”

He steadied the crossbow with both arms, and fired. Reverie acted immediately, magically pulling an overturned table in front of her, the largest and widest in the room. The bolt caught the wood, arrowhead digging deep and shaft quivering as it came to a halt. Without pause, she telekinetically propelled the makeshift shield towards Lucky, sending it forward with alarming speed.

There was no dodging it. The table dully scraped against the stone floor, crossing the room in mere fractions of a moment. Lucky’s eyes narrowed. A moment was all he needed.

He charged, jumped, thrust his shoulder forward, and collided with the wood in a full-bodied blitz.

The table shattered into pieces.

Reverie watched as Lucky burst through her attack, sailing a foot off of the ground, his stalwart bull rush framed by the jagged halves of the table, plus a halo of smaller chunks and splintering fragments. Splinters dug everywhere into the front of his coat, especially on the right side, where a shallow laceration had been torn into his shoulder. His face was scrunched, his eyes closed, and the crossbow was still in his hooves. Nevertheless, he landed on the other side with surprising grace, and kept charging.

“No wonder they call you the Bre-eeaouch!”

Lucky had thrown the crossbow at Reverie, and it had hit her in the cheek. She staggered back, grasping her face.

“You ponies never let me finish my-” She began to turn her head back, and was met on a sharp pain on the other side of her face. Lucky had swung a hoof and punched her hard in the jaw.

She recoiled quicker, this time, and jumped away from him.

“You’ll have to try better than that,” he said, deploying his switchblades and swiping with both of them, “if you want to beat me!”

She dodged away, laughing at some joke only she could hear. “Indeed. What on earth could defeat such a mighty warrior?”

Lucky leapt forward, thrusting forward with the thick, lethal blade at the end of his hoof, and again, and again. Reverie dodged them all.

“Tables? Chairs?”

Her horn glowed with that odd, grey light, and a cluster of levitating furniture sped towards him. Lucky jumped and contorted his body to fit into a space between them, allowing them all to pass. As he returned to the ground, he grabbed the last chair to pass by and yanked it back, redirecting it towards Reverie. It was slowed and weakened by a thin magical shield, but the momentum was enough to carry it through, and shatter the chair legs against her side. She gave an animalistic growl, but did not fall.

“Perhaps a sword?” Reverie growled.

She stepped back, dropped her dagger, and picked up a sword from off the ground, grabbing it with her magic and letting it float in midair. Lucky reacted immediately, effortlessly flipping a sword off the ground and into his teeth. The Adept’s blade flew in a pronounced, vertical strike, which he easily blocked, knocking it away with his own. It flew back around, and came at him from another angle, but he blocked it as well. Lucky scowled; only the greenest of unicorn war mages thought wielding a sword through levitation to be a good idea. It had its merits, and when performed properly, it could be a powerful technique when used by a veteran, but generally, the strokes were too pronounced, and followed through too sluggishly. Blocking a levitated sword was just as difficult as blocking a normal one, but if done successfully, the wielder was often left wide open.

Some of the warriors still able to fight began to rise, retrieving their weapons, shaking out the last of their disorientation, and looking for the mare that knocked them back. Sweat formed on Reverie’s brow. Her movements were becoming more sluggish, her reactions slower. Lucky knew that even if he did not gain the upper hand, his fellow soldiers undoubtedly would.

Regardless, just as predicted, Reverie took a swing too large, and left herself wide open. He parried the blow and took a forward swipe, cutting deeply across one of her forelegs. She stumbled forward. In the same motion, Lucky turned his whole body, reared back, and sent a hugely powerful bucking kick in her direction. She practically fell into it as his hooves connected the side of her head. Her head jerked violently back at the impact, and her whole body was swept off the ground, corkscrewing through the air, landing and tumbling across the floor a few feet away.

Lucky immediately jumped on top her, pinned her hard against the ground, and held a deployed switchblade to her throat.

He breathed heavily, his orange mane drifting in front of his eyes. He flicked it aside, and looked at the mare beneath him, who stared blankly away. He said nothing, simply waiting for a reaction. It took a few moments before she did anything, but gradually, her eyes fixated on something, and a slow smile took to her face.

Quietly, she was giggling.

Lucky was absolutely infuriated.

“Grrraahhh!” He pressed firmly against the unicorn’s leg wound, ruthlessly crushing it beneath his hoof. The fur around his hoof was stained a dark red.

The giggling only seemed to get louder, becoming a mix between a scream of pain, and a laugh of insane joy.

“Aaaahhhhouuuch! The pain! Heheheheh, the pain!”

“You’ve lost!” Lucky shouted.

“Aahhhhh! Ahahahaha!” The manic laughter did not cease. “Oh! Ohohoho! That hurts, Commander! Even she can feel that underneath!”

“Shut up!” He pressed harder.

“Aaaaaaouch! Ah, Commander, you’re scaring her! Heheheheh! Will he do it, will he do it? Who knows, my little pony?!”

Lucky’s furious snarl seemed to lessen by degrees. The lunatic scream seemed to unnerve him. He hesitated, and let up a little, but did not release her, and neither did he withdraw the blade at her throat. She did not even seem to notice.

“Hah! Hahahaha! So, like I was saying, how do you defeat such a great warrior? Heh heh. Certainly not with a sword. Oh no. What folly. What folly… but I’ve got a different weapon. I think… I think this one will work. It’s worked before.”

He growled, and pushed his blade in closer to her neck, threatening to strike.

“Do not think I won’t do it,” he threatened. She ignored him.

“How do you defeat such a great warrior?” Reverie’s voice came to a whisper, wavering with insanity. “Easy. You give him a choice.”

Lucky’s eyes widened, and he took a sharp breath. His ear gave a nearly imperceptible twitch, followed by a spasm in his cheek.

Many things happened at once.

The world seemed to slow as he jumped off of Reverie, and dove towards a dagger on the ground, the one she had dropped moments before. He retrieved it, and tumbled sideways to right his stance. Coming to his hooves, he brought the blade up, ready to throw it.

A few feet away, Reverie’s body vanished in a flash of grey.

Lucky spun the blade in his hoof, and threw it with all his might, letting it fly across the room. The metal glinted in the dreary courtroom light as it sailed directly towards Cotton Cake, still lying limply across Celestia’s back.

Celestia was still trying to maneuver through the crowd when it happened. She felt a sudden force at her side, shoving her to the floor. Still dead to the world, Cotton fell off of her back without protest. Princess Obsidian was similarly still, arms falling limply to the floor as Celestia was forced to release them. Still knocked prone, Celestia did not see what happened next.

Coming from beside her was the sickening sound of punctured flesh, followed by a cry of pain. Celestia rose to her hooves to see Cotton Cake, firmly locked in place by Reverie, who was standing on two hind legs and had an arm pressing hard against Cotton’s neck, putting Cotton’s body in between herself and Lucky.

Celestia gasped as her eyes followed a crimson trail up Cotton’s cyan coat; at the head of it, buried deep in her shoulder, was a steel dagger.

“Oooo, not half bad, Lucky, ol’ pal!” Reverie sneered. “That talent of yours always did amaze me! The second I thought it, whoosh, there you were, heroically throwing a dagger at where you knew I would be!”

Lucky stood on the other side of the room, speechless. His arm was still stretched out from where the blade had left his hoof, hovering motionless in the air.

“It must be great for staying alive, huh? Except, well, it never turns out well for your friends, does it?” Reverie’s head swiveled, looking around to see if anyone was listening. She then leaned forward, past her hostage’s head, and mock whispered to Lucky.

“This time, you stabbed a seventeen-year-old filly in the shoulder,” she said in a loud, raspy mock-whisper, nodding at him.

Lucky did not respond, except to let his hoof down. He stood there, shifting around in a half-hearted battle stance. His expression was a mixture between shocked and furious, but most notably of all, he did not seem like he knew what to do. Celestia had never, ever seen the stallion without a measure of confidence – he always had a plan, and always knew how to execute it. Now, he simply looked lost.

Beneath Reverie’s vice grip, Cotton was softly whimpering. Her eyes strayed downwards, looking at the dagger embedded in her shoulder.

“Your town ‘hero’ just stuck you with a knife, dear,” Reverie whispered into Cotton’s ear. “Be sure to thank him for that later.”

Reverie threw her head back, and laughed. “Haha! In any case, thank you for the weapon, Commander.” She extended her reach over to Cotton’s shoulder, nudging the hilt of the dagger. “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow it for a moment.”

With a sudden motion, Reverie mercilessly wrenched the blade out of Cotton’s shoulder, making an arc of blood trail through the air. Cotton cried out in shrill protest. Though she tried to suppress it, through her whimpers and hyperventilation, she let out stifled sobs of pain, allowing tears of anguish to roll down her cheeks.

“Oh, hush now, my dear,” Reverie gently crooned, patting the bottom of Cotton’s chin. “Put on a brave face for the crowd, won’t you…?”

Reverie raised the steel to her throat, and began shuffling away from Celestia, and the onlooking crowd of soldiers and diplomats, towards the back end of the courtroom. She motioned for Lucky to do the same.

Grudgingly, expression still locked with indecision, he mirrored her movements, strafing to keep a safe distance from her, though still looking just as lost. Both of them had to dodge around the unmoving bodies of downed soldiers strewn across the floor.

The wound on Cotton’s shoulder was bleeding profusely now, with the dagger dislodged. A pool of smearing blood formed wherever Reverie walked, coming from both Cotton, and her own leg wound.

Eventually, she had circled around far enough to face them, and Lucky had taken a place beside Celestia. Cotton’s head bobbed around unstably, but whenever it fell too far forward, Reverie would push it back up, exposing her neck to the dagger. Celestia looked towards them, feeling in much the same way that Lucky looked: lost, confused, and unsure of what to do.

Cotton’s eyes darted around, and finally came to rest on her. They were full of concern, not for herself, but for Celestia.

“Reverie!” Celestia suddenly cried. “What’s wrong? Why are you doing this?!”

Reverie stopped. “What’s wrong?” She looked around, as if to ask somepony else to confirm what she had heard. “What’s wrong?” Her face was fearful, and her gaze returned to Celestia.

“I’ve just been having an off day.”

Celestia blinked. Her voice had suddenly lost its chaotic, unpleasant timbre.

“Yeah, I’ve just been having problems, you know? I was the youngest Adept, but now I’m the only Adept, and Clover the Clever just expects so much of me! It’s hard, you know? Plus, my coltfriend just dumped me because I’m so ugly, and I’ve been struggling with all these emotions, and…”

She paused. Her sad façade seemed to crack as she bit her lower lip.

“…and I don’t know if I can ever find a love like him again, because he was just… he was just so…”

Her cheeks puffed out, and her eyes squinted. Finally, she burst into laughter.

“Hahaha! No, okay, no, I can’t do it, I’m sorry! It’s just too much! You ponies and your stupid little problems!” She struggled to speak, intermittently letting the laughter break up her words. She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Ahhh… Celestia? Don’t you know?”

Celestia just stared at her blankly.

“No? Oh, bother, you’re dumber than you look. Let’s hope your will is stronger than your intellect, otherwise this’ll be just completely boring! Let’s hope it’s stronger than this little mare’s, anyways. Oh, Reverie thought she was tough, but push the right buttons…”

Reverie shook her head. “It’s amazing what fillyhood fears will do to even an adult. She had a sister, you know, briefly. Reverie did. She was so excited to have a new little sister, it was all she wanted for so long. But when mommy gave birth, poor widdle baby had a defect; the rainbow mane that ran in both sides of the family was completely greyscale. Grey! Can you believe my luck?”

She chuckled, greater laughter seeming to burst at the seams. “The grey wasn’t just unsightly though; it was indicative of a disease. Soon enough, poor baby died. And you know what Reverie here took away from that? A fear of the color grey. Hahaha! Can you believe that?” Reverie’s shoulders heaved as she laughed insanely. “Oh, she grew up, she moved on, but in the back of her mind, the color grey always made her cringe. Did you know she didn’t like looking at you, Lucky? She subconsciously avoided you for that reason, when she served in the Battalion. Not because you are a famous jerk, though, I’m sure she didn’t forget that either.”

Lucky made no move to react, only staring with forlorn eyes.

“Hahaha… a childish fear of the color grey. I don’t think I could’ve asked for an opportunity greater. Oh, but enough riddles. Celestia, my dear, you offend me. You could at least call me by my proper name!” She waited, and watched as Celestia just stared.

“No? Nothing? I certainly remember you. C’mon, filly, it’s your old pal Discord!”

A bolt of hot lightning seared through her head, and a ringing filled her ears. She put a hoof to her temple, and closed her eyes in pain.

Discord. Hatred.

He was in a twisted version of Reverie’s body, he spoke with a twisted version of Reverie’s voice, but this was undoubtedly the Mad God himself.

“Oh, yes, now you remember. I can see it on your face.” Discord frowned. “You know what else I see? You, Lucky, reaching for that crossbow.” He shook Reverie’s head. “That’s a bad idea, and let me tell you why.”

“Just stop!” Celestia suddenly cried, opening her eyes and stomping her hoof down.

“Oh, good idea!” Reverie’s horn glowed, and across the room, in front of the rioting crowd, the single exit door once again closed. Judging by the panicked cries of those at the front of the crowd, it would not reopen. “There. Now I have a… heh, a captive audience.”

Only about half the crowd, both spectators and diplomats, had been able to escape. The rest all turned back to face Discord.

His voice, Reverie’s voice, became loud enough for everybody to hear. “Now, let me tell you why you should all just shut up and pay attention. First off, if you don’t, this mare will die. I assure you, she won’t look so adorable when her entrails have become her extrails.”

He pulled Cotton tighter and brandished his dagger, as if to accentuate his point. Celestia cried out in protest, but was silenced by a warning look from Discord.

“Second, I know some of you are charging banishment spells. Let me tell you that, one, you have poor taste, if you don’t care that such a cute little unicorn dies in the process, and two, you have poor taste if you don’t care that my messenger here will die as well. She is quite beautiful as well, you know, even without the addition of my ravishing charms. That’s why I’m going to release her as soon as I’m done delivering my message. See, I’m not so bad, right?” He waited for a moment, even though it was obvious nobody would respond.

“Oh, and one more thing, just in case any of you are still feeling heroic: a few blocks away, there is a hospital. Canterlot General. I’m sure you are all familiar with it.”

Discord gave a wide smile. “It’s a wonderful building, isn’t it? Let’s be honest, though. It’s a bit on the bland side. All that boring white stone. And that purple accent? Puh-lease! I think it could use some sprucing up, and, well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell any of you that my creativity can be quite… explosive.”

He giggled at the subdued murmurs of his audience. “Yes, I’ve taken the liberty of placing some cannon compression at the base of the hospital’s foundation. To the tune of one-hundred cannons’ worth. Or was it one-thousand?”

The crowd seemed to take a collective gasp, frightfully talking amongst themselves.

Discord shrugged. “You all get the picture. Now, like I said, I think some remodeling is in order, but if you ponies insist… I can leave well enough alone. But!” he added, brandishing his weapon towards them, “If any of you so much as sneezes out of place, well… my opinion is easily swayed, when it comes to redecoration.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “And don’t any of you silly unicorns try to send any telepathic messages to the outside. If I sense anypony trying to neutralize the compression, I’ll blow it before they can do anything about it. If it comes to that, I assure you, the morgue will receive the remains of a thousand dead ponies in a thousand tiny matchboxes. If their remains can be found at all.”

He fell silent, still brandishing the dagger at Cotton’s throat. Her struggle, injured and bleeding as she was, was minimal. Still, despite her still present blood loss, she clung to consciousness.

The crowd began to murmur, collectively pressed against the far wall, huddling to get as far away from the demon as they possibly could. The only creatures that stood out were Celestia, Lucky, and the immobile soldiers scattered on the floor around them. It was at this point that Celstia could see that some of them were dead. Her eyes found Apple Crumble, lying motionless against one wall. From this distance, and with his red coat, it was impossible to tell if he was bleeding, and if so, where.

There was one other creature that stood out, as well.

“Discord! What do you want?”

The voice was not afraid, but rather defiant. Celestia looked behind her. Towering above most others in the room was the creature that had walked in with Cotton. Its accent did not throw Celestia off, but she was surprised that it spoke in the first place. Its timbre, and perhaps even its size, seemed to indicate that it was, in fact, male. He pointed a device downrange, holding it steadily in line with one opened eye. Celestia could only guess at its design. It almost looked like a miniaturized cannon; was it some sort of ranged weapon?

“Ah! Joseph! So glad you could make it!” Discord seemed genuinely pleased. “You look well!” He bobbed his head to the sides. “Eh, well, sort of. Ah, who am I kidding? You look pretty bad, to be honest, and…” He sniffed the air. “And you smell like stinking horse. Mixed with grease, of course. But some things never change, do they?”

“What do you want?” he repeated emphatically. There was a tiny, metallic click as he moved his thumb across a lever on his weapon.

Discord nonchalantly motioned to the gun. “You did hear what I said about the whole… killing this innocent mare. You heard that, right? Did I stutter? Oh, I’m not very good with words, maybe I can just teach by example-”

“Don’t touch her!” Joseph yelled. Discord raised an eyebrow towards him, and he put his hands up, weapon dangling loosely on his finger. “Okay, I’m… I’m putting it down.”

“No.” Discord shook his head. “Better idea. Throw it over here.” He motioned with a hoof, flicking towards himself. “Yeah. C’mon.”

Joseph looked ruefully at the device, and then crouched low, sliding it across the marble floor. When it was close enough, Discord levitated it the rest of the way, making it hover next to him.

“You already know what I want, ol’ Joe. Or is it Coffee, now? Funny mistranslation, that.”

Celestia did a double take. This was Coffee?

“But you already know what I want. I already told you.” Discord shrugged innocently, and shook his head. “I just want to deliver a message, that’s all. I just want to talk. Now, I originally wanted to talk to her,” he said, pointing to Celestia, “but you can go first, if you’re so eager.”

Discord looked towards the device, and smirked. “This gun. The .44 magnum, if I am not mistaken. The most powerful handgun in the world…” He looked at Joseph, and pointed. “Is this that very same one?”

Joseph remained silent, his expression dark.

“It is, isn’t it? Oh, that’s wonderful, Joe! I can’t believe you held onto it after all this time! Oh, the memories! Good times, goo-ooooood times. I’ll bet you can’t wait to show it off to all your engineer buddies. ‘The God of Chaos held this very gun… twice!’ you can say.

“Oh wait…” He paused. “You don’t have any engineer friends. Well, I’m sure it would go well in a museum, even if it is just strangers appreciating it… oh wait, there’s none of those either. That’s okay, you can always just tell your wife- Oh, man, hang on. Did I kill her too?”

Joseph’s expression grew even darker, staring unflinchingly into Discord’s eyes. Nevertheless, he held his peace.

“Wwwowzers! Dear Concordia, I’m ruthless! I’m sorry, Joe. Real sorry. That’s a tough bit of luck, right there. Here, how’s about I tell you a bit of good news? Huh? Will that lighten you up?”

Discord looked at the gun, magically opening the chamber and checking the ammunition. “Two bullets. That’ll do.” He flipped it closed again. “The good news is: the Arch-Mage’s deal expired just a few weeks ago!”

Joseph’s eyes widened. “A few… weeks…?” he muttered incredulously.

“Which means we can do this!” He took the revolver, spun the chamber against Cotton’s head, and pressed the barrel to her temple. “Roulette! Remember? Just like old times. Only this time, just to switch it up a bit, I’ll let you choose who plays. You,” he motioned to Joseph, “or her?” He motioned to Cotton.

Joseph froze up, and began to breathe heavily. “What do you mean, a few weeks?”

“C’mon, Joe, who’s it gonna be?” Discord asked excitedly.

“What do you mean, a few weeks?”

Discord ignored him. “Tick tock, Coffee-boy, I’ll just shoot both of you if you don’t-”

“If you touch her, I will not rest until I’ve ended your miserable existence!”

“Do you mean more than I already am?” He craned his head over Cotton’s shoulder and looked down at her front, as if to double-check. “I’m kind of already touching her, Joe-bro.”

Joseph’s shoulders heaved as he panted, face red with rage.

Discord squinted at him. He rolled the gun noncommittally in the air. “So that means…”

“Me, dammit! Me!”

Discord smiled. “Well alright then.” He directed the gun towards Joseph. “That’s quite the devotion you have there. Do I sense a zesty, cross-species romance?”

Joseph yelled in a foreign tongue, presumably his own. The words were not kind.

“Language, Joseph, language! I’m not one to judge. Love will find a way, and all that.”

“Shut your mouth, demon!”

He guffawed. “Oh calm down, I’m only kidding! And don’t be such a coward, stop with the shaking. Or wait… is that fear, or resentment? Eh, doesn’t matter. Its two to four, the odds are in your favor.”

He pulled the trigger. The hammer drew back, the chamber revolved, and the only result was a tiny metallic click. Joseph let out a held breath, relaxing his clenched fists.

Discord raised an eyebrow at the weapon.

“Your gun’s broken, Joe.”

He pulled the trigger again.

There was a click, a bang, and a bright yellow flash. Celestia flinched, ducking away, as did the rest of the crowd. Her ears screamed in protest, synchronous with the ringing that was already there. If lightning had struck only yards away, the thunder would have been no louder than the deafening crack of the device.

When she dared to look back up, the creature was lying back to the ground, a bleeding wound in the center of his chest. He did not make any movements.

“Or not.” Discord sighed, and shrugged. “Pity. And thus ends the hieyumanite legacy.”

Celestia’s body buzzed with shock and aggression. Another being had just been murdered in cold blood, right in front of her eyes. It had been a strange, foreign creature, but living and speaking and thinking nonetheless. He had a soul, and her body and mind seemed to know it. Adrenaline pumped through her system, and between the choices of fight or flight, the response was undoubtedly fight.

At the sound of the gunshot, Cotton’s head had flicked up, and her eyes fluttered, but she still did not seem to take note of the events around her. Just as quickly, she fell limp again.

A pony that Celestia recognized as Red Cross rushed up to the fallen hieyuman, and performed a speedy examination. He quickly began first aid, ripping a strip of cloth off of his own white coat and getting somepony else to press against the wound. From out of a coat pocket, he retrieved some tools, most noticeably a pair of long pliers, and began to work with the injury, his horn glowing intermittently as his hooves dug around the flesh.

Across the room, Discord was shifting around with his hostage, reminded of her injury, which still bled profusely. “Oh no, my dear, can’t have you bleeding out…”

Cotton’s wound was enveloped in a swathe of grey magic. When it faded, she was no longer bleeding, but there was in place a large, ugly scar, just under her right shoulder, between her arm and her ribs.

Eventually, Discord continued. “I suppose I’d better get on with it, huh? Don’t have long until one of you just snaps!” A few ponies jumped at the sudden syllable. He laughed. “Ahahaha! Ahhh, pardon me. Let’s see, how do I begin… Well, first off, thank you all for coming, it’s a pleasure to be here today.”

Discord waved with a free hoof. Nobody responded.

“Now, I’m not so different from all of you. Griffons, hounds, zebras, ponies, and you ugly little sub-pony things. I came to see the alicorn.” He pointed at random individuals in the crowd, moving his hoof on each syllable. “Just. Like. You.

“But I thought, you know, since I’m here, I might as well… make an entrance.” Discord swept an arm to the side, and bowed the best he could while still keeping Cotton restrained.

“And, again, since I’m here, and since you have been such generous hosts, I hope you’ll forgive me if I spout some facts at you. You see, it’s just that those war reports of yours, they are… well, they’re no good. I was listening in, and it just bugged me, you know? You ponies are supposed to be the particular ones! You shouldn’t need me to put you in your place when it comes to facts and figures!”

He shook his head. “Disappointing. You see, the problem is, you pathetic creatures think you are winning. Winning! I know, that’s crazy, right?”

He waited for someone to speak. Lacking any other reaction, he grabbed Cotton’s head, and forced it to nod up and down. “Crazy,” Discord muttered out of the corner of his mouth in a mock female voice. Cotton merely moaned.

“Would you just let her go?” Lucky suddenly shouted. “You have your bombs, there’s no reason to keep a hostage!”

Discord paused, casting Lucky a strange look. “Oh, but there is,” he hissed. “See, I am aware that some ponies in this room think I’m bluffing about that. I can see that you think that, Lucky Break. I’ll tell you now, I’m not, but keeping little Miss Cake here gives me some insurance. Besides, even for those that believe me, this makes the threat tangible, credible. Makes it more real, you know, for those ponies that learn hooves-on.”

He gave a small smile. “Besides, it’s nice, a bit of closeness every now and again. Little Cotton here is just so easy to love.” He pulled Cotton’s head close and gave her a huge, dramatic kiss on the cheek, smacking his lips as he drew away and looking at Celestia the whole time. Cotton could do nothing in protest. Lucky gave a low growl, but it was no fiercer than Celestia’s, who nearly roared with rage behind clenched teeth.

“Ahaha! And it’s too fun to watch your reactions! You ponies, you’re so easy to provoke!” Discord guffawed. Eventually, his laughter came to a contented sigh.

“So, back on topic. You think you’re winning, and even Cotton agrees, that’s just crazy. Let’s fix this little problem, shall we?” He cleared his throat, as if in preparation for a great speech.

“My army is steamrolling your army.”

He paused. “Steamrolling. That’s a hieyuman term. And they’re all dead, so that’s no good. Hmm. What’s a better word… crushing! Yes, crushing.”

He cleared his throat a second time. “My army is crushing your army!” he boldly declared. “We may be at a stalemate for now, but ask yourselves: how long until checkmate? My hordes grow day by day, increasing by the thousands. For every fallen sinisteed, two more appear to take its place. Youngling manticores join the ranks daily, timberwolves are summoned from the chaos-choked forests. Minotaurs are… well, to be honest, minotaurs breed fairly slowly. But you can’t seem to kill them anyways.” He shrugged.

“Meanwhile, somewhere in Equestria, a foal is born. He or she learns how to be a proper pony. They are taught how to farm, bake, sew, control weather, and the like. They are taught all about harmony, how to pray, who to pray to, what to pray for. Sixteen years later, they are permitted to join the army, if they so choose. Two years after that, they are drafted. Three months later, the still green recruit is sent off to the frontlines. One week later, they enter a real battle, maybe one of those impossible defenses you ponies so like to partake in. At that point, all the prayers in the world will not prevent their death.

“Elsewhere, in Aquileos, a griffon is born. He or she is taught how to be a proper griffon, is taught how to track, how to hunt, how to kill, how to properly gut the meat of their prey. They are taught to bring honor to their family. Thirteen years later, they are required to join the army, and they do so gladly. Three months later, the recruit is sent off to combat. His or her upbringing served them well. It’s maybe…” Discord bobbed Reverie’s head back and forth. “Two or three weeks later before they bite off more than they can chew. At that point, all the hunting experience in the world will not prevent their death.

“In the Southern Deserts, a filthy, disgusting, sub-pony donkey thing is spawned…”

“Your soldiers are weak!” Lucky Break stepped forward, a defiant snarl on his lips. “One of your feeble sinisteeds would never match up to a true soldier!”

“Oh! Commander, I didn’t even see you there!” Discord said. “I certainly agree with you. A sinisteed regular would be no match for you. Even their chance against a fresh recruit is questionable. But think, mister military strategist, think of the numbers…”

“Numbers don’t win a battle.”

“No,” Discord replied. “Fear wins a battle. Doesn’t it, Commander?”

Celestia thought she saw Lucky’s composure falter, but if it did, he recovered quickly.

“Fear is the enemy of will,” Lucky muttered. “I do not fear you.”

“Don’t you?” Discord grinned, letting the question sit for a moment. “And if not fear, then what? Verbose, angry veterans, whose only talent is ‘war’? And yet, looking around this room, I count only…”

He looked at the crowd, muttering under his breath while pointing at the crowd, counting. He then drew back, looked at the ceiling in thought, presumably adding numbers. Eventually, his gaze swiveled back to Lucky.

“One. Well, one conscious one, anyways.”

Lucky only scowled in response.

“I can replace my soldiers in months. No raising, minimal breeding, minimal training… As your veterans outlive their usefulness, or more likely, as they die on the battlefield, they are replaced with cute little fresh-faced recruits. I, on the other hoof, produce soldiers faster than you can say ‘we’re all going to die’. Every day, it’s another hundred beasts, fresh from the black mist of the Astral Mountains.” He laughed. “And you don’t even know how!”

“War is more than some meat grinder you can throw your troops into!” Lucky protested. “War requires tactic, cunning!”

“Are you citing to me the rules of my own game?”

Lucky ignored him. “It requires superior equipment, technology!”

“Yes, well, good luck with that,” Discord said, nodding to Joseph’s unmoving body, still being frantically administered to by Doctor Cross, as well as a zebra who held a potion glass in her hoof.

He growled furiously, and stomped a defiant hoof on the marble. “The Maiden’s Battalion will stop you!”

“Ah, yes, the Maiden’s Battalion. Battling Ponyville’s avengers was always a spectacular treat. Those particular ponies treat war the way it is meant to be treated – like an art form. You should feel proud for showing that kind of respect, Commander. And those battle plans… gods, those battle plans!” Discord seemed as though he wanted to swoon, and he might have, had his arms not been burdened by a hostage.

“Do you remember the one with the storm clouds, and you guys pushed a wave of thunderhead clouds in our direction? And the resulting forest fire destroyed the timberwolves, and drove the manticores away? Then, the clouds rained and put out the fires so you could advance! And you stormed the sinisteed encampment, because without their beasts, they didn’t have the support…” He trailed off, looking at Lucky’s stony expression. “No? I would have thought for sure… Ah, never mind.”

He shrugged. “Well, you know, it’s always a pleasure, but a little birdy told me that your particular division has been running somewhat low on soldiers. One in particular.”

The corner of Lucky’s mouth twitched, and his scowl deepened just a bit.

“We will find more.”

At this, Discord laughed. It was a horrible, grating sound, made even more so by its suddenness and volume.

“Is that so?!” he nearly screamed. His voice lowered. “Well, you simply must let me help you create the new recruitment posters. Here, I’ve got the perfect catchphrase.” He swept his hoof high across the air. “On the top of the banner, it says, ‘The Equestrian Army! Do your duty!’”

He giggled a little, before continuing. “And… heheh, heh, on the bottom, it says, ‘The 21st Division! Come for the slaughter! Stay because you’re a corpse!’”

He broke into another fit of laughter. Lucky was breathing deeply.

“Face it, Commander,” Discord said his glee slowly dying down. “Your morale is broken… and your holy knight, slain.”

Lucky appeared to be nearly frozen, his only movement being the deep expansion and contraction of his lungs, and the flaring of his nostrils.

“I will kill you.”

Discord chuckled, flicking a nonchalant hoof towards him.

“Sure, sure, one day, old colt. We’ll have an epic showdown, a duel of fates, whatever you want.” He sighed. “Oh Lucky, my boy, it’s so easy to manipulate you. It’s sad, really. Well, almost. Mostly it’s just fun. Speaking of, what do you say we end this with a bang?” Discord levitated the revolver, re-spun the chamber, and brandished it in full view.

“One bullet left. You or her?” He jostled Cotton in his arms. “Think about it. You’ve gotta ask yourself, punk: do I feel… heheh… do I feel… haha! No, no, it’s too much, I’m sorry. Just hurry up and choose.”

To Celestia’s surprise, Lucky was silent for a moment. The mask of anger was still painted clearly on his face, but he seemed to be contemplating something. Finally, he spoke.

“Her.”

Celestia froze. “What?”

“Is that so?” Discord spun the revolver chamber. “Well then.” He eased the barrel up to the side of Cotton’s head. She was still barely conscious, but if she knew at all what was going on, she did not show it.

Celestia was dumbfounded. Her anger left her, replaced with sudden, horrible panic.

“L-lucky, you can’t… you can’t just…!”

She stumbled towards him, not knowing what to do except plead. But what could she plead for? For him to offer his own life, instead of Cotton’s? Did she even have the right to ask that? He was, without a doubt, more important to the war effort than some candy maker, and Celestia knew it. Nevertheless, her unwavering expectation had been for him to choose himself, and when he had not, her heart dropped as though she had missed a step on the staircase. She instinctively protested.

“You can’t just let him…!”

Lucky turned towards her. His expression was still scowling and squinted, but also somehow sad, and disappointed. He turned away, watching with unwavering eyes, and muttering words underneath his breath. The phrases were rapid and unhesitant, as if they had been recited before.

O Tyche, Lady of Fortune, hear my plea. Send thy angel, and exalt my soul. Bless mine ears with discernment, to hear the still whisper.

There was a metallic click. Nothing happened.

“One more, for good measure?”

Bless mine eyes with vision, to see the narrow path.

He pulled the trigger again, with no result.

“Okay, just one more. For reals this time.”

Bless my mind with wisdom, to discern the divine volition.

Another trigger pull, with no discharge.

“Oh, come on, stupid thing.”

Bless my hooves with action, to achieve the appointed goal.

He pulled the trigger a fourth time. Still, no result.

“Oh ho ho! Last one!”

Celestia watched, horrified, as, for the fifth time, Discord slowly squeezed the trigger with telekinetic force. The chamber slowly revolved, coming in line with the barrel, pointed straight at Cotton’s head. Celestia’s heart stopped, and were it not for her concern, she would likely have fainted.

Lucky stood fast, his face frozen with anxiety. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek as his lips wordlessly moved.

Bless my heart with faith, to quell the godless doubt.

The trigger fell all the way back. A resounding metal click echoed throughout the room. Nothing happened, save for a single bullet revolving to its final spot, ready to fire from the sixth chamber. Celestia and Lucky let out a collectively held breath.

“Well, that was fortunate, wasn’t it…?” Discord trailed off, and gave Lucky an accusing smile. “Oh you! You knew that would happen, didn’t you? Didn’t you? Ah ha ha! Of course you did! You really had me going. Looks like you had her going, too.”

Discord pointed towards Celestia, who stood there, shaking in place, eyes dilated to the size of pinholes.

“What would have happened if you picked yourself? Would’ve gone off first shot, I bet. Right?”

Lucky only stared back at him, his expression unreadable.

“You can’t fool me, of course it would have!” Discord laughed. “Fate is a strange thing, isn’t it, Lucky? Still, I’m not so sure she’s glad to be alive. Are you sure you did her a favor?” He looked at Cotton, toying with the dagger in his hoof. “Oh, drat. She wasn’t even conscious to see your… heh, heroic deeds. No matter, we can fix that.”

Without warning, the crackle of electricity filled the room as an arc of grey lightning shot from Discord’s horn, hitting the hostage in her arms. It laced through both of them, and if the scorch marks on either of their coats were any indication, their contact ensured they both felt an equal amount of pain. Nevertheless, Discord let loose an insane laugh as Cotton screamed, jumping to a sudden, anguished awareness of self.

The lightning came to a stop. Cotton’s breathing came out in rapid, uneven, high pitched pants. She squirmed weakly against Discord’s hooves.

“Oh, did the pain wake you up, my dear?” Discord asked with mock concern. She jostled Cotton in her arms, who whimpered in protest. “Well, here’s something to remember,” he whispered menacingly. “It’s the only thing that can.”

He cackled as he let loose another few seconds of lightning. The protests of Lucky, Celestia, and others from the crowd, were lost amidst the snaps and pops of raging electricity. Eventually, it died down, leaving only a crying Cotton.

“Oh shush-sh-sh-sh-shhhh…” Discord stroked the side of Cotton’s face. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It hurts, I know, but think of it this way: this will probably be the strongest feeling you’ll ever experience. Pain, misery, despair… the most vivid emotions a pony can feel… and right now, they’re all yours.”

Cotton’s head rolled forward, tears still staining her cheeks. Celestia had had enough. She stepped forward.

“Discord!”

Hatred!

Discord allowed a slow smile to his face. “Yes, Celestia?”

“Stop this at once! You have a message for me, deliver it! Or by the gods, I will-!”

“What, choke me?” He giggled, and then frowned at Celestia’s lack of response. “What? You ponies have no sense of humor.” He sighed. “Fine, let’s get on with it, then. The reason-”

Discord paused.

“What?” he murmured.

Celestia looked at him with confusion. He was holding his ear up to Cotton’s drooping head, apparently listening to something she had to say.

“Say again, darling?” he muttered.

Celestia could hear her next word clearly.

“No,” she choked out.

Discord raised an eyebrow, but kept his ear close. “No what, my little pony?”

“You’re wrong,” Cotton’s voice was an airy, raspy soprano, and barely audible. She shook her head. It was a feeble motion, and her head seemed to move on a delay with her neck. She shook nonetheless.

It was a feeble motion, but a powerful gesture.

“You think despair...” She paused, taking a few deep, wheezing breaths before continuing. “...Is the most powerful fe-” Her voice suddenly dropped, and she lightly coughed.

“One of the, yes,” Discord spoke. “And I suppose you don’t?”

“No…!” she cried in whispering protest. Her voice cracked. It sounded almost pitiful.

“And what is, pray tell?” he whispered back.

Cotton’s eyes lit up with conviction, a severe, inspiring contrast from her beaten, broken condition.

“Hope! Hope is. A-and happiness… and laughter…!”

**********

Somewhere, a blue gemstone awakened from deep slumber.

**********

Cotton’s eyes fluttered to a close, and her head drooped forward once again. Her mane bounced in front of her eyes, obscuring the sudden inactivity in her face. She was deeply unconscious. No amount of pain would wake her from this sleep.

“You know what I think?” Discord whispered, once it was apparent Cotton could not speak further. “I think you’re wrong.”

He patted Cotton on the shoulder, and finally released her from his grip. She fell limply to the floor in front of him. He fell forward onto his forelegs, stretching out the cramps that came with restraining a hostage.

“So where was I?” Discord asked, nonchalantly brushing at his shoulder. It did little to remove the blood and dust that was there. Suddenly, he thrust a hoof in the air. “Ah yes! Of course, how silly of me! It’s only the whole reason I came here!”

He took a few steps forward over Cotton’s body, leaned in, and gave a menacing smile, looking very much like a stalking predator. When he spoke, it was through gritted, grinning teeth, growling and drawing out the vowels.

“Celestia.”

She took a step back, eyes shifting from Cotton to the mare addressing her. Any resemblance he had borne to Reverie was almost completely gone. Her mane had turned completely, utterly grey, and the crème of her coat likewise. Her face was contorted into a twisted, ungodly grin, the corners of her lips seeming to stretch off her cheeks. It was an expression no pony could naturally make. Her cutie mark, the rainbow behind the star, was colorless and almost seemed to be fading. All in all, she simply looked sickly, even ugly and grotesque, like the victim of some terrible plague.

“You…” Discord wagged a hoof at Celestia, shaking his head. “You, my dear, are so very, very special. Do you know that?”

Celestia gulped, summoning all the courage she could muster. “Is that why you tried to kill me? You didn’t do a very good job.”

Discord let out a bark of laughter. “Haha! And spirited, too! Oh, good, good! Not many ponies are! I mean, I saw you choke the crap out of that snobby princess what’s-her-name, but talking back to the Mad God… wonderful. How very fortunate, that you have some backbone. Makes things much more interesting.”

He brought his dagger up to his teeth, using it to pick the spaces in between them. “Not to toot my own horn, or anything, but I think I did an excellent job, Celestia. You just did a better one escaping.” He smiled. “But to answer your question, I’d have to say yes and no. You are special, yes, but I didn’t try to kill you because of it. I tried to kill you because back then, I thought you were going to be utterly mundane. Normal. Commonplace. Run-of-the-mill. Boring, just like all the rest.” He chuckled, bringing the steel away from his teeth. “Oh, my dear Celestia… you turned out to be anything but.”

Celestia opened her mouth to speak, but he thrust a hoof towards her. “Wait, I know what you’re wondering. Can’t I kill you now? The answer is ‘yes’, my little pony, I could. Maybe this body would die in the process, but I could.”

Lucky took a small step forward, in Celestia’s direction.

“But I won’t. You know why that is, Celestia? Because it’s hopeless. You are hopeless. You’re just special enough to pique my interest, but not special enough to be a threat. You simply cannot harm me. Ah, ah, ah, I can see that in your eyes, you think I’m lying.”

Celestia scowled at him. “Maybe.”

“I’m really, really, really not, Celestia.” He tapped his chin. “Have you ever had a pet? A cat, a dog, hamster maybe? Ever wave a toy or treat in front of it, putting it just out of reach? It’s fun, right? Don’t look at me like that, of course it’s fun. You’re that pet, Celestia, and the treat I get to hold just out of reach is ‘victory’. I’m going to keep you around because it amuses me.” He gave a low chuckle.

“I know it, I think you’ll eventually know it, and if Oldfart McMagicpants over there was awake, she’d know it too.” He pointed at Clover the Clever, who still lay motionless on the ground in the corner of the room.

“She might have the tools, but not the tools to wield the tools. She came ‘ohhh, so close’,” he said, putting his hooves a minute distance away from each other, “but close just won’t cut it. She might cling to false hope, but at least she sees it for what it is: false.”

Celestia raised one of her furrowed eyebrows. What was that supposed to mean?

“If it’s so hopeless,” she asked, “why bother telling me so?”

“Ah, tactful as always. Why indeed?” He turned around, looking at the empty stands behind him. “Well, this is a courthouse, after all. I am nothing if not a god of equality, of truth.”

“You tell nothing but lies!” Celestia exclaimed.

He turned back around to face her. “Oho! Wrong, alicorn. I am as truthful as truthful gets. Chaos may be erratic, unpredictable, and tumultuous… but even chaos is formulaic. Chaos is a law of the universe. Mass, matter, energy… they all have very defined interactions with very defined results. They call it ‘entropy’, and, if nothing else, entropy is constant.

“You know what they say about fighting entropy, right?” Discord waited, his smile giving way to a face that was uncharacteristically serious. “Entropy always wins. Rots flesh. Rusts steel. Grinds stone. Eats nations.”

He let the message sit for a moment, before allowing a tiny grin onto his face. “In all honesty, though, do you want to know what else chaos is? Chaos is whimsical. I’m here because it’s fun.”

Discord giggled. “Though, looking at your face, I don’t know if I even have a message to deliver! You of all ponies already seem to know the hopelessness of your situation! I mean, just look around you, Celestia.”

He motioned to the crowd behind her. She turned, and looked at them. Every single one was staring at her. Even with their huddled, frightened postures and their shivering, it was a not a feeling that was foreign to her. The fear in their eyes reflected upon the fear in their hearts – it was a fear of the dark, a fear of the immaterial, the unseen, the unknown, and most of all, the unpredictable.

She could not tell if it was because of Discord, or…

“Allow me to be the first to say congratulations! You, my dear alicorn, are their new hero. But can I ask you something?” He paused. “Do you feel like a hero? Do you have the abilities of a hero? Can you defeat the monsters on their doorstep, like they very much expect you to?”

Celestia turned away from the crowd. She did not like the looks they were giving her.

“We’ll come back to that. First, let me tell you… a little allegory,” Discord began. “Not so long ago, there was a large beast. He had the horns of a bull, the hooves of a horse, and the stature of a hieyuman. He was a natural creation of the world, not the offspring of chaos, as some believed him to be. He had hopes, dreams, fears… a soul, if you will. He also happened to lead a people, just like him. They called themselves the Minotaurs.

“One day, this minotaur happened upon the ‘peaceful’ race of ponykind. He attempted to treat with them. However, there were some complications, and instead of accepting them, like ponykind could and probably should have, they cast the minotaurs away, refusing to interact with a race they came to call ‘monsters’. Oh, the minotaurs tried to show their true colors, tried to show they were peaceful, but the ponies would have none of it. They were shunned by Equestria, and all of its allies.

“The minotaurs migrated away, and found a new calling… but that’s another story. Do you see the moral here, Celestia?” Discord asked. “Let’s go back to that question before. Can you defeat my… ‘monsters’?” He leaned in, and gave a wide grin. “I’ve heard of your lackluster performance, so let me answer for you, my darling… no, you cannot.”

He leaned away, and chuckled. “Your saving grace, your only saving grace, in the eyes of the people is the fact that you just might be the hero they were looking for. When that illusion is gone, and it is an illusion, what do you suppose will they see?” Discord stopped, looking towards Celestia, waiting for her to respond.

Celestia’s eyes were forlorn and distant. “A monster…” she mumbled to herself.

“A monster!” Discord nearly screamed. “And what does ponykind do to monsters? It casts them out. You will fail, Celestia, and you will be punished for it.” He laughed. “And I can’t wait to watch.”

He turned to face away from them. “But what if you do win? Somehow, against all odds, against the hordes and hopelessness, the mighty Celestia prevails?” His tone was utterly sarcastic. “You can’t undo all the bad, Celestia. And it is bad, Celestia. Tens of thousands of ponies lie dead, torn to pieces by the beasts. Hundreds of acres of grassland and forest are caught in the grip of chaos, some so deeply as to rival the entropy of nothingness itself! So many things lie beyond your reclamation, I wonder why you even bother trying.”

He gave a subdued chuckle. “You have been caught in a cruel reverie, Celestia. Pardon the pun. Heheh… wake up, my dear, and see that life is despair.”

He burst into a wild, out of control laugh. The room seemed to darken, the floor seemed to shake, and more than one creature put its hooves, claws, or paws over its ears. The sound in itself was maddening and painful, like one thousand claws screeching down one thousand chalkboards. Some fell writhing to the ground, curling into a fetal position and rocking back and forth. Some prayed for mercy, and others screamed in fear. To Celestia’s surprise, even Lucky Break was low to the ground, flinching at the laughter. He held his hooves over his ears, and closed his eyes. Was he afraid, too?

Discord saw it, and laughed even harder.

The ring of his hilarious shriek was beginning to get to Celestia. She put her head down, and swayed in place; something about it simply made her nauseous. Resonating from a pit in her heart, passing through her stomach and coursing through her entire body, a wretched feeling of misery rattled her body and soul. Her legs trembled – she knew it would not be long before she fell.

She dared one last look up, but could not bear to raise her head very high. Instead of Discord, her eyes fell upon Cotton, still lying on the floor. Miraculously, Cotton’s eyes opened. They did not stay open for long, and they did not open all the way, but they became instantly locked with Celestia’s. The magenta in her eyes seemed vibrant, especially for somepony in such pain. Her lips parted, and she mouthed a single, weak word to Celestia, before submitting again to unconsciousness.

Celestia knew what it was.

Her legs stopped trembling. She ceased her exhausted swaying. The pit in her heart closed, her stomach ceased to be nauseous, and the pervasive feeling of misery was quelled. She could not make sense of it, but she was suddenly, inexplicably calm.

“Ahahahahaha!” Discord’s hideous laughter carried on. It did not matter. Celestia was in a peculiar state of mind, protected from the horrendous sound and soul-searing despair, and all it took was a word to remind her.

Laugh.

So she did.

“Ha ha ha ha ha!”

The room was immediately quiet. Even those who were screaming or moaning in pain fell completely silent. It was a tense stillness but, after Discord’s voice, a good one.

Lucky Break rose, and opened his eyes. Beside him was Celestia, still standing tall, head held high, one hoof raised in the air and wings spread wide open.

Discord wheeled around. On his face was an animalistic snarl. Celestia watched it calmly. Eventually, it faded into a sneer.

“And what are you so happy about, alicorn?” he spat.

It was a moment before Celestia spoke. When she did, it was with a calm grace she did not previously think herself capable of.

“Are you happy, Discord?”

He blinked, and tilted his head. “Wha-? My dear, I am always happy.”

“Hmm.” Celestia closed her eyes. “You think so.” She opened her eyes again, looking straight at him. “Maybe I am weak, but at least I have ponies that I care about! That care about me! What do you have, Discord?”

Discord grinned playfully. “I have a sandbox called ‘the world’, and thousands of little toys I call ‘my little ponies’.”

“Your ‘toys’ hate you,” Celestia said darkly. “I have friends, Discord. Real friends. We may not always agree, but we can always share a laugh. Who can you share a laugh with, Discord?”

“Who can I-?” Discord’s expression seemed to lighten. “Hah! Laughs need not be shared, alicorn.”

“They needn’t, but the best ones are.”

The scowl left his face, replaced by an ear-to-ear grin.

“You think this is something I care about, Celestia? Do you realize how pathetic you sound right now? How inane your argument is?”

He danced in a circle, bobbing a hoof up and down and mocking her. “‘I have friends, you don’t have friends.’ Bah! Saccharine enough to make me gag. If your intention was to kill me by making me choke on my own vomit, I’ll admit, it was a close one.”

He opened his mouth, pointed at his throat, and stuck his tongue out, making a gagging sound.

“But seriously, Celestia, if you’re trying to make me… I don’t know, feel bad, or something, just give it up. That’s my turf. I repeat, having ‘friends’ is not something I care about. Can’t you just swallow your despair like a good little filly?”

Celestia shook her head. “That’s why you’ll never understand. I don’t need to swallow any despair at all.”

“Oh no,” Discord said, shaking his head, “I get it. The smiles, the laughing… you’re deluding yourself. A good shield, but one made of chaos, my dear.”

“No,” Celestia replied. “Not deluding. There’s always a reason to laugh.”

**********

Somewhere, a blue gemstone trembled with anticipation.

**********

“And what do you have to laugh at?!” Discord said with sudden ferocity, spittle flying out of his mouth. “Huh? What? That’s right, nothing! Unless…” He looked at Cotton, and looked back. Grey electricity crackled dangerously on his horn. “Unless you are a fan of… heheh, dark humor?”

“No!” Celestia said loudly, her voice booming throughout the marble courtroom.

Appearing everywhere and coming from nowhere, the room was filled with a brief but intense flash of brilliant blue light. It came and went in a fraction of a second, so fast Celestia was not sure it had even happened.

Discord’s horn suddenly became dormant.

“Wha…?” He looked up and put a bewildered hoof to his forehead.

Celestia continued. “When I came to Canterlot, ponies hated me for who I was. For who I still am. It was horrible. But… not everypony did.”

There was another quick, blue flash, coming from nowhere. Discord seemed to recoil at the sight of it.

Celestia did not understand, but she did not dare pause.

“Somepony came and cheered me up, and taught me something. Your despair is fleeting, Discord! Temporary!” She took a confident step forward. “Even behind the clouds, the sun still shines. Even when it rains, there’s a rainbow afterwards. After the fire, life sprouts from the ashes.”

Across the room, Cotton’s nose wrinkled, and her ear twitched.

“That very special pony taught me to smile at everything, and with everypony! Things might seem bad. They might be bad. But even in the darkest of times, there is always hope-”

Discord’s eyes snapped to Celestia, his face, Reverie’s face, contorted into an unnatural visage of rage. He started towards her, dagger in hoof.

“-and there is always a reason to laugh!”

**********

Somewhere, a blue gemstone lit. The glow about it animated the spirit, striking it with joyous optimism, enough to make even the most calloused and world-weary soul enjoy a good-natured laugh.

**********

A blinding azure light quickly filled the room, and this time, it stayed there. All other sights were gone, replaced by a brilliance that came from nowhere. Similarly, all other sounds were gone, save for a strong whoosh, like a stiff wind rushing past her ears.

It had come suddenly and unexpected, and though she might have been frightened, she was not. Bathing in that blue light, it seemed impossible. While its brightness blinded her to all else, it did not hurt, and she felt no need to squint her eyes. In fact, she kept them wide open, taking in as much as she could. She simply knew it in her heart – everything was going to be okay. She suddenly felt like laughing, and so she did.

It was not sarcastic, or bitter, or humorless, or at another’s expense. It was not anything besides absolutely joyful. It was a beautiful sound, and an even more beautiful feeling.

Eventually, the blue light faded. Eyes open, Celestia could see it disappear into one small corner of the room, near where Clover lay unconscious.

Unable to do anything but stand there and smile, Celestia looked around. The courtroom was just as wrecked as before, broken tables and chairs and bodies littering the floor. Her heart nearly skipped a beat when she saw Discord, still standing there, swaying back and forth in place. Except, Celestia realized, it was not Discord.

Her mane had returned to its normal, warm rainbow hue, and her coat was similarly restored to its cream. Her cutie mark, now a brilliant rainbow of reds and yellows behind a twinkling white star, was clearly visible. Her eyes were locked on Celestia’s. No, it was not Discord that stood before her. It was Adept Reverie. Or rather, just Reverie; she did not appear very poised at the moment.

She swayed in place and, though it seemed for a moment as though she would remain upright, she crashed to the ground, the dagger clattering away from her hoof. Celestia gave thought to running to her aid, but for some reason, could not muster the energy to do so. In fact, she felt very much as though she would follow suit, and fall to the ground.

Feeling her strength drain by the second, she turned to view the rest of the courthouse. At her back, the crowd of ponies, zebras, diamond dogs, griffons, and donkeys all stood facing her. All eyes were, once again, on her. Even Lucky Break, who was inching cautiously towards her, seemed to eye her with suspicion.

She did not have the energy to discern their expressions, but she did not care. Celestia closed her eyes. She knew herself, and at this moment, she did, as Cotton had admonished, feel good about her. Let them say what they would-

“Hero.”

Celestia flinched.

Then, she opened her eyes. Who said that? What did they say?

She looked towards the direction of the sound. It was Lucky, standing only a few feet away. His head was tilted, and he looked curious, but his soft words were clear to everyone in the room.

**********

“‘You’re a hero’, he told me.”

Celestia reached for her cup, and realized it was out of tea. She levitated the teapot, and swishing it around, realized it was empty as well. There was nothing with which she could hide the happy, trembling smile on her lips, no excuse for pause. She settled for rising from her chair and turning away from her student, pretending to examine some nearby bookshelf.

“You’re a hero…”

Twilight watched the princess intently. She had seen the trembling, melancholy smile on her lips, and it made her wonder. There was more to it than simple nostalgia.

Celestia played with the bindings of a random book, nudging the cover open and shut, watching the pages follow suit.

“The rest of the room was silent, but that’s what he called me. A hero...”

She gave a quiet, almost humorless chuckle.

XVII: Hero

“You sound… disapproving.”

Celestia turned around, and looked at her student. “Do I?”

Twilight suddenly felt sheepish, as though she had spoken out of turn. A light blush formed on her cheeks.

“A little bit…” She rubbed the back of her head. “I mean, considering what had just happened. You had just banished Discord, right?”

Celestia’s eyes rolled towards the ceiling, and her head bobbed back and forth before nodding. “He… was banished, yes. For the time being.”

“That sounds pretty heroic to me!”

Celestia was silent.

“And you don’t know if you deserved it?”

The princess waited a moment before speaking. “Well…” She paused. “I suppose I’m just remembering my surprise at the time, especially towards whom it was that said it. I was still wary of the citizens, and doubly so of Lucky Break, which made it all the more surprising. Coming from him, ‘hero’ was more than a simple title, especially since I knew the last pony he had considered to be heroic was… greater than myself. If I felt at all undeserving, that was why.”

“And what about the crowd? The zebras, and donkeys, and griffons, and diamond dogs, and the ponies – they did the same, right? After Lucky called you ‘hero’, I’ll bet they broke into applause and cheered for you, right?”

Princess Celestia shook her head. “No, they didn’t.”

Twilight blinked.

“They didn’t?” That was not what she expected. How ungrateful could a pony be?

The princess returned to her seat, sliding it forward towards the writing table.

“No,” Celestia repeated. “Consider what had just happened, Twilight. Discord, the very embodiment of chaos, had just appeared and scared them witless. Then, he had been expelled by a strange, unknown magic. After all of that, I imagine anything besides absolute normalcy would have sent them into shock. Many of them already were in shock. They just needed time to collect themselves, is all.”

She paused, allowing time for Twilight to write something.

“At first, I thought they were scared of me. Even now, I realize that may not have been too far off the mark, but I was thinking of it in the wrong way. Nevertheless, I was content to shuffle to a corner of the room, and simply let things happen while I stayed out of the way.”

Twilight looked up. “What did happen, princess?”

“Well, word got out extremely quickly. The whole of Canterlot knew about the events within the day, if not within the hour of their happening. Even during Discord’s ‘visit’, it was apparent something was going on. As I said, the courthouse doors were magically sealed, and fighting could be heard from inside. When somepony was able to get one of the doors open, the diplomats and spectators lucky enough to escape before they closed again went looking for help. I imagine they could hardly breathe as they told the story that had yet to even be resolved.

“Because of this, the moment Discord vanished, and his barriers with him, help had already arrived. Soldiers rushed in to ascertain the courtroom’s immediate safety, followed by medical teams to tend to the wounded. Panicking family and friends were forced to wait outside.”

Celestia shook her head, and sighed. “Discord… that fiend was the source of such misery. Nine were dead. I remember them all. A griffon, three donkeys, a diamond dog, a zebra, two Royal Guards. Joseph Baker, the last hieyuman. Thirteen more were wounded. Four of those wounded sustained crippling injuries. A shattered beak, a hewn forelimb, a pair of scarred, permanently blinded eyes. One diamond dog’s spine had been cut into, and everything below his waist ceased to function. Not to mention the psychological trauma everybody in that room experienced. Most recovered, but a select few just never got better.”

She shuddered at the memory. “It was awful. Simply awful.”

“Was Princess Obsidian okay?” Twilight asked. “And Cotton?”

“The princess was fine. Cotton was a bit worse for wear. Emotionally, she was surprisingly okay, despite being held hostage by the God of Chaos. Physically, a bit less so, but even then, she recovered.”

She picked up her teacup, rotating it back and forth in her hooves, idly examining the delicate patterns etched into the side. “She was a resilient little mare, Cotton Cake. The brightest optimist I ever had the fortune to know. Sometimes, it was hard to believe so much heart could fit into such a tiny body.”

“No lasting injuries, then?”

“Lasting injuries? Let me think…” She paused for a moment, tapping a hoof to her chin. “There was the burn on her face, and after taking Lucky’s knife to her shoulder, she walked with a slight limp on her left foreleg for the rest of her life.”

Twilight looked down to write, but paused before her quill touched the parchment.

“Wait. Burn on her face? Where did that come from?”

The princess briefly hesitated.

“Did I say that?”

Twilight nodded.

“Oh.” She set the cup down. “I only meant there were some scorches on her face from Discord’s lightning. But they healed without incident. The only lasting injury was her limp.”

A shadow of doubt passed over Twilight’s face as she stared at the princess, who simply stared back. After a moment, she returned to her parchment.

“Okay.” She took a moment to scribble some notes. “Anything else?”

Celestia cleared her throat. “Nothing much. The injured were cared for, the dead were… removed. Some of the Royal Magi came to magically examine everyone for traces of the profanity, but luckily, Discord’s influence was nowhere to be found. Compression bombs were indeed found in the basement of Canterlot General, and were summarily disposed of. All in all, after the initial shock, things were quite procedural, even when the Royal Guard came to apprehend me.”

Twilight’s ears perked, and she lifted her head. Had she misheard?

“Who did what?”

“A small squad of Royal Guards found me at the courthouse, and took me into custody. Under official orders, I was arrested.”

“Why?” Twilight asked, bewildered. “Didn’t they know you had just saved them? Why would they come for you? What could they possibly-”

Twilight paused.

The princess merely waited, watching the gears turn behind Twilight’s eyes.

“Obsidian. They came for you because of Princess Obsidian.”

**********

Celestia was outside the courthouse, lying with her belly against the stone and leaning against a nearby building across the street. A blanket was draped across her back, covering her all the way to the nape of her neck, where her pink mane flowed gently over the cloth.

She had begun to shiver, and could not seem to stop. A bank of clouds had rolled in over the valley, casting everything in a moody, bluish light. It was just barely afternoon, but the morning chill never seemed to have left, and with the clouds obscuring the sun, it had indeed gotten colder.

But the coolness of the air was not what made her shiver.

The warmth of that mysterious azure light had faded, and with it, the unbridled optimism that had filled her soul so thoroughly. A trace amount of that good cheer still bled through her memories, however, and it seemed to be doing constant battle with the trauma of what had just happened.

Looking around, she could see she was not the only one struggling with herself, nor did she have it the worst. It had been about half an hour, and the crowd had yet to disperse. If anything, it seemed to grow, at first with soldiers, then with doctors, and then with morbidly curious onlookers. Some of the victims of Discord’s appearance were still being helped away from the scene. Some, she knew, would only leave when they were carried away.

Cotton had been carried away in the cloth of a stretcher, as were Princess Obsidian, Apple Crumble, Clover the Clever, and many others, and after they were gone, Celestia did not know what to do. She had simply walked outside and wandered, aimless and lost. She did not stray far from the crowd, but her directionless meandering had been obvious.

Eventually, she had felt a hoof come to rest upon her shoulder, guiding her, not harshly, in a certain direction. She did not even look to see who it was until they stopped. Lucky Break had led her over to a nearby spot, and prompted her to sit and rest. She obeyed without objection. It was not entirely comfortable, but then, not many places open to her were. She imagined there was mutual fear between her and, well, everypony else, so she did not bother asking for help. Returning to Cotton’s cottage without her just seemed wrong. Besides, the distance from the courthouse, one of the innermost buildings of Canterlot, to the cottage, located outside the walls of the city, was a long one. She doubted she could make it on her weak legs.

Lucky had left, and five minutes later, returned with a doctor. The examination was brief; Celestia was declared passably healthy in less than a minute. Another two minutes later, Lucky had shown up with a scratchy purple blanket, and draped it over her. It was not until then that Celestia even realized she was shivering. She took it gratefully, and wrapped herself in it.

“Wait here,” Lucky had said.

So she did. Without another word, he left, and Celestia watched him go to do whatever it was that Commanders did in times of domestic crisis.

Since the events of the courtroom, the encounter with him, she had not spoken to anypony. The crowds, she ignored. To the doctors, she only numbly nodded or shook her head. She had even spared no words for Lucky, who seemed to be much of the same, silent persuasion. She merely watched, and, as Lucky had instructed, waited – for what, she did not know. Something. Nothing. It did not matter.

It was not that she felt traumatized or grieved. She could not, for she simply did not have anything left to give. Emotionally, Celestia was drained.

Which was why, when approached by four Royal Guards in gleaming silver armor, she made no move and no attempt to hide herself.

**********

“The compression has been defused?” Lucky asked. “All of it?”

Captain Garde stood at attention, legs straight and head high in the air. He looked straight ahead, even as Lucky paced back and forth in front of him. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh, yes, sir. I mean…” Garde trailed off, breaking his stiff stance for a moment before returning to it. “Well, they have not been diffused, exactly.”

Lucky continued pacing. “Meaning?”

“Um, it was discovered they were stolen from Canterlot’s own armory, I think. The Royal Magi that were sent to diffuse them saw fit to reclaim them instead, sir.”

“Hmmm…” Lucky stopped pacing, and looked at him. “Did we have any of the Maiden’s mages on site?”

“No, sir. There were some of ours that went to help, independent of orders, but they, uh, I believe they were turned away.”

“On what grounds?”

“It was business of the Royal Magi, I believe is what they were told.”

“I see.” He pondered for a moment. “Fetch me Lieutenant Trick. I want that compression inspected by one of our own.”

“Um, with respect, sir, the armory munitions do fall out of our jurisdiction.”

“I don’t care.”

Garde nodded. “Of course, sir.”

He resumed pacing. “Afterwards, Captain, I want you to find your personal guard, and set them about the courthouse. I doubt there’s any more danger, and I doubt they’re in danger of rioting, but we could use some semblance of order, here. Calms ponies down. In addition, there has been some friction between the foreign diplomats, both with other foreigners and our own. If a fight breaks out, I don’t care who started it, you stop it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lucky knew his soldiers, and knew that that was something the even-tempered Captain Garde was good at. He did not necessarily have a silver tongue, but his meekness and mild manner were usually enough to diffuse tension. Even then, if all else failed, the stallion’s massive shield was excellent at deterring blows from their intended targets. Garde’s personal squad of earth ponies were similarly equipped and trained, making them ideal for the task.

Not only that, but ponies were panicking. The Royal Guard was doing the best it could, but he knew the situation could be better. The Maiden’s soldiers held a certain mystique about them, along with a healthy measure of hometown pride. The 21st was Canterlot’s own brigade; its citizens liked to be reminded they were part of the “winning team”.

“I want full gear and weapons. A little bit of ceremony wouldn’t hurt, either. Just be quick about it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir, Commander Break.”

“Good.” Lucky turned away. “Dismissed.”

Captain Garde saluted smartly and turned away, briskly trotting away in the direction of the Canterlot barracks.

The crowd of ponies thronged towards the courthouse doors, kept only at bay by a contingent of the Royal Guard, holding them at a distance so that the doctors and mages could work. Many were distressed, and many more were simply curious. Nothing this drastic had happened to Canterlot in a good fifteen years, since the uprising of old Ponyville’s avengers.

Some of their eyes had turned towards Celestia as well. It was Lucky’s intention to return to her side as soon as possible. No doubt they meant her no harm, but the attention was something he knew she did not need right now. He knew the face of emotional fatigue all too well, and at this moment, it was hers. She did not have the stamina to endure the stares of curious ponies, something that Lucky knew she did not handle particularly well. Especially since, from what he could tell, she automatically thought they were accusing her, all the time, of simply being an alicorn – an unfortunate state of mind that was not entirely ungrounded.

Lucky frowned. A state of mind that he had contributed to.

That would change, though. He would change. He would be sorry.

After all, what had he called her? ‘Hero’. It had been instinctual, the words echoing a memory long past, but never forgotten.

He found himself wondering why he had said it. It was the only thing he said to her, the words slipping past his tongue before he even knew what had happened. Perhaps it was only natural? At the sight of such confidence, everypony was reminded of how good it felt to have hope, and what a blessing it was to have a pony that inspired such hope. They may not have stomped and cheered, but he knew they were supremely thankful. The cheering would undoubtedly come later, after the story had circulated another three or four more times, and the whirlwind of emotion had calmed.

But that was just it: they did not cheer. They did not say anything. But he did.

He could have brushed it off as something that had ‘just happened’, but he knew it was not. Considering what he felt, this not entirely sudden urge to…

Protect her? Gain her approval? Lucky shook his head. He did not know.

Considering his feelings, he knew the word he had let slip was not simple accident. Perhaps she knew it too.

Lucky felt guilty about his actions towards her, as he supposed any normal stallion should be. It ran deeper than that, though. Celestia was an enigma, a puzzle whose pieces were falling one-by-one at his hooves for him to arrange. At first, he had refused to touch them.

Then, she had given him a nine-word hint, and nine little pieces had fallen neatly into place.

That had gained his attention. He was still afraid to arrange them, afraid of the disappointment that might lie at the puzzle’s completion. His heart could not take that kind of loss twice. Or maybe, it was his mind that was afraid, and his heart that was eager. After all, Equestria’s denizens may have been desperate, but the title of ‘hero’ was a powerful one, not an attribute Lucky himself was quick to assign.

In any case, he decided he should really apologize. Again. His last apology was not insincere, necessarily, but it had been more tactical than anything. He had needed her on his side to fight this war. Now, he simply needed her on his side.

Plus, since his last apology, he had broken her jaw. He owed her for that, too.

“Commander!”

Lucky gave a start, and shook his head clear, looking for the source. Wheeling around, he saw Spell Trick, his unicorn Lieutenant and chief mage of the Maiden’s Battalion.

“Reporting for duty.” He locked his legs, and gave a smart salute.

Lieutenant Trick’s coat was an icy blue, and his mane a light tan. Over his back, he wore an official mage cloak, nearly identical to the garb commonly worn by all unicorns of high military rank, save for the many cargo pockets, which had been custom sewn into the side. On his face was a pair of thin, wiry spectacles. They gave him the appearance, accurately, of an intellectual.

“Ah, yes.” Lucky paused, trying to remember why it was he had summoned his lieutenant. He gave a quick glance in Celestia’s direction. She was still lying there, leaning against the wall across the street, idly examining the crowds with a docile expression on her face. Lucky gave a quiet growl as he saw some curious ponies getting too close for comfort.

“Sir?”

Lucky gaze lingered on Celestia, before turning back to his lieutenant. This would not take too long.

“I have something for you,” Lucky said.

“Excellent,” the unicorn enthusiastically replied, “but before we begin, Commander, I have a question of some importance. May I go examine the compression that Discord used to threaten the hospital?”

“No,” Lucky replied, cutting the air with a stern hoof. “I need you to…” He paused. “Wait, what?”

“Discord’s compression bombs,” Spell Trick said matter-of-factually, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “I know they’re in the armory and off limits, but I find it very intriguing. We assumed he had a pony ready to blow them onsite, but the Magi reported no such suspects. This leads me to believe that he was ready to somehow detonate them remotely, which means Canterlot might still be in danger.”

Lucky blinked. “Did you tell them?”

“Yes, but they won’t let me in. The guards said they don’t trust me with explosives.” He looked to the side. “With some very mean words.”

Lucky unconsciously nodded. Trick was too curious for his own good. Nevertheless, this was something Lucky wanted him to do.

“You know they won’t let me in either, Lieutenant,” he warned. “Not without requesting in advance.”

“I know.”

Lucky raised an eyebrow. “So you’re asking for my permission to sneak in.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t ask any of the other times because…?”

Lieutenant Trick shrugged. “That had nothing to do with the Battalion, or the safety of Canterlot.”

“And how do I know this isn’t just for your own curiosity?”

“Oh, it is, sir. But I feel it’s important as well.”

“If you get caught again, I’ll deny I had anything to do with it. Again.”

“I know.”

“Good. Gods be with you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He saluted again, adjusted his glasses, and took off, zipping through the crowd of ponies.

“Good,” Lucky murmured aloud. He turned towards Celestia. Now to…

Lucky paused, a hoof still hovering in midair. Gradually, he set it back down. Peering across the square and through the churning crowds, he saw a thin purple blanket in a heap on the ground, fluttering without an owner in the breeze.

**********

A tiny particle of moisture hit her square in the nose, making the skin around it tingle and shiver. The raindrop seemed disproportionately small compared to the amount of sensation it provoked, as if it had pierced through a layer of numbness. She brought a hoof to the top of her snout, and wiped it dry. One of the guards cast her a sidelong glance, but they did not stop moving.

Celestia cast her eyes heavenwards. The bluish, pre-evening clouds seemed to have gotten even darker and deeper, painting the sky on a gloomy blue-to-grey scale. Another meager raindrop hit her just above the eye, and she flinched at the contact. The condensation was just heavy enough to trickle down between her eyebrows, following the curve below her eye and carrying itself off of her cheek.

She wondered if the coming rain had been planned, or was an accident. It was the beginning of May, and still technically a rainy season, but sometimes, the weather crews departed from schedule to have mercy on the city goers. Surely they had seen the crowds in the streets and by the courthouse. Or maybe that was the point, to disperse them with a passive-aggressive show of force?

Regardless of the coming weather, when Celestia had idly looked behind her, she had seen a trail of followers, lagging behind her and her Royal Guard escorts. There were not many, not enough to be called a crowd, but certainly enough to be noticed. There was no chance this many ponies were heading in this direction at the same time by coincidence. She looked forward and, after that, did not turn around again.

She wondered where exactly they were going, though she supposed it was obvious. Criminals went to prison.

When the squad of guards had surrounded her, she did not know what to expect, and partially did not care. They told her that she needed to come with them, and said that they acted “at the behest of Princess Obsidian.” At this, Celestia had been mildly surprised for two reasons: one, that justice was being so swiftly enacted in the wake of such confusion, and two, at the way they had phrased it, making it sound as though the princess had given the order herself. When Celestia asked, one of the guards had tersely confirmed that Obsidian was indeed awake and on her hooves.

That was the last thing Celestia had said. The rest was self-explanatory.

They had been walking for about fifteen minutes, when she realized she did not know where Canterlot’s prison was. The direction they were heading surprised her; instead of traveling away from the palace, they traveled alongside it, heading in a westerly direction towards the mountain wall side of Canterlot. Maybe they had built the prison close to the palace, to keep a more scrutinizing eye on it? Or perhaps the palace itself had dungeons, buried deep underground in the rock of the mountain.

Celestia may have been resigned to her fate, but thinking about it did not make her feel any better. She moved among her guards with her head stooped low, allowing herself to be guided by the noise of their hoofsteps and periphery sight of their shining silver armor, which, at the moment, did not seem to be so shiny.

They stepped into the greater market square, and made their way across the center. Nopony seemed to be hawking their wares today. Another raindrop hit Celestia just behind her ear, and another one on her spine. Both sent chills through her body.

“Halt.”

Celestia’s ear twitched at the sudden voice amidst the relative quiet, and she almost bumped into the guard ahead of her as all four came to a stop.

She looked up. They were at the western doors of the palace with the grand double staircase in front, the same entrance at which she had first met Clover the Clever those weeks ago. A Royal Guard stood at either side of the door, spears in hoof, looking down at the new arrivals. The door guards briefly examined them before nodding to each other and closing the distance between themselves, putting their hooves on the massive brass rungs near the door’s center. They pushed, and slowly, the doors creaked open.

Celestia just stood there, head tilted and staring at the open doors, until one of the guards gently nudged her forward towards the left staircase. She resumed walking, staying in between her escorts as they ascended the stairs, but her eyes did not leave the entrance. She never did get used to the scale of the Canterlot architecture; the doors were massive, the stairs were long, and the towering structure above them seemed to pierce the gloomy sky.

What were they doing there? The western entrance put them on the second floor of the palace to begin with. Did they have jail cells somewhere above ground? In the palace, no less?

They entered the main hall, and the double doors were pulled closed behind them, slamming shut making the halls reverberate with a bass echo. Celestia shook her head, tousling her mane to rid it of excess moisture or dirt. She also tentatively unfolded her wings, slowly flapping them twice. Not much was shaken loose from either; mostly, it was to stretch and stimulate herself to a state of greater wakefulness. It only partially helped.

They resumed marching, though at a slightly slower pace. Not much was different from her last visit. Even the eerie, echoing silence was the same, though she thought it strange, especially considering the time of day. Normally, the halls would be bustling with royals, diplomats, strategists, and other ponies whose job required them to take residence in the palace. Celestia supposed that most of them had been at the courthouse meeting, but the remaining ponies must have been evacuated when news of Discord’s attack had spread. This left the halls utterly silent, save for the hooves of four guards and one alicorn clopping against the tile floor.

The overcast light coming in from the windows was not enough to illuminate the hall, and so the magelight lanterns lining the walls had been activated. The white light they provided was not dim, but it seemed almost depressing anyways. Celestia would have greatly preferred to have lit a candle, or an actual oil-burning lantern; the yellow-orange light they cast was much more pleasing to the eye. The magelight lanterns seemed to be convenient, though – it took them much longer to burn out, and required minimal effort to activate. In any case, Celestia imagined her opinion counted for very little at the moment.

The main hallway was lit well enough, but many of the side paths were left completely dark, especially the ones that did not have windows. Eventually, they turned off the main path, and she was led through darkened corridor to the side. It was wide enough for only two ponies at a time; they had to adjust their formation when they entered. As they went, one of the guards leading, a unicorn, sent small jolts of power to the magelight lanterns hung on the walls, lighting their way as they went and casting elongated shadows when they passed.

Considering the dark, windowless, somewhat chilly corridor, Celestia was beginning to think that maybe jail cells in the palace might not have been such an extraordinary thought. That was, until they reached the end, and climbed a spiral staircase to an even higher floor.

They entered another hallway, brighter and more comfortable than the last. The floor was carpeted, and the magelights were more frequent. Wooden doors of decent craftsmanship stood on either side of the hall. Paintings were hung here and there on the walls. The walls themselves were pleasantly decorated, featuring an array of colors, the most predominant of which being the traditional Canterlot purple.

Celestia’s brows furrowed as she looked back and forth between either side of the hallway. The jail cells of Canterlot were the height of luxury – its lucky criminals must have been the envy of all the ne’er-do-wells in Equestria. Either that, or they were not going to a jail. She suspected it was the latter, but could not imagine why.

Her curiosity won over. She cleared her throat.

“Where are you taking me?” Celestia asked.

All at once, the squad of Royal Guards stopped. For a moment, she thought she had made them mad. The leader turned to her and spoke.

“I told you,” he said, keeping an official tone of voice, “we act under orders from Princess Obsidian.”

“Yes,” Celestia replied, nodding. “Orders for my capture, right?”

The unicorn seemed to falter. He gave her a curious look, squinting and tilting his head forward, before exchanging a meaningful glance with the guard to Celestia’s left. After a short moment, he drew himself up, regained his composure, and took a breath.

“Wait here.”

The guard walked forward a bit, leaving his squad in place, and gently rapped on a door to the left. A soft, muffled reply came from the other side, and he entered. Celestia perked her ears forward. Even from the small distance, from beyond the open door, she could hear his quiet words.

“Milady, the alicorn has arrived.”

Whoever else was in the room said something she could not hear, and a moment later, the guard returned to the hallway. The other guards cleared the way, and he motioned for her to follow. She stepped forward, and he swept his arm to the side, prompting her to enter the room. She stuck her head forward first, cautiously peering around the corner while the rest of her body was still moving forward.

“Milady, may I present for your pleasure, the alicorn Celestia.”

Celestia’s head was low and her hoofsteps were cautious, almost as if she was sneaking in, but her eyes darted all about the room. Not unlike the hallway, the room was predominantly purple, but with some warmer, more inviting colors mixed in as well. There was a bookshelf, a bed, a dresser, a mirror – all the furniture of a normal living space, albeit somewhat more luxurious that what could be considered normal.

Windows lined the far side of the room, letting some natural light stream in, but most of the light seemed be coming from a fireplace, burning pleasantly under a stone hearth along the wall. In front of that fireplace was a table, set with tea and cushioned chairs for two. One of them was already occupied.

Celestia stopped dead in her tracks, eyes locked on the unicorn before her. Her jet black mane and burnt tan coat were unmistakable in the flickering firelight.

“Greetings, Celestia. I do not believe we have been properly introduced.” She spoke with a Trottingham accent, pleasant, practiced, and clear. The unicorn rose from her seat, and approached her. “I am Princess Obsidian, unicorn representative of the United Council.”

When she drew close, Obsidian put her hoof forward towards Celestia. She flinched away from it, drawing one hoof of the ground as she leaned away from her. Undeterred, the princess took the initiative and grabbed her hovering hoof before she could withdraw any further. Celestia’s heart skipped a beat at the contact, and she shut her eyes.

She felt her hoof move up and down before Obsidian released it. She reopened her eyes. It had been a simple hoofshake, and nothing more.

Princess Obsidian smiled pleasantly, as though Celestia’s reaction had been nothing out of the ordinary.

“Well met, Celestia.”

Her tone was formal and utterly polite, a complete reversal of the princess Celestia had seen earlier that day. She did not know how to respond.

Obsidian turned her head and gave a strained cough into her shoulder, followed by a dainty “pardon me.” Without missing a beat, she looked over Celestia’s shoulder towards the guards at the door.

“Thank you very much, Captain Jolt. You are dismissed.”

The unicorn in golden armor shifted uncomfortably. “Pardon me, milady, but I must insist we stay.”

“Oh?” the princess replied. “Why is that?”

The captain’s eyes flicked briefly towards Celestia. “For reasons of security, milady.”

Obsidian nodded knowingly. “I see. Good stallion.” She walked past Celestia, and towards the guard. “I thank you for doing your duty in both carrying out my orders and considering my personal safety, but in this case, you need not choose one or the other. My guest and I will be just fine, captain, and I really must insist you leave.”

The captain’s gaze wandered from her to Celestia, who was sitting on her haunches, frozen in what looked to be a full-bodied cringe.

“Captain,” the princess sternly interjected, recapturing his attention. She paused to cough again, before continuing. “I happen to know you have other duties at the moment. I would be grateful if you would attend to them.” It was not a request.

It was another moment before the captain gave a rough grunt, which, when the princess raised a stern eyebrow at him, he awkwardly transformed into a noise that was supposed to sound like he was clearing his throat.

“Yes, milady.” He assumed a stiff posture, saluted, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

It was silent as Obsidian perked one ear towards the door, listening to the telltale hoofbeats of the captain and his squad as the moved down the hall, and out of hearing range. Finally, when the only noise in the room was the crackling of the fireplace, she turned around and spoke.

“Finally,” she said, letting some of the formality drop from her voice. “I almost didn’t think he would go.” She walked past Celestia, towards her seat. “The Royal Guards are dedicated, that’s for sure. Loyalty is all well and good, but some ponies can just get tiresome, don’t you think?”

Celestia shook her head, as if she were coming out of some sort of trance. When she spoke, it was a dry whisper.

“I, uh… I don’t…” She shook her head, and trailed off, keeping her head tight against her neck, and her eyes low.

“Yes, well, they’re gone n-.” Obsidian paused, and gave another, raspy cough into her arm. “…they’re gone now. Goodness, I do hope you’ll excuse me, darling. I have the beginnings of a most terrible cold.”

She continued towards her seat. “That’s why I had this tea made. It’s perfect for such an occasion. Fortunately, I made too much. You’re welcome to try some if you like.” The princess reached her chair, and took a moment to settle in.

Celestia was still standing near the entrance, practically frozen in place.

“Gracious!” Obsidian suddenly exclaimed, leaning forward to peer at Celestia. “Pardon me, darling, but you’re shivering!”

Celestia looked down at herself. So she was.

“Please, have a seat by the fire,” Obsidian implored, magically pushing the chair opposite of hers a little further out. “It gets quite cold in this part of the castle, especially on dreary days like today. Come, get warm, and we can talk about what happened today.”

Celestia remained motionless. She seemed to be drawn into herself, every part of her cringing towards the center of her being. Still sitting on her haunches, her forelegs met in a tight V-shape, and her head was still pulled against her neck. Her wings, Obsidian could tell, were clenched and locked against her back.

Celestia gave a small sniffle, and Obsidian recognized it for what it was. She immediately rose again from her seat.

“Darling…” Obsidian crooned, walking towards her.

Celestia was shaking her head. Her shoulders rose and dropped in conjunction with tiny heaves of breath. “…I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Darling,” the princess gently repeated. She put her hoof on Celestia’s shoulder. The alicorn did not recoil away from it; she did not react at all, except for mumbling a little louder.

“I’m so, so sorry…” she repeated, as if it were the only thing she could say.

“Celestia,” Obsidian interjected, a sudden change in her tone. It was forceful, but not unkind. She gently shook Celestia’s shoulder with her hoof. “Celestia. Look at me. No, no, look at me.”

She only drew her head in tighter, looking back and forth across the floor beneath her.

“Darling, stop this right now,” Obsidian ordered. “It is unbecoming of a lady.”

She stopped trying to look away. Obsidian lowered her hoof and waited. Gradually, Celestia raised her head, tentatively bringing her eyes to meet the princess’s. They were full of fear, remorse, and tears.

“We can talk about this like adults.” Princess Obsidian drew back a step. “Say what you mean to say, and say it to me.”

Celestia’s lips trembled wordlessly, and her eyes darted all around the room, resting upon anything and everything that was not the princess before her. Eventually, when it became apparent Obsidian was content to wait, Celestia drew up what little pithy she had and spoke.

“I-I’m just… I’m sorry…”

Her tone was apologetic, but not passionately so. In fact, her breathy sighs and simple, quiet, effortless crying made her seem more tired than anything else.

Princess Obsidian raised an eyebrow, but did not say anything.

“I’m sorry for attacking you like that… I was just so, so angry. And…” Celestia let out a quiet, involuntary gasp. “Everpony thought I was a… a monster… and I proved them right. I proved them right.”

It was gradual, but Celestia’s head had lowered all the way back to the floor.

“I deserve whatever sentence you pronounce.”

Obsidian regarded her coolly. After a moment, she spoke.

“Whatever sentence I pronounce?”

Celestia, still trying to stifle her emotions, made no reaction.

“Hmm.” The princess turned, and walked back to her seat. “Why don’t we come back to that? Celestia, please have a seat.”

It was a few seconds before she moved, but Celestia eventually stirred, and rose off of her haunches, slowly shuffling towards the chair by the fire. She sniffled, and wiped her nose on the way over.

“There we go,” Obsidian said, after Celestia had settled into the cushioned chair. “Much better. Here, take this.”

Obsidian handed her a handkerchief. She meekly accepted it, and dabbed at her eyes and nose. Celestia did have to admit, the warmth of the fireplace felt wonderful after the relative coolness of the weather outside.

Obsidian coughed to the side, and took a drink of tea. After a moment, she cleared her throat, and spoke.

“So, that’s all you have to say for yourself.”

Celetstia may have been emotional, but was still too numb, too tired, to think of anything beyond her own regret. Any justification for her action was lost in exhaustion, though, as she thought about it, there was not much justification to begin with. In the presence of the princess, regret was all she could feel, and it was all she could express.

“I’m sorr-”

“Ah ah!” Obsidian interjected. “No more of that. I would have hoped you could articulate just a little bit better. You remained conscious the whole time, after all.”

It was true, Celestia thought. She really had no excuse. Obsidian continued.

“I was attacked in my own courtroom, and for that, Celestia…”

She braced herself for it.

“…I am sorry.”

Celestia cringed, then quickly looked back up.

“W-what?” Did she hear correctly? Was the princess being sarcastic? Was she sorry for herself?

“I was rude, arrogant, hotheaded, uncivil – all the things that a princess should not be. I indulged in a petty contest of no real consequence. I stooped to name-calling, of all things. And then, I shouted the city’s best confectioner, and perhaps its most beloved citizen, into unconsciousness.” She coughed, took on a briefly pained expression, and clutched at her throat. She took a sip of tea, and continued.

“Eventually, somepony put an end to my madness, albeit rather roughly.” She rubbed at her throat again. As she ruffled the fur with her hoof, Celestia could see a black and purple bruise on the skin underneath, forming a ring around the front of her neck. “So, I am sorry. Sorry for the situation, sorry for Miss Cake, and sorry for what I made you do. Please, accept my apology.”

She coughed, more roughly this time, and for longer. “Pardon me, darling,” she said, taking another, larger than average drink of tea. “Ever since the incident, I’ve just had the most awful cold.”

Celestia said nothing, merely sitting there, processing the new information. Princess Obsidian, the rich, rude, snobbish royal that she had strangled only a few hours ago, was… apologizing?

“You need not accept it now, but I do beg you consider it,” Obsidian said, after Celestia was silent.

“No,” Celestia suddenly said. “I-I mean, yes, I do accept it. Or, I would, but…” She looked up. The tears were gone from her eyes, but they were still somewhat red. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, it is all rather strange, isn’t it?” Obsidian pondered, looking into the crackling fireplace. “I accept your apology, too, by the way. Make no mistake, I am not the only one in need of forgiveness. I don’t think I need to tell you that strangling royalty, or anypony for that matter, is not acceptable conduct.”

Celestia’s eyes fell, but Obsidian continued.

“However, considering everything that happened, who do you suppose is the real monster?” The princess paused to let the question sit for a moment. “It isn’t you, Celestia, and neither is it me. We may have done some monstrous things, but look at us now. I daresay at the moment we are perfectly civil. The only monster in that room was the demon himself.”

Celestia looked up. “Discord.”

“Yes,” Obsidian said, pointing at her. “Exactly. Without a doubt, the both of us, as well as many others in that courtroom, have things to be sorry about, but Discord’s influence changed things. Politics is always a bomb waiting to blow, if you’ll excuse the analogy. In most cases, we are very careful not to let it. But Discord… he knows how to push the right buttons.

“In any case, the criteria of ‘monster’ is harder to fill than you might think. Do not let yourself believe it, especially considering the hypocrisy of the one who prompted that thought.”

Celestia merely nodded, dabbing again at her face with the handkerchief. Was it all Discord’s fault? She knew it was not the first time she had felt like that, the first time she had felt a burning desire to simply do awful things. It always felt like a righteous fury, but this time, somepony had actually been on the receiving end, and the results…

She was not sure that she was entirely convinced, but the princess’s words did make her feel better, if only a little bit.

Eventually, Obsidian broke the silence, motioning to the cup placed in front of her.

“You haven’t even touched your tea. Why don’t you try it? I made it myself. It’s not too bad, if you’ll pardon my boasting. Go on, try it.”

Celestia looked at her teacup, and took it in hooves that now were not trembling quite so much. She brought it to her mouth, and took a small sip.

“It is good,” Celestia meekly agreed. She smacked her lips together after swallowing. “It tastes familiar…”

Obsidian nodded. “I thought it might. This is actually Clover the Clever’s recipe. I used to be her apprentice, for a time.”

Celestia took another sip, allowing herself to relax somewhat. “You were an Adept?”

The princess laughed. “Oh, no, I only wish I was that talented. No… when my grandmother, the old Princess Platinum passed away, Clover was the next most eligible to receive the title. It would have been me, but when the tribes united, they chose representatives for the United Council by election, not by succession. However, Clover turned it down, allowing me to be the unicorns’ princess instead. Being my grandmother’s aide for so long gave Clover vast political experience, which I was all too eager to learn about.” She gave a soft smile. “As it turns out, being a princess is difficult.”

“Difficult how?” Celestia asked, pleased the conversation was moving away from what had happened earlier.

“Well, I imagine you already know, at least in part. Being a princess means standing out, having all eyes on you, watching what you do, what you say. Every action you take must mean something, and if it does not mean something, then it does not matter. The ponies watching you will take it to mean something anyways. It’s very difficult to be one’s self when, as a rule, the act of portraying one’s self is looked down upon.

“Pay attention, Celestia, because very soon, you yourself will be in a position of power. As I understand it, you will be leaving with the Maiden’s Battalion soon, and if you think they will leave one of their potentially most powerful soldiers at the rank of private, you are mistaken. Even if that were the case, you represent a symbol of hope, whether you like it or not.”

There was a pause. “So I shouldn’t act like myself?”

Obsidian chuckled. “Did I say that? No, you should act like yourself. In fact, you must! Sincerity is the straightest way to a pony’s heart. But that’s the thing: there is a certain ‘self’ you must portray. Your best self. Your most confident, most brave, most inspiring self. But of course, if that were all, being a princess would be much, much easier. It cannot simply be an act; your image must be a reflection of your actions. Forget yourself – do what is best for your subjects, even if they hate you for it. Let reason govern you, and virtue guide you. Remember, you are not above the law; rather, you are farther below it than anypony else.

“The good princess asks for her people’s faith. The better princess deserves it.”

There was a brief silence, as Celestia contemplated the words. The better princess deserves it.

“Oh, listen to me ramble. I sound like the Master-Adept herself.” The princess gave a muted chuckle. “In any case, Clover was my political advisor, for a while. She taught me how to speak and act… and, of course, make tea.”

Celestia took another sip of her drink. “It really is good.”

Princess Obsidian laughed. “Thank you, darling.”

The room fell quiet once more. The tranquil crackling of the fire filled the air, interspersed with the occasional, louder pop. Outside, it had begun to rain with a little more intensity. The windows were hit with the occasional tiny raindrop, just barely big enough to condense and snake down the glass.

Celestia sat still in her chair, staring into her teacup, as if the curls of steam rising from the liquid held some hidden answer. Obsidian had apologized to her, something she was supremely surprised at, and perhaps just a bit suspicious of. Nevertheless, she seemed nice enough, and if her apology was an act, then she was an excellent actor. At least her advice seemed sound. She was contemplating what the princess had said, when a thought struck her. She sat still with worry, and did not voice it for a minute.

“’You are not above the law’…” Celestia eventually murmured. “I’m still going to be punished, aren’t I?”

For a moment, Obsidian was quiet. “For your actions in the courtroom, there must still be some consequence.”

“I see.” Celestia nodded, first to herself, and then to Obsidian. “Very well.”

Princess Obsidian took another sip of tea, and then a deep breath. “The decision of consequence would have been mine, but I decided to delegate it away from myself, seeing as I might have a bias. If you would, Celestia, please follow me.”

She rose from the table, and Celestia followed suit. Princess Obsidian donned a royal cloak and silver tiara. Slowly, they walked to the door, and exited. There were no guards waiting outside to escort them.

Celestia allowed herself to be led through the halls, through the twists and turns of the palace, until they reached a grand spiral staircase. They took it, and ascended four floors before coming out onto a landing and stopping in front of a pair of double doors. Here, there were guards waiting, but they did not seem to make any reaction to their presence.

Obsidian started towards the double doors, but was stopped.

“Wait,” Celestia said. Obsidian turned around, and Celestia looked away, sheepishly crossing her forelegs and tapping one hoof nervously against the tile. “Before we go in… what will the punishment be?”

“That isn’t for me to decide.”

“Then who did you delegate it to?”

Obsidian stared at Celestia curiously, seeming to ponder the question much longer than was necessary. Finally, she spoke. “Tell me, Celestia, why did you follow me here? When you could have easily escaped?”

She did not know. Because she had been resigned to it anyways? Because she wanted to let happen what was bound to happen? Because she was too tired to fight back? No, it was more than that.

“Because I want the right thing.”

Obsidian tilted her head. “And you believe this is the right thing?”

“The ponies of Canterlot deserve justice.”

“Yes, they do, don’t they?” Obsidian smiled. “They have waited for justice for many years, Celestia. Maybe you can give it to them.” She walked close, and put her hoof on Celestia’s shoulder. “You would make a fine princess, Celestia. But the citizens of Canterlot have something else in store for you.”

Obsidian lowered her hoof, and walked towards the doors. Celestia tilted her head and furrowed her brows in confusion. What was that supposed to mean?

Obsidian nodded to the guards, who moved to the center of the double doors, ready to pull it open.

“For your actions in the courtroom…” She paused. A mischievous twinkle appeared in her eye. “And I do mean all your actions, there must be some consequences.” Obsidian walked towards Celestia, grabbed her hoof, and gently pulled her forward. “Well, I have an idea. Why don’t we see what the citizens of Canterlot think?”

The doors opened, and they walked through into a mild, cool headwind. On the other side was not some jailer’s office, ready to dole out punishment, as Celestia had expected. Instead, they stepped out onto a great stone balcony, jutting out from one of the main palace buildings, overlooking the greater market square.

Below them was an enormous crowd of ponies.

The moment they walked out, every single one of the ponies turned towards them. They absolutely filled the square below, and pegasi dotted the near skies above. It was the most ponies Celestia had ever seen in one place, looking almost like one very large, very colorful ocean of spectators. Her eyes widened, and her pupils dilated to pinholes. She would have preferred the jailor.

Her legs froze up, but Princess Obsidian brought her forward anyways, aiding her own efforts with telekinesis. Finally, they reached the edge of the balcony, stopping right next to the railing.

Celestia only stood there, wide-eyed and motionless, terrified in the face of the only thing for which she had no real defense: rejection.

Princess Obsidian patted Celestia on the back, before stepping forward.

“Ladies and gentlecolts!” she called, using the Royal Voice. “Many grave things have happened today, in our beautiful city of Canterlot. The diplomats of many nations gathered in what was supposed to be a meeting of peace. Instead, they all bore witness to the horrors of one demon…”

Celestia could not focus. Obsidian’s voice was so loud it made her ears ring, and yet, she did not hear a single word. It was an official statement about what had happened at the courthouse that day, detailing all the events, and to Celestia, it was a blur.

She could only stare out at the seemingly endless sea of ponies, who all stared back. The pressure of their combined gazes was enough to crush her.

It had begun to rain, and none of them seemed to care. The drops were only light, and the wind was only mildly cool, but still the speech carried on. Celestia did not listen back in until she felt Obsidian lightly touched her arm.

“…and this mare is the one who, only today, banished that foul spirit who inhabited one of our own, Discord himself! She has saved lives and given hope to us all, and we are in her debt. Please show your gratitude towards Celestia the alicorn, Hero of Canterlot!”

If all attention was not focused on her before, it certainly was now. Every single eye for a mile around turned towards her…

…and every single pony began to cheer.

Celestia looked at Obsidian, who was smiling amusedly at her, nodding. She looked back.

They whistled, shouted, and stomped their hooves to the ground. Some of the airborne pegasi flew into the sky, returning with storm clouds and bucking small bolts of lightning from them. It almost seemed like an otherworldly event, the way the ground quaked with the hooves of the crowd, and the light flashed from the lightning, and the thunder resounded with it all. The cool blue rain was no longer numbing, but rather cleansing and purifying. It was as if some divine storm had been sent by the gods to show their favor of a single pony.

Most otherworldly of all, however, was the resounding chant that resonated from the crowd, hitting Celestia’s ears in wave after wave.

“Celestia! Celestia! Celestia!”

Celestia turned towards Obsidian, who had backed away from the railing. She was clutching at her throat.

“I don’t get it.”

Obsidian coughed horribly, but smiled through it. “What’s not to get, darling? For your deeds in the courtroom…” Her tone was raspy and dry. She coughed again. One of the guards brought her a glass of water, which she gratefully drank. “For your deeds, there must be consequences. It seems the people have decided that consequence is to deem you their ‘hero’.”

The crowd was still chanting. “Celestia! Celestia! Celestia!”

Obsidian practically gasped as she let out another hacking cough, clutching at the bruise around her neck. “Oh, maybe the Voice wasn’t a good idea…”

“No punishment?”

“Oh no, darling,” she said, waving her hoof. “Amnesty was granted almost immediately after for all involved. None of us were ourselves with Discord in the room.”

Celestia blinked. “You tricked me.”

“Heavens, no. All I said is that there would be consequences. Nothing more.” Obsidian smiled. “I’m sorry, a princess has to have her fun. That’s something else to remember. And you would make a fine princess, Celestia, but the citizens of Canterlot have something else in store for you. Or rather, the citizens of Equestria. Or rather, fate itself. As of now, it seems you are to be their hero. And now they know it.”

She broke out into another fit of coughs, and said no more.

Celestia turned back to the crowd, scanning it over. Her mane was becoming wet with rain, but she did not seem to notice. She was entirely focused on the happiness on their faces, the joy of their celebration, the energy in their tone.

“Celestia! Celestia! Celestia!”

Near the corner of the crowd, something caught her eye. It was a pony who looked like Lucky. Except, she realized, it was probably not. This pony was looking at her and smiling, just like all the rest.

She did not have too long to stare at whoever it was. A flash of lightning blinded her for but a moment, and when she looked back, he was gone.

“Celestia!”

**********

From pleasant dreams, she gradually awoke.

And they had been pleasant dreams. Or rather, it had been just one dream, and even then, to describe it as a dream would be difficult. There were no real images, or maybe there were, but they had been so surreal, she could not interpret them. Really, she did not care; she was content enough to float weightlessly in that blinding azure light, wordlessly happy about anything and everything.

Altogether, it had not been entirely unfamiliar. No, she was sure she had seen this all before. More than once, in fact. When the angel had helped her in her workshop, when the inventor had first opened up his home to her, when her father pointed out her newly earned cutie mark... all of these instances, and many more, the light had flashed not into her eyes, but through them, and she had felt absolutely sure of what she was doing. It had always been like the punchline to a good-natured joke that had never even been told, but for some reason, it was just so funny anyways.

At the time, she had felt it, but had not truly noticed it. Now, floating in the light, the scenes played out before her, and she retroactively noticed the happenings. It made her want to sing, grin, and laugh; to praise the Pantheon in realizing just how truly blessed she was. Rather than any of this, though, she simply kept her peace, at ultimate ease, drifting in the blue light. In these troubled times, it was the ultimate gesture of faith; not only to know that everything would be okay, but to be optimistic about it. Everything would be more than okay. Everything would be wonderful.

Even still, she had to wake up. Though she was loathe to leave such a beautiful, immaterial vision, she desperately wanted to see her friends. She wanted to tell them about her dreams, if only because she had a sneaking suspicion that she would soon lose her grasp on the dreamscape, as one often did.

And so, from pleasant dreams, she gradually awoke.

Cotton stirred beneath her bed sheets, a smile on her face before she had even opened her eyes. Her smile faltered just a bit as she returned to her body; there was a rather sharp pain just below her left shoulder. It was only a physical reaction, however. The optimism in her heart remained unfettered.

Cotton’s eyes fluttered open. It took her a moment, but she quickly realized where she was: Canterlot General, the city’s hospital. Above her was a perfectly white ceiling, accentuated by the magelight hanging directly above her, which was partially blinding, and not in a good way.

Her ears twitched as she became aware of the activity around her. The doctors were busy, that was for sure. Metal trays clattered around, ponies spoke to each other, and many hoofsteps could be heard. It was not overly chaotic, though; if Cotton had to guess, she would say the situation was mostly under control. Even if it was not, she doubted she would have minded. Everything seemed to be muffled in her ears anyways. Her dreaminess had not quite worn off, and for that, she could not complain.

Suddenly, somepony came into view, blocking some of the light coming from the overhead lantern, and letting the rest filter through a screen of pink hair. Cotton grinned.

“Celly!” she exclaimed. Her voice was quiet, but still surprisingly full of energy.

“Cotton!” Celestia smiled back, just as wide. Carefully, she came forward, and embraced her in a tentative hug. The pain in her left shoulder spiked as she tried to move it, but Cotton did not complain. How could she?

“I’m glad you’re okay, Cotton,” Celestia spoke into her ear, still hugging her. They drew apart. “We were worried. How do you feel? You were sleeping like a baby until just now.”

“Oh, I’m great,” Cotton replied, still grinning. “A mare needs her beauty sleep. How do you feel?”

The events of – today? Yesterday? She did not know – were blurred and confused in her mind, but Cotton remembered something had happened, something worth asking about.

She looked surprised but pleased by the question. “Me? Oh, I, uh...” She trailed off, and laughed, rubbing the side of her head. “I’m okay. Actually, I’m really good!” Celestia leaned in, and spoke to Cotton in an excited near-whisper, as if the information were confidential. “Cotton, ponies really like me now!”

“Really?” Cotton returned in the same voice. “Oh, that’s great! I’m so happy for you!” She did not understand how it came to pass, or what Celestia truly even meant by it, but looking at her shining, happy face, of course Cotton was happy for her.

Cotton slowly raised her head, and swept her gaze across the room. In a bed to her left was Clover the Clever, propped up on some pillows and deeply engrossed in a book. She seemed to be in an okay condition, especially considering her age.

Around her own bed were other visitors. Of course, there was Celestia, propped up on the bedside with both of her hooves, which was strangely reminiscent of a certain hospital visit only a week and a half before. Nearby, she saw Lucky Break, standing behind Celestia, and impassively watching them both. His stare was not unkind. With her good arm, she gave an enthusiastic wave. He awkwardly returned it with a brief wave, a nod, and a slight smile. Across the room, a pony’s boisterous laugh caught her attention, and she saw Apple Crumble talking to one of the other patients. One of his wings was bandaged, and he had a black eye, but other than that, he seemed fit enough.

Her sweep ended on at her bed on the right, which held a sleeping unicorn; she recognized his face, but couldn’t remember his name. Thunderbolt, Silverbolt, something like that? He was part of the Royal Guard, she knew. One of his eyes was wrapped up in bandages. She would have to reintroduce herself later. Which reminded her...

“Oh, Celly!” Cotton eagerly said, her eyes bright. “I almost forgot!”

Celestia raised her eyebrows, but smiled amusedly. “Yes?”

“Did you meet Coffee yet?”

There was a deep silence. Celestia’s smile faded, and her expression, which had been so happy only moments before, seemed to darken. Her gaze dropped, and she pushed off the bedside, her forelegs dropping to the floor. She was still at head height with Cotton, but her eyes had strayed elsewhere.

A chord of worry struck Cotton’s heart. “Oh no...”

Celestia lightly nodded.

“He made a bad impression, didn’t he?” Cotton said. Celestia raised her head again; this time, she was the one that looked worried. “I’m always telling him, be nice to strangers, but he never listens! Don’t worry, Celly, he’ll warm up, if you give him time.”

Celestia shook her head. “Cotton...”

She tilted her head. “What?”

Celestia paused, and for a long time, it did not seem like she would say anything. After a while, Lucky stepped forward, placing his hoof on Celestia’s shoulder. She looked back at him, and he nodded. Wordlessly, she allowed herself to be pushed gently back, remorse clear on her face. Lucky took her place at Cotton’s side.

“How is your shoulder, Cotton?”

“It hurts a little.” Her tone was curious, but her expression was painfully naive.

Lucky cast her a pitiful look.

“How much do you remember from yesterday?”

Cotton felt her heart quicken, and her blood rush faster. The sounds of the infirmary, which before had been muffled in her ears, were becoming clearer and louder, almost too loud. She felt her own temperature rise. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she had no idea why.

“Not very much.”

Lucky sighed. After a moment, he drew a deep breath, and spoke.

XVIII: La Vie en Cyan

Cotton was very clever.

Her mind worked extraordinarily quickly, reflecting a level of intelligence few suspected of the little mare. As if it were a hobby or a pastime, she liked to think, and she liked to think deeply, about all kinds of things. The sciences, the arts, philosophy and life itself – all were equally likely, and, Cotton knew, ponies found to be equally surprising. Not many knew she had relatively advanced hand-and-hoofmade machines in her workshop; not many knew of her impressive book collection, in a world where books were luxury; not many knew she was prone to deep thought at all, especially considering the happy-go-lucky impression the mare undoubtedly gave.

But she did have machines, she did have books, and she lived life, didn’t she? And so, she thought about it all.

Even when Cotton was a filly, simply “thinking” had been a favorite activity of hers. What friendship she had at that young age was fleeting and shallow. She discovered very early that ponies did not take kindly to differences, at least not at first – her spiraling horn and whirlwind magic made sure that not only was she different, but that she was the most different amongst the foals her age. Relative isolation made it so that for the first eight years of her life, her only real friends were imaginary, and her only true hobbies were baking treats with her parents and, of course, thinking.

She remembered those times, and it was a state of being she would never wish upon herself, nor anypony else. Being friendless was a terrible thing, one of the most awful fates she could think of. Ponies were, without a doubt, social creatures. They were meant to be together. Without any friends, she had regressed into herself, and the keen mind that both she and her parents took so much pride in became a dangerous place. It became an echo chamber. Thoughts and feelings bounced and reverberated off of the walls of her skull, crashing in upon themselves and reinforcing one another. Coming from the singular perspective of one intelligent little filly, sometimes interesting connections were made.

Sometimes, however, the churning sea of thoughts produced opinions and leaps in logic that she knew were less than healthy. Some of them, she had brought up with her parents. Most of them, however, she left unvoiced, for they were dark thoughts indeed.

That had all changed. Her mother had supported her, and her father had guided her. She learned a valuable lesson, the simple principles of optimism and laughter, and she had applied it in the most spectacular way. She earned her cutie mark, discovered her special talent, and, most importantly, made every single friend that it was possible to make.

With a spirit and a perspective that few fillies her age had, Cotton was made into a new mare. She loved her friends and family all the more for it, because she knew what it was like to go without. And she still thoroughly enjoyed the simple act of sitting and thinking, which she was certain was not in itself bad, because with fresh perspective, the darkness had regressed.

However, Cotton had not forgotten what it was like. She remembered all too well the thoughts that could take root in one’s loneliness, and she vowed she would never be lonely again. She surrounded herself with friends, and because everypony was her friend, she was never truly alone, just so long as somepony, anypony was nearby. She was apprehensive at first about living outside the walls, but she was beloved by all Canterlot, and received many visitors. When she was not visiting, she was working, assured of her place amongst ponies.

And so, most of the time, Cotton was simply too busy to think. When she did think, she could not sit idly to ponder. She had things to do, ponies to see and share laughter with. Her musing carried on for hours, days, even weeks at a time, all because her company would not allow her to be inactive, and she could only ponder in what brief downtime she allowed. It was a fate she had happily brought upon herself.

All these things, and more, she remembered while lying on a hospital bed, in the pitch blackness of night, completely and utterly alone.

Lucky Break had long since left, the busy Commander preparing for his battalion’s inevitable departure. Apple Crumble had stayed a bit longer, but only because he needed to, since he was technically still recovering from his injuries. Celestia herself had stayed with her for hours, and they enjoyed their mutual rapport, busying themselves with games, conversation, and wild stories. Cotton beamed when she saw other ponies approach Celestia and compliment her, like how heroic she had been, or how grateful they were. There had been one stallion, an orange pegasus from the Maiden’s Battalion, no less, who had said he thought she was pretty. At that, Cotton had giggled, and Celestia had gracefully blushed while speaking a swift thank you.

And yet, when the night had fallen and it was time, even Celestia had to go. She was still required to train, and the Battalion was more eager than ever to make her battle-worthy. Lucky himself had come to fetch her. Before they left, she saw both of their faces; one was happy to have been there, and the other was mostly impassive, but underneath the surface, Cotton noticed worry. Worry for her.

She assured them, with a smile on her face, that she would be fine. They believed her, because she believed herself. Of course she would be fine! She always was, because she had more than one friend to keep her comfort.

Except now, in the dead of night, all her friends were sleeping, something that she simply could not seem to do. She was left alone with her thoughts.

She felt the sea begin to churn.

Of course, whenever this used to happen, she would get up from her own bed, and make the journey to Coffee’s house. In the middle of the night, she would knock on his door, eyes wide as a kitten’s, and he would inevitably let her in. He was usually awake anyways, working on some project or another. Because of her startlingly active mind, Cotton had an odd form of insomnia, and she found the sound of tinkering metal to be distracting and, for some reason, oddly soothing. Near the end, she had visited so often that Coffee had seen fit to take the time to build a second, Cotton-sized bed.

Cotton had actually been on her way to Coffee’s house on the night that she had met Celestia. She would have helped regardless of who it was, but something about Celestia interested her. Maybe she’s like I was, she had thought. Maybe she needs a friend.

She turned around, took her in, and lo and behold, Celestia was like her. Or, at least, a younger version of her: a lonely, out-of-place mare who felt horrible about her own appearance and abilities. Somepony who had no friends.

Well, Cotton had fixed that right up, yes siree. She had set Celestia on the right track, and now, every pony in Canterlot absolutely loved her. And what joy Cotton had felt to see it! Even the littlest bit of empathy was enough to remember and feel the bliss of gaining friends where there had been none. And Cotton was not lacking in empathy.

Celestia was leaving soon, though. Leaving, and not coming back for a long time, if ever. She had seen friends go to war and never return; it was like losing a piece of herself. Losing Celestia, somepony with whom she identified so much, and who was an absolutely excellent friend besides, would hurt bitterly.

She knew it as fact, because at this moment, that particular pain was beginning to creep in.

The churning sea grew more restless. Every time she blinked, time seemed to move a little faster, or even skip altogether.

With practiced motions, she got out of bed, stumbling as her left foreleg hit the floor.

Coffee knew what it was like. Cotton had made friends with literally everypony in Canterlot, and if she was not friends with a pony, then she would quickly become one. However, she would be lying if she said that she had considered Coffee to be just another friend, just an interesting challenge to be overcome in the friend-making process. She had tried so hard for so long to be his friend, because in the end, it would be worth it. Because he had known what it was like. The loneliness, the rejection, the feeling of being an outcast; he had known it all. She had been able to empathize with him, and he with her, but it had been more than that.

After all that pain, she had wanted to know he could still laugh. Seeing someone who had been so sad turn around to become so happy still was, for Cotton, the greatest experience in the world.

Cotton’s triumph with Celestia had not been entirely unpracticed – she had done the exact same thing years ago with the once reclusive hieyuman Joseph Baker, now affectionately known by Canterlot as “Coffee”.

**********

She blinked, and found herself alone at his home.

Cotton knocked on the door, knowing it was pointless. After a moment of silence, she pushed it open, and walked inside. It was pitch black. She charged her horn, and sent a magelight to the ceiling, where it hovered in place, spinning in a tight circle. By the white, circling light, she saw that nopony had entered since she had last left. Everything was in its proper spot; that is to say, everything was strewn about the floor in messy piles, bits and bobs of metal gadgetry lying everywhere in a state of organized chaos.

She started forward, careful not to tread on any of it, and made her way towards one of the back rooms. There was no door – she had not needed or wanted one. She stood in the entrance and looked in. It was little more than a closet, holding only a comfortable bed and a small chest. It was perfect.

Cotton made her way in, and sat down upon the bed. The pillows and blankets were still folded neatly. She pulled the covers over herself, careful not to disturb them any more than she had to. Eventually, she rested her head on a pillow, pulled the blanket over her face, and was still.

It was too silent.

Her best friend Celestia was leaving soon. And her best friend Joseph… Joseph had already left.

Cotton raised her head.

“Coffee?” she called. The noise echoed through the small house, and yet, at the same time, seemed to be muffled the moment it left her mouth.

Of course, there was no response.

“Coffee…?” she called, a little quieter.

Of course, there was again no response. No clinking of metal, no banging of the hammer, no forge-fire whooshing from the basement, no curses uttered in a foreign tongue, no sudden explosions to rock her to sleep. Nothing. It was completely and utterly silent, and she was completely and utterly alone.

Her eyes were still open, though there was nothing to see. Cotton put her head back down. That had been silly of her. She snuggled deeper into her covers, curled tightly into a ball, and remained horribly awake.

For the first time in many years, Cotton wept.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone in the guest bedroom. It was morning.

Not much had changed. The house was still quiet, and she was still under the blankets, scrunched tightly into herself. There were not any windows in her little closet of a room, but morning light still filtered in through the windows towards the front of the house. It was visible to her, but only just so. Cotton had buried herself quite deeply under every blanket around. Her head was underneath a pillow.

Slowly, she raised her head, nudging the pillow away and letting some of the looser blankets slide off her form. Her normally bouncy pink-and-purple mane seemed less curly and full than usual. A few hairs stuck out here and there.

She looked around. At least now it felt normal. Cotton was an early riser, and whenever she spent the night at Coffee’s home, she would awaken while he was still fast asleep. He would be snoring loudly in his bed, or even slouched over on his workbench downstairs, some metal part still clutched in one hand and an empty mug near the other. She would get out of bed, close the door to his room or workshop, and begin making breakfast. Oh, and coffee. She never forgot about that.

Cotton tiredly wiped at her eyes. On her cheeks, she felt patches of stiff fur, salty stains from last night’s tears. Embarrassed, she quickly rubbed them away.

Eventually, Cotton slid away from her bed, and turned back to make it, as was routine. Her left arm, she realized, was as stiff as a board. She did her best not to use it, but walked with a pronounced limp and gingerly held it up whenever she rested upon all fours.

She rifled with the blankets and sheets. Underneath the pillow where her head had been, there were splotches darker than the rest, a small mural of water stains. She tried to rub them away, too, scrubbing at the fabric with the fur on her forearm. They did not come clean. Eventually, she settled for hiding it with the pillow, and finished making the bed.

As was routine, she proceeded down the hall away from her room. On her way, she reached for Coffee’s bedroom door, closing it but not daring to look at the terrible emptiness inside.

She entered the kitchen, which was connected to dining area, which was connected to a tiny living room, all of which doubled as a secondary workshop. Everything was just as they had left it, save for the hookshot chain, which somepony had detached from the wooden sign across the street and thrown back in through his window. The spearhead and chain lay in a heap on the floor. She stepped over it, and made her way to the kitchen counter.

Most of the counter was situated well above her to accommodate for Coffee’s natural height, but there was a section of it that had been custom built to be smaller, just for her. Likewise, the lower parts of the pantry cabinet, situated right beside it, held only food that was in a pony’s diet; other food, hieyuman food, was kept up higher, out of her reach. Surprisingly, their diet overlapped in many areas, but there were some things Cotton just did not understand. Like, now that she thought about it, coffee itself.

She peeked inside the cabinet. Sure enough, it was well stocked. Looking up, she saw the things Coffee either did not think she would enjoy, or the things he wanted for himself. A bag of cotton candy sat on the very highest shelf; she had gifted them to him constantly, but also had a tendency to eat them herself. Next to that sat a burlap sack of what she presumed was coffee grounds. She stared warily at it. Her horn began to glow, and the sack came gently spiraling to the ground.

She had made breakfast and coffee many times before, but never partook of the latter. “It’s an acquired taste,” he had told her, after she had took a small sip and nearly spit it back out. “Though, I think you eat way too many sweets to like it.” Cotton had heartily agreed, and never drank much of it again.

Maybe now she would have changed her mind?

Breakfast was quick, both the preparation and the consumption. The coffee, however, took time. She did not mind. It was simply routine, after all.

Eventually, there sat a brown mug of Coffee’s favorite drink in front of her. She just stared at it for a long time. Behind the twists of steam, she could see her own reflection in the tranquil surface of the earthy brown liquid.

Something looked wrong. She looked wrong.

“I should really go,” she said aloud.

She rose from her seat, cleaned up her breakfast, dumped out the coffee, and started for the door, still hobbling with her bad leg.

Suddenly, she stopped, and turned around, heading towards the back of the house. She descended down the stairs at the back, and looked through the doorway. It was his workshop. His real home. It was quite spacious, much larger than the actual first floor where he lived. Down here, there were still metal contraptions and pieces nearly everywhere, but it seemed much cleaner, as if this place’s organization was far more important, and his living quarters were merely a repository for leftover scraps that he did not want to dispose of. There was still one of the castle’s cannons sitting in the center of the floor, surrounded by nuts, bolts, screws, and their appropriate tools. Not far off, there sat a neat pile of glass spheres, about the size of three hooves in diameter. The inside of each could be seen swirling with darkish blue energy. Magical compression, Cotton recognized.

She gave the scene one last look. It was Coffee’s legacy, a project that was ever advancing. Unfinished gadgetry lie on tables throughout the room, devices that, in all likelihood, never would be finished.

A thought occurred to her. She was one of the only ponies who could feasibly fix that cannon in the center of the room. Possibly the only pony. Some ponies knew how to maintain them, but nopony really understood them. Not like she did, anyways.

All because Coffee was gone.

Cotton backed away, and closed the workshop door.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone at the cathedral.

It was breathtakingly enormous, just as it always had been. The immaculate white marble floors were in excellent condition, the intricately carved stone walls were as magnificent as always, and the fine oaken pews were filled to the maximum with guests and mourners.

She supposed she was not alone, not really. Amongst the thousands of ponies, many of them dressed in sorrowful black cloaks, Cotton sat on the very front row. To her left was Celestia, and to her right, Clover the Clever. She sat idly, waiting for the procession to begin. Without any distraction, she began to think.

A week before, when she had returned from Coffee’s home and hobbled back into the hospital, the doctors, and Celestia, had given her quite the scolding. Of course, they could take no real action against her, but she apologized anyways, explaining that she simply “had some things to take care of.” To give her apology power, she included an extra big smile and a large bag of cotton candy, enough for all the patients on her floor. That had earned her forgiveness easily enough.

She made sure it did not happen again, falling into that trap of deep thought. It had been easy enough, at first. She was, after all, surrounded by friends. Celestia even came to visit her every day after her training, still sweaty and tired, telling her stories of exploits in Lucky’s courtyard, and in Clover’s tower. One recurring theme was Celestia’s new friends; her eyes lit up when she spoke of her new battalion comrades, how they all completely accepted her, and were even impressed by her. Cotton really, really appreciated that.

But now, in the cathedral, where all was quiet, and everypony wore a mask of dark sobriety…

A voice spoke. The low dryness of it was instantly recognizable. Cotton looked up, and saw Father Bright at the head of the chapel, speaking from behind a dark marble pulpit.

“Sons, daughters… children of our gods. Following the grim events of the week past, we welcome those who have come to pay homage to three of our most trusted comrades, and our dearest friends. Arrowsong, Swift Cloud, and Joseph ‘Coffee’ Baker.”

Cotton felt Celestia pat her on the back, followed by a quick, comforting rub. She looked over and gave an appreciative smile.

The moment her hoof fell from her, though, she returned to herself. Father Bright continued speaking, and she resumed thinking.

Her gaze wandered to the three caskets at the front of the cathedral. One of them was larger than the rest. It was only fitting; in that casket lay her hopes, her ideals, a large portion of her efforts, and perhaps her dearest friend. In that casket lay the last of the combined knowledge of a once glorious empire. In that casket lay a piece of herself. So naturally it was big, with so many things to carry. And soon enough, they were going to put it in the ground.

Though she was barely conscious at the time, she had heard the story. In fact, she was hearing it again right now, as Father Bright recounted the deeds of heroism possessed of these three brave souls. Coffee had given his life for hers. Like some sort of sick bargain, Discord had demanded a choice be made between them, and what had Coffee done? He had chosen her. Joseph Baker, the engineer of Hieyuma and patron saint of invention, had deemed her life to be of greater worth than his own.

A dark thought struck her. Had he been wrong?

“Cotton.”

Celestia’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She was nudging her in the side, and motioning with her head towards the pulpit.

It was a moment before Cotton comprehended what Celestia meant. She had been asked to speak on Coffee’s behalf. The other speakers for the two deceased Royal Guards had already gone, and now, it was her turn. Time had escaped her grasp; she had not even realized.

“Oh.” She jumped off her seat, and trotted towards the front of the chapel, still limping on her foreleg. Reaching the pulpit, she turned around and looked into the crowd. More than five thousand ponies stared at her, waiting for her to speak.

Cotton gave an inspiring, utterly optimistic, sometimes even humorous speech about the accomplishments Joseph had made in life, the good things he had done, the friends he had made. She told the story of how he had become known as “Coffee”, an occurrence in which she played no small role. She spoke about her own relationship with him, how they had been the best of friends. She could see the crowd thinking it: Cotton was friends with everypony. Of course she would speak for Coffee, he was too reclusive for anypony else.

Well, they only had it half right.

Cotton continued regardless, and though her features were animated and her speech was enlivening, she could hardly hear her own voice.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone at the Canterlot cemetery.

It was the one inside the city, the only one within the walls, set on a high, distant plateau. Unlike the graveyard outside the walls, this one peeked through a small gap in the mountains, like a miniature valley, so that both the sunrise and the sunset could be seen. Right now, the sun hung low on the western horizon. Wind whispered through the trees and shrubs, and the sound of ponies' hooves could be heard shuffling through the grass. Even with the considerable gathering, it really was a peaceful place. Its distance from the city proper lent to its tranquility, and the elevation lent to its spectacular view of the plains below the mountain.

Borne up the steep trail by three teams of strong stallions, three decorated coffins lay before them on the grass. Three graves had been dug, and three headstones carved. They all fit the setting very nicely, matching the rows of headstones behind them, but at the same time, carrying their own personality. After all, within the city walls, where the space was quite limited, only truly distinguished heroes were buried.

The large casket threw off the neatly organized rows, but they had made it work. One row behind the casket, and six feet deeper, lay buried the Maiden of Canterlot. On the headstone was a small arrangement of sunflowers. They had already been there when the procession arrived.

Cotton wondered how Lucky felt, and even considered asking him. Had he felt all these things? Did he get all these thoughts about…

She stopped herself, surprised at what she was thinking. Giving up?

No.

No!

What kind of pony would she have been, to “give up” after her life had been saved, and at so terrible a cost? She repeated the question to herself, had Coffee been wrong about the value of her life?

Maybe. After all, what was one silly little confectioner compared to Equestria’s greatest inventor? Not much, was the truthful answer.

But she was still alive. She was alive, and she could change things, she could grow. Maybe she could even invent weapons. Was she worth it? Maybe not, but if that was the case, then she would make herself worth it. She would become something Coffee would have been proud of.

Father Bright spoke some final words, and ordered the caskets to be lowered into their graves. Once they were in, each pony threw a hoof-ful of dirt into the hole, taking one last look and offering their last goodbyes. Cotton garnered some strange looks as she stepped forward the sad smile gone from her face, replaced by newfound determination.

She would be worth it.

“I promise.”

She threw her hoof-ful in, and moved on.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone in her workshop.

Machines roared boisterously around her. Stoves were burning, pots were boiling, and in the center of it all, her cotton candy device hummed loudly, aided of course by the whirlwind of motion and heat that she fed into it via her own magic. After a minute had gone by, she retrieved a nearby stick, and dipped it into the bowl, slowly stirring it around.

Another half minute went by, and she pulled it back out. Wrapped around the top was a picture perfect wad of blue cotton candy. After examining it, and taking a small chunk out to taste test, Cotton nodded her approval. She set it on a tray on a nearby table, covering it, along with a dozen others, under a thin protective sheet. Walking back to the machine, she poured another batch of sugar inside the circular disc, and began the process all over again.

The work was the same as always, and she truly did love it. She could honestly say that there was no job in the world she would rather have. Making candy, selling candy, and then seeing ponies enjoy that candy was a joy unlike any other.

Yet, the work was just that: the same. Nothing had changed, and why would it have? She was not inspired to do anything noteworthy, and her routine remained as constant as it had ever been, save for her evening visits to watch Celestia train. Her promise to Coffee had not even inspired any new bursts of creative thought for recipes; she already had coffee-flavored cotton candy, even though nopony had much liked it but him.

Was this truly it, then? Was this the worth of her life? Was this her legacy? Making candy? It was certainly not a lowly profession, but neither was it heroic…

She withdrew another stick of cotton candy and tasted it. Delicious, as always.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone in the market square.

It was evening. The sun had begun to descend in the sky, though the day still held a few more hours of light. Ponies thronged all around her, moving in every direction, but there was always a particular draw towards her stand. Stallions, mares, and foals alike waited in line to be served. Every day, from the time she opened her stand, to the time she ran out of stock and closed it, ponies were always waiting. Sometimes the line consisted of only a few, and sometimes it stretched all the way across the square, but there was indeed always a line.

Most of them came for the cotton candy. It was, after all, what she was known for. Ms. Cake the kind confectioner, creator, connoisseur, and caterer of cotton candy. It was even imprinted on her flank, a fluffy pink cone of her namesake.

So, of course that was her worth. Of course that was her legacy. Candy was her special talent.

She sighed. At least she was good at it.

“Somethin’ gotcha down, little miss?”

Cotton looked up. When she saw who it was, she beamed. “Crumble!”

Sure enough, Apple Crumble stood at the front of the line, lightly smiling back down at her. “’Ello, Cotton.”

“It’s nice to see you!” Cotton greeted, reaching over the counter and shaking his hoof. “How have you been? Is training over already?”

“Nah, jus’ takin’ a small break is all.” He deployed his right wing, scratching at it with his hoof, partially displaying it to her. “Took a righ’ hard blow to the wing, I did. Can’t really fly, so my capabilities are a bit… limited at the moment.”

The bandages were gone, but his wing was still worn and rustled.

“Oh no, Crumble!” Cotton leaned forward to get a closer look. “Will it recover? Will you be okay?”

He looked surprised. “I, uh… yeah, don’ worry ‘bout it. It’ll get better!” He guffawed, amused at her concern. “S’not like it got cut off, ‘er anythin’. I’ll be fine!”

Cotton leaned back over the counter, and smiled. “Good,” she said, nodding.

He withdrew his wing. “Yeh silly filly. I could’a been a lot worse off, too…”

He trailed off. The corners of Cotton’s lips had lowered just slightly, and her smiling eyes seemed to fade just a bit.

“How ‘bout you, Cotton?” Crumble asked, trying to keep his tone conversational. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Huh? Me?” Cotton asked, surprised. “Oh, I’m… good!” She looked as though she were about to laugh, though they both knew she was far from it.

“Are yeh sure?” Crumble pursued. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and his voice lowered to a murmur. “I know ‘is passing has been hard on you. I know what it’s like, too.”

Cotton’s smile faded, and she bit her lower lip. “Well…” She looked down at her counter, idly sifting through the grainy patterns of wood with her eyes. Eventually, she slowly bobbed her head. “…I’m okay.”

“Hmmm.” Crumble put a hoof to his beard, stroking it and regarding Cotton closely. “Well, alrigh’. But Cotton, if yeh need somepony to talk to, I’m ‘ere.”

Cotton’s smile returned to her face, though it was smaller, and seemed somehow more genuine than before. “Thanks, Crumble.” She paused for a moment to collect herself. “So, what’ll it be?”

Crumble beamed beneath his bushy blonde beard. “Jus’ a tart, if yeh have it.”

“Right away!” Cotton ducked beneath the counter. “What flavor?”

“Well, I’m rather fond o’…”

“Apple?” Cotton said, producing a small pastry before he could finish.

“Hah! Yeah, that’s the one.” He gratefully accepted the treat, and immediately took a bite into it. Crumbs from the pastry clung to his beard. Cotton giggled.

“So,” Crumble said, finishing his first bite, “what do I owe yeh?”

“Hmm.” Cotton considered it for a moment. “Why don’t you just have this one? It’s on the house, mister stickybeard.”

He put a hoof to his chin, and brushed out most of the crumbs.

“Are yeh sure?”

Cotton nodded.

“Well, if you insist…” Crumble said somewhat hesitantly, before taking a not-so-hesitant bite from the pastry. “Gotta hand it to yeh, lass, yeh really know how to make a pony smile.”

“Thanks! I mean, I did make some extra anyways, and…”

She stopped.

“…I know how to make a pony smile?” she asked.

Crumble, about to walk away, paused. “Well, yeah, sure.” He cast her a curious glance. “Heh, yeh sound surprised! That’s like, what yer known for, lass!” He looked back at the line of ponies behind him, which by now, was growing impatient.

“’Cept fer yer customers, if yeh keep ‘em waitin’ like this,” he said jokingly.

Cotton did not hear him. “I know how to make ponies smile…” she repeated, muttering to herself.

Crumble looked around. “Er, yeah. Anyways, it was nice seein’ yeh, Cotton. I’ve gotta get goin’ back to the barracks courtyard-”

“Wait!” Cotton suddenly exclaimed. “Can I come with?” She did not wait for permission, hopping away from her stand and to his side.

“You… what?” He scratched his head. “Don’t yeh have a business to run? Candy left to sell?”

Cotton tilted her head. “Hm? Oh yeah!”

She raced back to her counter, and began digging underneath it. A moment later, she came back up to the top with an armful of treats, sweets, and of course, more cotton candy than a single pony would know what to do with. She set them all on the counter in an enormous heap, following up with many more armfuls, presumably until her entire stock sat on the top of her counter. It was several times taller than her. How she managed to fit that much candy underneath her counter, Crumble had no idea.

She trotted towards Crumble, and without warning, jumped up onto his back, standing on it as a makeshift stage. He gave a surprised, protesting grunt.

“Hey everypony!” she shouted across the market, pointing her still recovering arm towards her stand. “Free candy!”

A moment later, she lost her balance, and collapsed onto Crumble’s back, though she did not fall off. Forelegs dangling off one side, and hind legs dangling off the other, she dusted her hooves together.

“There, that takes care of that.”

Crumble craned his head back to look at her. “What do yeh think yer doin’, lass?!” he yelled, more frantic and confused than angry.

“Uh-oh. Um… we should probably…” Cotton pointed ahead of him.

He looked forward, and sure enough, nearly the entire market square seemed to be charging in their direction.

He yelped, and galloped in the opposite direction to avoid being trampled, but to no avail. Ponies were coming in from all sides, eager to get at the enormous pile of sweets. He picked out the widest opening he could find, and plowed through it. Still bouncing around on his back, Cotton cheered with excitement.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone on the outskirts of the barracks courtyard.

Ponies of every race engaged in all types of training. Flight, agility, strength, endurance, aim, magical prowess; if an attribute could be used upon the battlefield, it was almost certainly being honed in the courtyard. The ponies trotting around the quarter-mile track greeted her as they passed, tiredly calling out her name and happily waving. She greeted them in response, watching them smile as she successfully remembered each and every one of their names in return.

That was, after all, her special talent!

She could not believe that she had forgotten. It was something Coffee had told her, following the incident that had ultimately led to their friendship. “I don’t think your special talent is making candy,” he had said. “I think your special talent is making people smile. Maybe candy is sometimes just the best way of doing that.”

She had already half known it, but coming from her new best friend, it seemed like simple, loving flattery. Maybe it was, but he had been right. There was something else he had said, too… something she had liked. What was it again?

She remembered. “Most see people as they appear to be. Some see people as they are. You-” Cotton touched and wrinkled her nose. She remembered Coffee poking her in the nose when he said that. “You, and a few exceptional others… you see people as what they can become. Thank you for having such an extraordinary gift.”

She smiled tranquilly. That was her special talent. That was her gift.

In the center of the courtyard, Cotton watched as Celestia trained, getting her first ever experience with the pegasi standard weapon, the switchblade. The switchblade had been an device of Coffee’s own invention, she remarked. It was a hoof-mounted, gauntlet type accessory, which, at first glance, appeared to be nothing more than a slightly bulging piece of foreleg armor. However, when the user activated it with a subtle motion of the hoof, a blade either flipped forward and locked into place or, in some of the newer models, would slide out from the inner workings of the device. The blade itself was relatively large and surprisingly thick, about one third of the size of a normal pony’s standard issue longsword. It had been made exclusively for pegasi, allowing them to simply dive into their target rather than attempt a slash, but many other soldiers kept them for backup as well. If needed, it made for an excellent stealth weapon. Coffee had said he got the idea from one of his old friends, a man named… Eagle? She could not remember.

The switchblade, along with countless other devices, many of which could be found on these very training grounds, were inventions of Coffee. They were his legacy, and they made for an impressive legacy indeed.

So, compared to all this, what was her legacy? He had thanked her for having “an extraordinary gift”, something that, in the end, he chose to give his life for. Cotton knew exactly what it was, and why it was important.

She had brought a sad hieyuman out of his depression, and he ended up making tools that had saved thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands by now! Much later, she had cheered up another poor outcast, who had ended up earning the respect of the entire city. Between those two incidents, she knew she had done so much more for so many more.

Cotton’s talents did not end at making candy. Quite the opposite: that is simply where it all began.

And right now, she knew where her talents were needed the most. Perhaps it was selfish excuse to stay with somepony who… understood… but Celestia’s happiness was nascent, and therefore fragile. If safeguarding the optimism of what she understood to be Equestria’s best hope was not important, what was?

Cotton nodded to herself. It was decided then. She saw Apple Crumble, making a lap around the track, and stood up as he passed her, trotting towards him with a pronounced limp on her bad leg.

“Hey! Crumble! Hey, slow down!”

He did, but only a little. “Cotton?” Crumble briefly looked back, before turning his head forward again. “Yeh know the rules Cotton…” He paused, taking a moment to breathe. “No civilians in the courtyard…”

“Wow, you’re fast!” Cotton said, finally catching up to him. Even though he was only moving at a mild trot, she had difficulty keeping up. Her body dipped dramatically every time she stepped on her left foreleg.

“C’mon, miss…” Crumble panted. Sweat formed all over his coat, and made some of his blonde mane stick to his brow. He turned his head, and spat on the grass to his side. “If yer not a part of the battalion… Yeh can’t-”

“I’m joining the Maiden’s Battalion!”

Crumble’s mouth closed, and he did not answer. Gradually, his trot slowed, until he eventually came to a complete stop. He held his head down, panting in exhaustion. Behind him, Cotton was doing the same.

“Whew, that was tiring!” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “What’s next, Crumble? Strength training? Bucking practice? Oooo, we should do that. I’m don’t think my arm is fully healed, yet.”

She rolled her left arm in its joint, testing its flexibility and massaging the area where the scar had been left. It was still large and ugly, a furless line that had yet to be reclaimed by her natural cyan. She knew it probably never would be. She set her hoof down.

“Oh look, the bucking dummies are open!” Cotton said, eagerly pointing across the field at a line of straw targets. She started towards it by herself. “Let’s go!”

Crumble raised his head, still breathing heavily. “Wha- No, Cotton!” he called. She stopped mid-trot, and turned back towards him.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“Yeh can’t…” He took another deep breath. “Yeh can’t just… no, yeh can’t do that!”

Cotton frowned. “Do what? Use the training dummies? I know I look strong, Apple,” she said, almost condescendingly, “but don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. I promise, most of them will still be standing when I’m done.”

Crumble gave her an incredulous look.

She crossed her heart with a hoof. “Promise.”

Crumble quickly shook his head. “No no no, missy, yeh don’t understand. These grounds are for battalion members only.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I’m joining!” She happily beamed at him.

He scowled. “Er, no.”

“What?” Cotton cried, genuinely distressed. “Why not?”

Crumble sighed. “I don’t have time fer yer games, Cotton.”

“It’s not a game!” she protested, stomping a hoof on the ground.

He rolled his eyes, and turned back towards the track. “Go home, little filly.” He took off, resuming his exercise.

Cotton let out a puff of air, and trotted after him. “Hey! Hey, don’t you run away from me!” He ignored her. She had to move at a full gallop in order to catch up to his trot, stumbling the whole way and nearly tripping twice.

“Crumble!” she exclaimed as she finally caught up to him. “Crumble, I am joining!”

He looked straight ahead, keeping to his rhythmic breathing.

“C’mon, you’re always saying how Equestria needs more recruits!”

Crumble quickened his pace a little, but Cotton was not deterred.

“Don’t think I don’t know my history, Crumble! The 21st started out as nothing but a bunch of rookie patriots who wanted to do what was right! Like me!” She waited for a reaction in vain. “So why can’t I?”

He slowed to a stop, quicker than the last time. She had not been expecting it, and stumbled past him a small ways.

“Why not?” he muttered to himself. Cotton walked back to him, and looked at him hopefully. “Tell yeh what, my little pony. I’ll give yeh one chance. If yeh can stay in this courtyard fer the next sixty seconds, I’ll let yeh join. Otherwise, yeh have to stop buggin’ me.”

Cotton’s eyes lit up. “R-really? Okay, sure! Starting when?”

“Now.”

In an instant, he closed the small distance between them, and swiped a hoof towards her. She did not even have time to flinch. In the next instant, Cotton was swept off the ground and securely restrained by Crumble, who held her at his shoulder with a single, muscular arm. Casually, he stepped off the track and walked across the grassy field, towards the low wooden fence at the edge.

“Hey! You let me go, you big-!” She pushed against him, but to no avail. “Crumble! Put me down! Crumb-uuuull!”

She flailed her hooves in his grasp, beating on his chest and making herself difficult to carry, but he barely seemed to feel it. The size difference between them was dramatic – one of his arms was about the same height as her entire body, making her feel like a foal in his grasp. She suspected that when she hit him, she was hurting herself more. Still, that did not stop her.

Eventually, they reached the edge of the field, with Cotton kicking and shouting the whole way.

“You big meanie! I should have a chance! Just give me a chance! Let me- Oof!”

Cotton tumbled backwards as Crumble dumped her on the opposite side of the fence. Sitting up from her back and shaking her head, she looked at Crumble, who stood there watching her. His face was somewhat stern, but Cotton could see some apology as well, like a father who did not like having to punish his child.

“Crumble…” she murmured woefully. She paused for a moment. “How many seconds was that?”

“Twenty-six.”

Cotton’s heart sank. She let her gaze drop, and she gave a disappointed whimper.

Seeing her lip tremble, and her eyes grow wide, Crumble’s expression softened. “Cotton…” He sighed. “Listen, I know how yeh feel. I do. I been in the army long enough to know what the death of a loved one is like.” He paused, contemplating something. “I… know yer upset with Joseph’s death, and that’s okay. Gods know he didn’t deserve it. But goin’ out there ‘cause yeh want… because yeh wanna avenge him, er somethin’… that ain’t gonna do nothin’ for ‘im. There’s plenty o’ ponies willin’ to do that for yeh, ponies who are more experienced, more capable. If yeh really want to honor his life, stay here, where yer talents are the most useful.”

“No, you don’t understand…” Cotton replied in a tiny, trembling voice. “Celestia…”

“Celestia? Is that what this is about?” Crumble leaned in a little more, setting one hoof on the fence. “Yeh did that mare a great service, Cotton, nopony doubts that one bit. But she’s fine now. I doubt yeh can do much more than yeh already have.”

“But-”

“An’ look, Cotton. Yer an adorable little thing, but yeh jus’ don’t belong with the 21st, er any army, fer that matter. I mean, yeh can’t even keep up with me on the track, much less overpower me in battle. How do yeh suppose you’ll contribute?”

“I could…” Cotton looked around, as if the answer were somewhere nearby. “I’m a good baker! I can cook!”

“We already have chefs, little miss, ponies that can keep up with our marching pace, and that can live the army lifestyle. It ain’t pretty, and it certainly ain’t fun. You would regret it the moment yeh set hoof outside the city, I guarantee yeh. I know you an’ Celestia are the best o’ friends, but we can’t take yeh, just ‘cause yeh feel like comin’ along.”

“But… but I…”

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone at Coffee’s home.

Cotton did not know why she kept coming back here. Perhaps part of the reason for this particular visit was the state of her wooden candy stand in the market square; that is to say, it was completely destroyed, smashed into bits. Her stock of candy was gone as well. Remnants of treats of all sorts were scattered about the ground. She was not angry about it, or even remorseful. She had willingly given it all away, and truth be told, it was not the first time she had done so. Still, couldn’t they have been a bit more gentle?

In any case, she had no desire to pick up the pieces of her stand. Vowing to come back to it tomorrow, she had wandered through the streets, empty-hooved, lost in her own thoughts. Her legs had simply carried her to Coffee’s house, regardless of her own volition.

And so, there she stood in the entryway, once again surrounded by metal trinkets and old mementos, and not really knowing what to do. It was late evening, but she did not feel like sleeping. Returning to her own home would have felt like admitting defeat. Even staying here made her feel directionless. She merely stood there, almost too tired to think about the big things, allowing fleeting, trivial thoughts to come and go through her mind.

She idly wondered if a cup of coffee might be any good right now.

Finally moving, but still lacking any true purpose, Cotton made her way over to the pantry, and acquired a sack of coffee grounds. Automatically, almost unthinkingly, she began the ritualistic process of making coffee. Even with her body in motion, her mind wandered.

Crumble was right. There was no way she could ever join the armed forces, much less the Maiden’s Battalion. What could she possibly contribute? Maybe the 21st Division had once been a group of ragtag patriots, but those days were long passed. Now, though they still retained that same pride, and many of those who had been there at its original formation were still serving, their image was entirely different. The battalion was an elite fighting force, considered by some to be the greatest in all of Equestria. Forged in the crucible of intense training, and refined in the fires of battle, these were ponies whose skill was great, whose bravery was unmatched, and whose bonds were unbreakable. Tying them all together was a cunning mare whose leadership ability had been legendary. Though she was gone, her stories long outlived her, and even if Lucky Break turned out to be the worst Commander in history, something she highly doubted, those ponies of the 21st would still be skilled and experienced beyond compare.

And who was she, but little Cotton Cake? She had a talent, sure, and a great one at that, but even she knew it was of no use on the battlefield. In this, none of her friends, not even those in high places, would argue her case. She still desperately wanted to go, and her reason remained unchanged: Celestia needed somepony to keep a smile on her face! But she just could not visualize convincing anypony of that.

What she needed was an excuse, a real skill that she could justify using in the battalion’s company. Nothing came to mind.

The coffee was done. She retrieved a small mug, and poured herself a glass. Wisps of steam rose from the small pool. She put her nose up to the liquid, and gave it a tentative sniff. It still did not smell good to her.

She sighed. “Oh, maybe I should just give-”

A knock at the door cut her off.

Cotton did a double take. That was strange… who could possibly be coming here, and what could they possibly want? Maybe it was a mistake. Sure, she was here, but she knew that was strange, too. She decided to wait a moment in silence.

Sure enough, there was another knock at the door. It was not impatient, or heavy, or out of the ordinary in any way. Just a normal, casual series of hoofbeats. Cautiously, she made her way over to the door.

“Hello…?” she said, slowly pulling it open and peeking around the edge. In front of the door was a grey-coated, blonde-maned pegasus, wearing a city guard’s uniform and carrying saddlebags on either side. Cotton vaguely recognized him as Chain Mail, one of the palace’s couriers. He saw her eye peeking around the corner and waved.

“Hello!”

“Hi.” Cotton opened the door wider and properly faced him. “Can I help you?” she asked, keeping a friendly, albeit surprised tone of voice.

“Yyyy-yes!” he said, emphatically nodding. “You’ve got mail!” He pulled one of his saddlebags open with his wing, retrieved a letter from inside, and offered it to her. Tentatively, she took it from him, and brought it to eye level to read.

“The city guard sent me to check on the progress of the cannon that was shipped here a while ago,” he said, without waiting for her to finish.

Cotton squinted at the last few lines of the letter. It was another moment before she lowered it, and addressed him. “They want it... ‘serviced and fully functional’ by this Wednesday?”

Chain Mail causally nodded. “Mm hmm. So how’s that coming along?”

Cotton just stared at him for a moment, before responding. “I’m afraid that cannon won’t ever be fixed.”

His head tilted, and he gave her a blank expression. “It won’t?”

Cotton frowned. Now she remembered – Chain Mail could be a bit absentminded at times. “Do you know whose house this is?”

“Uhhh…” he looked left and right, examining the small stone cottage. “Yours?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “It’s Coffee’s! And he’s… he’s…”

The courier took a timid step back. “Well why are you in there, then?”

“I’m not…! I’m here because…!” Cotton stuttered, struggling to find an explanation to a question even she did not know the answer to. Eventually she sighed. “Just… that cannon is broken, now. For good.”

“Well, the letter says to come to this address,” the pegasus protested. “Can’t you fix it?”

“No, that’s not my job! What makes you think that…” She paused for a moment, nearly trailing off. Her speech dramatically slowed. “…I can do it.”

Cotton’s eyes drifted away, staring off into the space past his shoulder. He shifted uncomfortably. The two of them stood in relative silence. It was a few seconds before he spoke up, simultaneously spreading his wings and beginning to walk away.

“Well, I guess I’ll go tell them that-”

“Wait!” Cotton cried, extending a hoof towards him. She withdrew it, and looked away, biting her lip. Chain Mail stood there uncertainly, while she seemed to decide something for herself. “Umm… tomorrow! Tell them to send somepony to pick it up tomorrow.”

He looked back, surprised. “Oh, uh, okay. Will it be fixed?”

She seemed to contemplate the question, before looking up at him, a determined fire burning in her eyes.

“Absolutely!”

The pegasus shrugged. “Okay,” he said complacently. “Oh, wait, but tomorrow’s Tuesday-”

Cotton shut the door. She knew what she had to do.

Except, oops! That had been terribly rude of her. She galloped to the kitchen pantry, and galloped back to the door, swinging it open.

“I’m sorry for being rude, mister Mail!” she quickly said. “Here, have something for your troubles!” She tossed him a cone of cotton candy. He put his hooves up to catch it, fumbled with it midair, and let it drop to the ground. Regardless, he picked it up, and smiled.

“Gee, thanks-!”

Cotton shut the door. Now she knew what she had to do.

It was not her routine, but she knew every last detail by heart. Frantically, she ran around the room, shutting all the windows, and closing the blinds, shrouding the house in relative darkness. Next, she ran into Coffee’s old bedroom, and found one very specific piece of clothing, a solid green, short-billed army hat. She briefly regarded it. His thinking cap, he had called it. After a moment, she shoved it on her head. It was much too big for her, and did not fit her correctly besides, but she wore it with pride anyways.

Cotton exited the bedroom, and started off towards the workshop. Descending the stairs, it was not until she reached the basement door that she realized something was wrong. She was missing something. It only took a moment before she knew what it was.

Trotting back upstairs, she saw it on the kitchen table, still hot and steaming, still waiting for her. She picked up the mug of coffee and took a huge drink. It left a small brown moustache above her lips, which she quickly licked away.

It was not her routine, but she knew every last detail. It was not her job, but it could become hers. Maybe ponies did not think she was capable of doing it, but she was.

She walked back down to the workshop door, coffee mug in hoof, and pushed it open.

Gadgets of all kinds lay everywhere. More than just parts, there were other machines, unfinished designs, unrealized blueprints. In the center of it all was the cannon.

She took another sip, and stepped through the door.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone inside the Canterlot barracks.

More specifically, it was in Lucky Break’s private quarters. After having asked a couple silly questions like “Who let her in here?” and “What the hell?”, Lucky sat behind a desk, regarding her a bit more professionally. She could not fathom why he had spoken like that. Possibly because it was three in the morning? Some stallions were just grumpy after waking up from a nap, she supposed.

“Okay, Cotton,” he said, rubbing at his eyes, and tousling his already disheveled orange mane. “You have my attention. What do you want?”

“Oh, I don’t want anything,” Cotton happily announced. “I have a gift for you!”

Lucky cringed at the loudness of her voice. “Okay,” he muttered crossly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Cotton dipped into her saddlebags, and presented him with her ‘gift’. His eyes became a little wider, and he sat up with renewed interest.

“How does it work?” he asked, almost suspiciously.

She showed him.

Cotton could tell he was impressed. The way he handled it carefully, examined it from every angle, fit it around his hoof and used it multiple times on his own; she knew he was thinking of its applications in battle.

Eventually, he set it down on his desk, nodding, showing on his face the barest hint of approval. That hint was all Cotton needed to know everything was going to be okay. Or rather, more than okay. Everything would be wonderful.

The bitter pain in her heart was suppressed. The churning sea in her mind was put to rest. Time itself seemed to have settled, and it no longer skipped when she was not paying attention. Suddenly, she did not feel so inexplicably alone.

“You made this?” Lucky asked, trying not to let the admiration in his face show.

“Sort of. I only finished it.”

“What is it called?”

Cotton could not help but let a huge smile onto her face. “I call it the ‘hookshot’.”

XIX: Farewells

They stood in a mostly open field outside the walls of Canterlot, broken up only by a small cottage and the plants that grew behind it. It was evening, and the landscape basked in the golden light of a sun heading towards the horizon.

“It’ll be just fine.”

“Are you sure it isn’t too much trouble, Mrs. Tart?”

“Please, dear, I’m not that old. Call me Cherry Tart. And it ain’t no trouble at all.”

Lucky Break let a small smile onto his face. For some reason, that ever-so-slight drawl in her tone was pleasing to his ear. “I just feel bad for leaving it so long in your care. I call it mine, but really, you tend to it more than I do.”

Cherry Tart gave a tired grin back. “Don’t you worry, dear. Such a lovely garden deserves to be taken care of. And besides, it’s so small, it’s hardly a burden at all. Honestly, it’s more like a nice stroll outside the city than it is a chore.”

Lucky turned to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Tart.”

She scowled. “Now what did I just say about callin’ me ‘missus’?”

He chuckled. It really was not something he actively thought about. She did look old, after all, old enough to prompt the title of “missus”, something he said only in respect. Cherry Tart was still very able, but her age was beginning to show, with wrinkles around her eyes and skin not as taut as perhaps it could have been. Her coat was a light cherry color, almost pink, and her mane was the same, albeit on a darker scale, like red wine. They both seemed to be in good health, but age sapped at their vibrancy, giving them a seasoned, but not unpleasant, appearance. The plumage of her wings was as thick and healthy as ever. Lucky supposed she was somewhat old, somewhere in her late forties, if he was forced to guess.

Of course, he never would guess, especially not around…

“Oi! Did I ‘ear somepony callin’ my wife old?”

Both of them turned around and saw Apple Crumble coming towards them, quickly descending from the sky. He gave his wings a series of rapid beats before touching down. A small dust cloud flew up around him as his hooves made contact with the dirt path, but he had enough decency to land a small ways off before approaching them.

Lucky turned towards him. “Actually, we were talking about you.”

Crumble rolled his eyes, but did not respond.

“Ah, s’no trouble, honey. I was just givin’ the colt a hard time.” She gave a sideways glance at Lucky, and winked.

“Heh, ‘course yeh are,” Crumble said, finally reaching them. He drew close to his wife, and they held each other in a quick but loving hug. “How are yeh, darlin’?”

“Oh, just fine,” Cherry Tart said, drawing away from the embrace and giving him a light peck on the lips. “Lucky here was just askin’ if I would keep watchin’ over his garden while he was away.”

“Ah, ‘course he is. Colt’s too lazy to do it ‘imself.”

“Oh, Crumble,” she protested, pushing on his shoulder. “You of all people should know.”

“The only thing I know,” Crumble responded, directing his gaze towards Lucky, “is that he’s crazy fer not just givin’ the place to somepony else, or jus’ lettin’ it die out. Silly garden seems more trouble than it’s worth.”

Lucky was about to respond, but was cut off by another voice.

“Who has a garden?”

He wheeled around to see Celestia, descending towards them with wings outstretched. She came from the direction of the sun, and it framed her body with a brilliant halo, giving her form a shining golden outline. Every curve of her body, every notch in her feathered wings, had a heavenly edge, and cast a beautiful shadow. The light made her mane seem more vibrant than it was. She appeared to be utterly angelic, an effect that was entirely lost as she touched down much too fast, nearly tripping as she stumbled across the ground, wildly flailing her wings while trying to negate her forward momentum.

“I’m okay,” Celestia said, shaking her head back and forth as she came to balance.

Lucky seemed surprised to see her. “You look…” He paused, eyes flicking to the corners of their sockets. “…well.” He turned back to Crumble. “Is her training already over?”

“Yes, sir, it is,” Celestia said, answering for him. She assumed a more rigid posture.

Lucky blinked. He still was not used to hearing that.

Of course, it was to be expected. Over the past few weeks, Celestia had trained nearly nonstop with the Maiden’s Battalion. Though there had been no “incidents” akin to her first session in the dueling ring, she had performed admirably, and exceeded his, along with everypony else’s expectations. Her magic left much to be desired, but she at least had the basics of levitation down, along with some other, minor things. Her flight was not quite up to par with Battalion standards, but she was at least as agile as a “normal” pegasus recruit might be in a “normal” division.

Her swordplay, however… it really was something to see. Celestia was a definite force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of pink and white and shining steel in the dueling ring. The ungodly reflexes she had displayed when first crossing swords with the soldiers of the 21st had not diminished in the slightest. She fought with the skill and tenacity of any veteran; nopony could best her. It surprised many, frightened some, but more than anything else, it impressed everypony.

Outside of the physical training, she learned how to don armor, maintain equipment, how to keep oneself healthy, how to march, how to take orders, what certain orders meant, and a thousand other things that a soldier needed to know in order to become combat effective. Lance Corporal Allez had reported excellent results from jousting training, which was, strictly speaking, the earth ponies’ most vital part of any battle. Once Celestia had discovered how to direct and charge with the armor-mounted lance, she had been a terror indeed. Her aim was not legendary by any means, but when she managed to connect with her target when charging, it usually resulted in the target sailing through the air. Or, when jousting, resulting in her opponent being flattened to the ground.

Celestia seemed to possess a natural strength that nopony had ever suspected, especially considering the size of her body. She was not too small, but she certainly did not look strong. Over the weeks, she had begun to hone her skills and build her muscle, but even from the outset, she had always been very capable. She certainly was not the strongest in the battalion, not by a longshot, but again – it was surprising.

Inexplicable strength; that was an earth pony trait. Regardless of size, earth ponies had an advantage when it came to raw force. Even if they did not look it, Gaia’s blessing flowed through their veins, and often times, a thinner-looking earth pony could best a thicker-looking pegasus or unicorn in contests of strength. The most apparent example that came to Lucky’s mind was Crumble and himself; the pegasus was undoubtedly larger, but Lucky was undoubtedly stronger.

Many strategists and specialists, including himself, were all thinking of ways for a pony with the attributes of all three races to be most effective in battle. Celestia had yet to implement her unique traits in any meaningful way, but considering her performance with roles that earth ponies traditionally took on, he sometimes wondered if she even needed to. That was certainly where she had gained the most respect. The entire battalion loved Celestia as a comrade, and almost as a mascot, but she had gained a special place in the minds of those of the earth tribe.

Of course, aside from all this, being a part of the military meant knowing who one’s superior was, and addressing them as such. This meant Celestia saluted him, came to attention in his presence, and called him “sir”. It was... strange.

“Aye,” Crumble said, bringing Lucky out of his train of thought. “Today’s the last training day, tomorrow’s a day off, the next day we’re preparing to leave, and then on Thursday, we’re off. Thought I’d let ‘em go early today. Spend some time with their family n’ friends, n’ all that.”

“Oh, yeah.” Lucky nodded. “Sure.”

“So I don’t know ‘bout you, Lucky,” Crumble said mischievously, turning towards Cherry Tart, “but I plan to spend the rest o’ the day in beautiful company.”

“You rascal,” Cherry muttered at him. They made loving eyes at each other, and rubbed noses playfully.

“And Celestia?” Lucky asked, turning towards her. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, I jus’ brought her ‘ere to meet the wife,” Crumble said, answering for her.

“And actually, Commander,” Celestia interjected, “I was wondering if you’ve seen Cotton. She was at the courtyard, trying to, er, train with Crumble…”

Lucky shot Crumble a questioning look, but he just shrugged.

“…But then she left, and now I can’t find her. I’m worried. She’s been sort of distant, lately…” She trailed off before snapping back to attention, and formality. “…Sir.”

Lucky blinked, again. It was still strange. Usually, his relationship with his soldiers went from formal to less formal as he got to know them, not the other way around.

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen her.”

“Hmmm.” Celestia lowered her head in thought, and said no more.

Crumble spoke up. “On that note, Lucky, yeh may wanna take yer time sayin’ goodbye to whomever. Yeh know it’ll likely be yer last chance before tomorrow.”

Lucky shrugged. “Yeah.”

Cherry Tart gave him a concerned look. “Yeah?”

He just shrugged again. “There’s nopony, really.” His tone was nonchalant.

“Oh, surely there must be somepony, dear!”

“No…” He paused. “Actually, yes, there is. Thank you for reminding me.” He promptly turned, and began walking back towards the city. After a few steps, he turned back, and added, “And thanks for taking care of the garden!”

Cherry Tart smiled. “Anytime, dear!”

With that, he walked off, becoming smaller in the distance.

“There he goes…” Crumble said nonchalantly. “Oh! But where’re my manners? Celestia, I’d like you to meet the most lovely mare in all of Canterlot…”

For the next few minutes, Cherry Tart and Celestia introduced themselves, and pleasantly chatted about various things, like Celestia’s exploits as a new soldier, and Cherry Tart’s profession as the palace’s baker. After a while, the conversation came to a still, and Crumble excused them.

“Well, we’d best be off. Get some rest, Celestia.” Crumble gave her a pat on the shoulder. “You’ve done well.”

“Thanks, Crumble.” Celestia smiled. Even though Crumble was her superior, he had made it clear that she could address him informally… in the right situations, of course.

Cherry Tart took a place at her husband’s side. “It was nice talking, dear. I really do hope to see you again sometime.” She leaned in, and whispered conspiratorially to her. “Keep my husband away from those Manehattan fillies, if you pass there. Gods know he can’t control himself.”

Celestia laughed. During their conversation, she learned Crumble had met Cherry Tart in Manehattan.

“I will.”

Crumble rolled his eyes. “Well, we’ll be off. I’ll see yeh later, Celestia. ‘Member, yeh only have a day an’ a half to say yer farewells, an’ after that, we’re preparin’ to be gone.”

Celestia nodded, and they began walking towards the city, side by side. Crumble slowly extended one wing over his wife, and pulled her closer very suddenly. Cherry Tart laughed at her husband’s boldness, and Celestia giggled at the subsequent play fight which involved nothing but the two of them bumping into each other’s side as they walked.

Eventually, Celestia flexed her wings in preparation to fly back to the city, but a thought struck her, and she folded them back in again.

“Hey, wait!” she called after them. They both turned around, distant but still within talking distance. “This cottage…” Celestia said, pointing towards the very modest home to their side. “Whose is it?”

Cherry Tart answered. “Oh, it’s Lucky’s, dear.”

Celestia tilted her head, and raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t he live inside the palace? In the officer’s quarters?”

“Oh, sure,” Cherry Tart said, nodding her head, “but he likes to keep a place out here, too. Built it himself. He keeps a lovely garden, as well, tends to it as a hobby. ‘Cept, seein’ as he’s gone most of the time, he asks me to keep it alive while he’s away. It’s out back, if you wanna see it.”

“Sure.” Celestia looked at the house for another moment, before turning to them and waving. “Goodbye, and have a good evening!”

She winked. “I will. You do the same, dear.” They turned, and continued walking.

Celestia eyed the cottage again. It was likely only one or two rooms maximum, but she knew it probably was not her place to go inside. She was interested in seeing Lucky’s supposed garden, though.

Walking around a thin dirt path that wrapped round the wooden home, she made her way to the back. Sure enough there was a garden. She stopped in place when she realized what exactly it was. There were four separated quadrants of the garden, with plants held in place by small, elevated garden boxes that were each only a few square yards in size. The plants themselves grew taller than her; she would have to fly is she wanted to properly see their tops. She did so, and was impressed by what she saw.

It was full of tall, lovely flowers, with strong green stalks and healthy springtime foliage. Whenever a wind blew in, they would gently cascade in one direction, seeming to whisper as their leaves rustled beneath them. It was obvious that some of them had been recently picked. Their type was instantly recognizable; she had certainly seen them before. Those golden-yellow petals were unmistakable.

**********

He gave an amused smile, and chuckled.

“Whenever I’m up here, the sun is always near one of the horizons.”

Lucky gazed at the western horizon, actually admiring the scene before him. The Canterlot cemetery was higher than many of the clouds in the valley below, and he was able to see the soft golden-yellow sunlight reflecting off of their tops. It was a beautiful reminder.

“The sunflowers are in full bloom, now.” He reached into a saddlebag, and produced a bundle of flowers, carefully untying them and laying them in front of a headstone. “Pretty, aren’t they?”

The only reply was the whispering of the wind. The smile on his face faded into something more melancholy. For a long time, he just stared at the headstone, reading and rereading the inscription, inspecting the artwork below the name.

Daylight

The Maid of Canterlot

27au --- 50au

Victoria intra bellum, Armonia postea.

And then, the depiction of a half-sun cutie mark.

“Hey, I…”

He paused, not really knowing what he was going to say. A million thoughts raced through his head, each more important than the last, each demanding attention, some asking for confession. He did not know where to start, or what to say, or how to say it.

After a long while of standing in silence, he decided to simply speak, even if it meant rambling. Daylight was never one for gilded tongues anyways. Not when being spoken to, at least.

“I’m leaving. Taking your battalion away. I know you don’t mind, that’s what you said you wanted. But I, uh, I’ve never really done anything like this. Not without you, I mean.” He rubbed the back of his head, running his hoof through his mane.

“I probably shouldn’t worry. I’ve commanded the battalion before. I just… never did that without you making sure I didn’t screw it up.” A small chuckle mingled with his last words.

“Lightning Sky is the new pegasus lieutenant. I don’t know if I said that before. Think I made the right choice? He was always a good sky captain. Sound mind, capable flier, sticks to the rules, but can be creative. Politician for a wife, and they have one little filly. Crumble thought he was fit for the job. We’ll see. The other two lieutenants seem to like him. Speaking of which, Spell Trick and Climber are the same as ever. That is to say, the unicorn gets into trouble that I have to bail him out of, and Climber is constantly late to everything. How did you deal with them? I can’t get them to shape up. They respect me, but not like they respected you.” He shrugged.

“I guess I’ll figure it out. Also, I know I’ve said this before, but we have a new recruit, and she…”

He stopped. There went his words again. He had so much to say, and now it was gone.

“You can hear me, right?” He leaned in closer to the headstone, as if beseeching it to respond. “Right? Father Bright says you’re still with us, in a way. I actually don’t know if I believe that. Even if I did believe it, I don’t understand it.”

He scowled and looked away, sighing and shaking his head. “I’m confused. I just…” He looked back to the headstone. “Where even are you? Heaven? Somewhere else? Here? Because sometimes I feel like you’re… here.” He vaguely motioned to the air around him.

Lamely, he put his hooves down, and fell into silence.

“I guess I do believe you’re around. Somehow, sometimes. I’ve seen too many miracles to think otherwise. I know they say miracles don’t build faith, but they were some damn strong miracles.” He chuckled, and weakly smiled. “Maybe I should go talk to Father Bright?”

A small gust of wind blew one of the sunflowers out of place. Carefully, Lucky nudged it back into its arrangement.

“Well, I won’t bore you with details. If you’re in Heaven, I shouldn’t disturb your peace, and if you’re… around, somewhere… well, you already know.”

Solemnly, he touched his lips to his hoof, and then touched the top of the headstone.

“Goodbye.”

He turned, and began walking away. He had only made it a few steps when suddenly, he stopped, and perked his head up as a thought struck him. He turned back towards the headstone.

“I forgot something. That new recruit?” He paused. “Well, nevermind that. But about your last request. I just wanted you to know that I did hear you. As much as I wish I didn’t, I did hear you. And I’d like to say… well, it’s hard. Harder than you made it sound. But actually, I think I can do it.”

He nodded to himself. “Yeah, I think I can do it.”

There was a pause, and he chuckled to himself. “I’m bad at saying goodbye, huh? Can’t just turn around and walk away without finding something else to talk about. That’s okay, though.” He turned back to the exit, talking as he walked towards it.

“I just won’t say it.”

**********

Only a day and a half to say your farewells.

While she had certainly become accepted during her stay in Canterlot, most of the actual friends Celestia had made were in the Maiden’s Battalion itself, since the training courtyard is where she spent most of her time. There was only one pony who she felt it was worth it to bid farewell, and that pony was nowhere to be found.

Celestia and Crumble had already visited Cotton’s home before finding Cherry Tart. The only signs of recent activity had been in Cotton’s workshop, although it looked as though its most recent use had been that morning. At this hour of the evening, she should have been home, but for all Celestia knew, she could have been with some other friends at some other event. She was friends with the entire city of Canterlot, after all.

Still, she must have known Celestia was leaving soon…

Celestia beat her wings a few times and touched down upon the stone streets of Canterlot, this time landing with much more stability. Her wings folded to her side, and she looked around.

The greater market square seemed to be closing up as a whole, with a few exceptions. Many of the merchants could be seen packing up their wares or closing their shops, and most had already done so. It was the only other place Celestia could think to look for her. Normally, she would have already been gone, but where else was there?

A quick sweep of the square revealed no bubbly cyan ponies. She did note, however, the remains of a smashed up wooden stand, along with remnants of all sorts of candy strewn about the square. Crumble had already told her what happened, but actually seeing the result was somewhat amusing. Celestia only wished she could have been there to participate.

“Hmm,” she pondered aloud. She put a hoof to her chin and furrowed her brows, gazing at the scene with the scrutiny of a detective. There was not much to go on, and Apple Crumble had told her that all of this happened before Cotton had left the courtyard. Maybe she could ask around? Or better yet, perhaps Clover would let her use the Farsight Telescope.

“Shulestiah!”

Celestia’s ears perked at the sound of her name. Her gaze had wandered to the ground, something she had not even realized. Raising her head, she looked for the source of the childish voice.

“Ovar here!”

Her head swiveled again, and she saw a young, cream-coated, blue-maned pegasus filly, galloping directly towards her. Her mouth was full of some sort of treat that muffled her words. Crumbs fell from her lips as she spoke.

“Hi Shulestiah!”

Celestia took a step back as the eager filly stopped a few feet away, and reared up on her hind legs, giving a happy wave.

Celestia looked questioningly left and right, before looking down to address her.

“Uh, hello,” she said, lightly waving.

The filly dropped to all fours, her expression losing much of its excitement.

“Don’t you remember me?” She quickly chewed the food in her mouth and swallowed it, a portion that was probably much too big for a filly of her size. “It’s me! We met in the palace!”

Celestia squinted her eyes, examining the filly closely. “…Cream Sky?”

The enthusiasm returned to her face. “Yeah!” she exclaimed, her voice breaking with excitement.

Celestia gave her an odd smile. She remembered her now, the little filly with small wings and a big heart. They had met on Celestia’s first night in Canterlot, right before the… incident at the party in the palace garden. Cream had been the first non-official, non-military pony to meet Celestia, and the first to unintentionally inform her of her own unfortunate stigma.

But then where was…?

“Cream? Cream! There you are!”

Her mother, Amber Sky, the first pony to unintentionally confirm it.

The aptly amber-coated pegasus glided over to her daughter, landing to trot the last few steps.

“What did I tell you about leaving?” she scolded. Celestia backed a few wary steps away.

“To not to,” Cream sullenly replied. She continued before her mother could speak further. “But I was bored!” she exclaimed, stomping her hoof on the ground to accentuate her point. “Besides, look! I found a friend!”

Celestia froze. She had managed to inch a small ways, and had been ready to casually turn and walk, wanting to avoid any sort of confrontation. It was too late now. She turned to face them.

“And who would that be?” Amber Sky looked up. “Oh.”

Celestia looked back and forth. She would rather not have dealt with it, but any socially acceptable escape was out of the question at this point. She cleared her throat.

“Hello.”

There was no response.

She chuckled nervously. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” She offered her hoof forward. “I am Celestia.” She paused. Formal greetings usually sounded better with some sort of title tacked on.

“Er, soldier of the 21st division.” It was the best she could think of. That title carried some weight with it, right?

Apparently, the answer was yes, it did. She almost did not believe it as she felt her offering returned, consummated in the form of a firm hoofshake.

“I am Amber Sky, representative of the Royal Council, minister on affairs of weather. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

Celestia seemed to fumble. Was this the pony she thought it was? ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ Her first impulse was to ask ‘it is?’ She suppressed the urge, and thought to return the sentiment of greeting. What she did manage to say was not much better.

“Yes.” They released hooves. After hearing her own voice, Celestia quickly shook her head and blinked. “I mean, it is a pleasure to meet you as well.”

She cursed herself, half expecting to have offended the pegasus, but she seemed to be unaffected by the bewilderment, or maybe even to understand it.

“I was hoping to see you again,” Amber Sky said. She looked as though she were going to continue, but was cut off by her daughter.

“Mommy!” Cream exclaimed, tugging lightly on her mane.

She scowled, but kept her tone of voice patient. “Honey, don’t be rude. We’re having a grown-up conversation here.”

“But Mommy!” she complained, half-collapsing to the ground. “I want to show Miss Celestia how good I can fly!”

Amber Sky looked from her daughter, to Celestia, and back. “Okay, but be careful. No jumping off anything. Do it in the center of the square, and wait for ponies to move.”

“Okay!” Her answer was so quick, both her mother and Celestia wondered if she had even heard. “Miss Celestia, watch!” She charged into the center of the square, flapping her wings as she went. “Move, ponies!”

“No, honey-!” Amber Sky reached a hoof towards her daughter, but did not go after her. They watched as she barreled towards pair of drawn wagons, simultaneously jumping and flapping her wings. She thrust off the ground and into the air, just barely getting enough height to clear them. She landed on the other side, ungracefully tumbling as she hit the ground. It was only a moment before she got back on her hooves, looking towards the grown-ups to see if they had witnessed her flight.

Amber waved back and smiled, and Celestia clopped her hooves together in light applause. Cream appeared absolutely pleased with herself, and continued jumping around the square, fluttering about in small arcs of flight.

Celestia remembered that, too. It was back when she herself could not fly, either. The little filly had admitted to her that she was only a ‘flutterer’. She wondered if it would offend Cream that Celestia had learned the skill, and she still had not.

“As I was saying,” Amber Sky continued, “I was hoping to see you again.” She paused, acknowledging her daughter with a smile and wave after she had performed some particularly adventurous feat. “Though, maybe not more than my daughter was.”

Celestia did not know what to say. “She’s a good little filly.”

“Yes, she is.” Amber turned towards her. “I know it isn’t much, and I know it’s been a few weeks, but I wanted to apologize for the way I acted. It was uncalled for, and I am ashamed of it.”

Amber seemed to be expecting some sort of reaction, but Celestia merely shrugged. “Don’t be worried, it wasn’t uncalled for. Half the city did the same thing. I forgive you.”

Amber’s apology was actually what Celestia had been hoping for, because though it may have been an uncomfortable situation, she had gotten quite used to this particular conversation. If half the city had treated her poorly, then that same half had later come to apologize, and the answer was always the same. ‘I forgive you’, because what good would come of anything else? She would be the center of attention no matter what she did, so as long as it was within her influence, she was determined to keep that attention positive, and to deserve it besides.

Amber Sky let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. It wasn’t on purpose, you know. I just reacted. Imagine my surprise when a mythological beast appeared in the center of the palace, with my daughter, no less!” She put a hoof over her mouth. “Oh dear. I didn’t mean beast… I’m sorry, you don’t look beastly at all.”

Celestia chuckled. “It’s alright.”

Amber gave an apologetic smile. “I hope you don’t hold it against my husband.” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “If you ever need any favors from the weather department, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Of course,” Celestia said, gracefully accepting the offering. She paused. “But why would I hold it against your husband?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought maybe Cream had told you. My husband is Lightning Sky, a sky captain of the Maiden’s Battalion. Or, he was a sky captain. He recently got promoted to be the pegasus lieutenant of the whole division.”

A spark of recognition lit in Celestia’s eyes. “Oh!” She clapped her hooves together. “Yes, I know him! He’s the one that trains me in flight!”

She recalled several fond memories of what Lightning had called ‘flight school 101’. He was tough but encouraging, not unlike many of her other trainers. Her original flight instructor was to be Apple Crumble, but he got an injured wing, and later revealed to her that it was not his job anyways. He had more important things to attend to as Lieutenant-Commander.

“Yes. He speaks very highly of you. In fact…” she murmured, craning her head to look across the square, “there he is now.”

Lieutenant Lightning Sky had indeed just landed in the middle of the square, playfully tackling her daughter mid-flutter. His coat was a very light grey, and his mane a two-toned mix of light and dark blue. Both he and his daughter laughed as she struggled to get out of his grasp, only succeeding when it was obvious that he had let her.

“If you’ll excuse us, Celestia,” Amber said, distractedly looking towards the square. “I’d like to spend as much time as I can with my family before the battalion leaves.” She turned towards Celestia, and gave her a light bow. “Again, it was an honor.”

Celestia bowed back. “Likewise.”

Amber Sky took off and glided towards her family, ushering them in off in some direction, presumably towards their home. Cream threw a small fit and jumped away, fluttering towards Celestia.

“Did you see me, Celestia?” she asked eagerly.

Celestia laughed. “You were great.”

Cream Sky beamed with pride. “Someday, I’ll be as good as daddy!”

On cue, Lightning touched down right behind his daughter, snatching her up in the same motion. “Gotcha!”

Celestia gave a surprised jolt, and stood there awkwardly, unsure if she should be at attention. After a moment of playful wrestling, Cream shrieking delightedly in his grasp, he ushered her off to her mother, still standing in the middle of the square. Finally, he acknowledged her.

“Celestia,” he said, his tone formal. At this, she straightened up, and acknowledged him in return.

“Sir.”

He examined her for a moment, but it was not long before his gaze lightened.

“See you in a few days.” He gave her a quick, encouraging pat on the arm before heading towards his family again. Cream Sky had only made it halfway, and called out to her before her father picked her up once again.

“Take care of daddy!” she shouted, before being scooped up by her father.

Celestia grinned and nodded. “You have my oath.”

She thought she could see Cream’s expression turn into a surprised, happy gasp, before they flew out of sight.

Celestia felt the grin fade from her features, but not the surprised happiness. That had been interesting, and unexpected. No doubt it had left her in a good mood. For a while, she simply stood there, thinking about it.

Seeing Crumble with his wife, and Lightning with his, had stirred something in her heart, given her a strange longing. She wanted… that, whatever that was. There was a kinship there that she craved, something beyond just having friends.

After some thought, she decided it was the fact that they were family.

That was it. She wanted to belong to family of her own. She did not crave love, necessarily, and certainly not romance. Just a place where she would belong, no matter what race she happened to be, or what things she might have done. She was certainly accepted by ponies now, but that primal fear of rejection had never really gone away, and amongst it all, she still felt a certain lack of security.

Yes, a family would have been nice. She knew it would never happen, though. Not to her. Too many jobs to do, too much fighting to be done. A war raged, and it was something they expected her to quell. Even if that did not kill her, or break her spirit, or occupy her time until she died of old age, who would ever want…

Not a monster, no. She had gotten over that way of thinking. But she was still quite different from other ponies. Nopony would ever care for a relationship with her. There were too many complexities, too many unknowns; even she did not know everything about herself. In peacetime, what job would she have? She had no clue. Was she mentally and emotionally stable? She felt quite the opposite, sometimes. Could alicorns even breed with normal ponies? She... preferred not to think about that one.

Inwardly, she sighed. At least she had good friends. One of which she still needed to say goodbye to. She took off in the direction of Clover’s observatory behind the palace walls.

Family. Her mind stopped thinking about it, but her heart did not stop idly wishing for it.

**********

The intensive care center in the hospital had been emptied of most of its residents since the incident at the courthouse. There were a few left, mostly elderly ponies that needed long-term care or Royal Guards who had been crippled, and still needed help with their new disabilities. One had to learn how to walk with a missing forelimb, another had been made blind by an injury that swept across both eyes. Skulking in the corner of the room, a diamond dog lay on an undersized hospital bed, eyes focused on some metal charm he was idly rubbing between his forepaws. In the fight against Discord, his spine had been severed, and his legs made useless; he was unable to make the journey home with his fellow comrades. Pony doctors worked on a solution for him, but even he knew the odds of success were minimal.

Clover the Clever pitied them all. Not only had they been disabled, but their very profession had been stolen from them. They had all belonged to dedicated fighting units, bodyguards to their civil counterparts – the Royal Guard, or in the diamond dog’s case, the Heavypaws. Fighting was what they knew. Now, for them, it was impossible.

Of course, every career soldier knew the dangers, and every good career soldier knew that no matter how good they might be, death could come at any time. They hoped for the best, and prepared for the worst. But being disabled as they were… it was a fate some thought to be dishonorable. It was not, in Clover’s opinion, but that did not change the way some felt about it. Even failing that, the feeling of not being able to help one’s comrades was terribly congruent with the feeling of abandoning them. She knew that one through personal experience.

There were absolutely none of them, however, that she pitied more than the rainbow-maned unicorn lying before her, completely and utterly unconscious.

Reverie’s form had diminished over the weeks. The deep coma she had lapsed into had seen her body become more and more empty, until now she appeared to be a mere husk of her original self. She wore an expression of peace, as though she were having pleasant dreams, or perhaps no dreams at all. Clover hoped for the former, but expected the latter. If she was dreaming, Reverie was still in there, somewhere. If not…

Regardless, any peace she seemed to display was marred by the gaunt lines on her face that had begun to appear. Her face itself was sunken and pitiful. She required constant supervision, as she could not feed or care for herself.

Normally, patients in such conditions were ‘let go’. The Canterlot hospital, and most hospitals in Equestria for that matter, simply did not have the resources to keep patients in such a deep coma healthy, especially when they could be directing their efforts towards those whom they had a higher chance of saving. Clover reluctantly agreed with the practice. However, she had ordered Reverie to be kept alive as a high priority patient. If she did wake up, perhaps she could reveal to them something, anything about Discord. Intelligence on the enemy was scarce, and they fought for anything they could get.

Besides, Reverie was Clover’s last living Adept. She represented a huge investment of time and possessed a wealth of knowledge not found in any other magi in Equestria, save for the Arch-Mage and herself. Preserving her student’s life meant preserving a valuable resource.

And Clover did not want to lose any more students.

She did not show emotional pain very often, not anymore. Not that she did not feel it; she had simply been alive too long to allow things to affect her on the scale they once had. She was not cold-hearted, just seasoned and mellow. But losing her thirteen Adepts... thirteen of her best friends... had been traumatizing on a level she could not contain. In the solitary confines of her tower, tears had been spilt. What a horrible waste of life, she had lamented. What a horrible waste.

Then, who else would they discover but Reverie, her youngest pupil. Then, what else would happen but the near ruination of her mind. Clover would never be so dramatic as to say she could not go on after another death, but losing a student twice would be quite difficult. She wondered if Discord had planned this kind of misery. Objectively, she had to admit that it was a very effective torment. Subjectively, she hated him for it.

As the days rolled on, Reverie’s health seemed to stabilize, but she never showed signs of waking up.

It had been the magic, Clover knew. That blue magic, which she herself had been just barely conscious enough to see and feel. And to think, after the summoning of Celestia, and the death of her Adepts, she had all but given up on it. By the time Celestia had begun her training, she had nearly forgotten about it.

That was foolish. Seeing the aftereffects was a testament to its power. There were spells to banish the influence of Discord, and even Discord himself, but they took time to charge, were unpredictable in practice, and left the unicorn exhausted afterwards, often for days. Even upon successful use, certain scars of chaos could never be fully healed. That blue, on the other hoof, was the exact opposite – it was invigorating, effortless, and completely effective. All traces of Discord were gone.

She sighed. That was exactly the problem. If only Reverie’s mind had not been so entwined with his. Discord’s influence would have left her ailing no matter the outcome, but experiencing such a sudden banishment, losing such a large portion of spirit at once – it had sent Reverie’s body into shock, and had damaged her mind. Maybe permanently.

It was a mixed blessing. Reverie’s fate was unfortunate, but if that magic had decided to manifest itself, then perhaps there was more hope than she thought. It certainly surprised her. She only had a vague idea of how it worked, and its use in the courtroom proved even her most basic ideas about it wrong. Now that she knew it could happen, however, she was determined to make sure it did. Already, she had created and acted upon the beginnings of a plan that had yet to be fully realized. That courier would be arriving any minute now…

“Clover!”

Her ears perked up at the mention of her name. She turned away from the hospital bed to see Celestia walking towards her.

“They said you might be here,” she said, reaching her and giving a slight bow of respect. “Good greetings, Master.”

“And likewise to you,” Clover said, responding with a nod of acknowledgement. “Who said I would be here?”

“The guards. At your tower, I mean.” Celestia looked out a nearby window, towards a view of the palace. The sun had nearly gone down. She rubbed at her arm, slight aggravation creeping into her tone. “They wouldn’t let me into the observatory without your permission.”

She turned back to Clover, and looked as though she were about to continue, but stopped. Clover’s attention, she saw, was only half focused on her. Her body was turned towards the hospital bed, and her eyes kept shifting in the direction of the mare that lay there.

“She’s… still sleeping, huh?” Celestia delicately asked, taking a few steps towards the bed and getting a better view.

Clover let her gaze fall back upon Reverie. She nodded. “Indeed.”

Celestia looked on the mare with grim curiosity. She could easily imagine Reverie as she might have been: lithely built, strong-willed, intelligent, and even pretty. Multi-colored manes, Cotton had told her, were considered attractive by many, and she doubted Reverie’s rainbow-red hair would have been an exception to that. In this state, however, she looked to be only a few blocks away from death’s door.

Celestia tried to pick her words carefully, though she knew Clover was far too meditative and rational to allow herself to be offended.

“Will she be okay?”

Clover took a breath, and exhaled. “I hope so. It seems Discord did as much damage as he could before being forcibly removed.”

For a moment, they stood in relative silence. The sound around them was minimal. A doctor shuffled papers around at a desk near the corner of the room, nurses’ hooves clopped on the stone hallways outside, one of the other patients sipped noisily from a glass of water. And of course, in front of them was the ever present wheeze of Reverie’s shallow breathing.

“What was it?”

Clover looked up. “What was what?”

“The…” Celestia gestured vaguely in the air, searching for the words. “That blue… light. We’ve talked about it before, but I still don’t understand.”

Clover shook her head, and shrugged. “Magic.”

“That’s all?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Celestia. I could go into theory, but you wouldn’t understand, and it’s all guesswork anyways. I’m sorry that’s the only answer I can provide.”

Celestia frowned. “What kind of magic?”

“Restoration, conjuration, alteration, illusion… it could have been anything. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“And I’m the one that cast it?”

At this, Clover was surprised. She looked away from Reverie, and gave Celestia a curious look.

“What do you think?”

Celestia bit down on her lip, craning her head and averting her gaze as if she had asked the wrong question, but Clover just waited.

“Well… that’s what ponies say.”

“What do you say?”

“I…” She looked around, and making sure nopony was nearby. Her voice lowered to a murmur. “I don’t know. It didn’t feel like I was doing anything. More like, it just happened while I was watching.”

Clover slowly nodded at her, not breaking eye contact. Celestia waited for her to say something, but she never did.

“It wasn’t you, was it?” Celestia asked.

At this, Clover almost laughed. She let out a suppressed giggle, coupled with an amused smile. “Oh no, dear. It certainly wasn’t me.”

“Then what happened? What do you think?”

Clover walked away from Celestia and Reverie, tapping her hoof contemplatively as she paced back and forth a few times.

“I think,” she began slowly, “that alicorns are strange and wonderful creatures, whose capabilities we don’t fully understand. I also think that we should be grateful for this blessing, without which, we would have all been in greater peril.” She stopped pacing, and turned back towards Celestia. “I also think that you should not worry yourself over it. You are scared-”

“I’m not scared,” Celestia said, indignantly stomping a hoof to the floor.

“-but the more experience you gain, the more you will come to understand yourself. Your tour of duty with the Maiden’s Battalion will leave you with more experience than you will know what to do with, I assure you.”

“But that’s just it,” Celestia protested. “Nopony understands how I work, and I’m going to fight a war?”

“Lucky may be disagreeable at times, but he is not a fool. He will not let you fight until you are ready.”

“But even then, I was a dueling legend the first time I fought. I know I’m fairly good-”

More than ‘fairly’, Clover thought.

“-but I’m not perfect. I still make mistakes. And the dreams…”

Clover put a hoof up to stop her. “Celestia. I know you’re curious. We all are. But I can’t give you these answers.” She let her hoof drop to the floor. “If we are fortunate, they shall come in time.”

Celestia fell silent, but did not answer. They stood in silence for another half minute, before Clover spoke up again.

“Did you need to get into the observatory?”

Celestia raised her head and responded, though with not as much urgency as before. “Oh, yes. I wanted your permission to use the Farsight Telescope.”

“Whatever for?”

“Well, the battalion deploys in two days. Er, you know that, you’re coming with.”

Clover nodded.

“Well, I wanted to say goodbye to Cotton, but I have no idea where she is, and I can’t seem to find her. May I use the telescope?”

Clover was silent for a moment, contemplating something. “No.”

Celestia blinked. “No?”

“Not this time, dear.”

“Why not? I promise not to use it for anything… bad.”

“I know, Celestia, I believe you. Cotton just needs some time alone, is all.” She gave an unintentionally sly smile. “She’ll be much better by morning, I think. And if I know Cotton, she’ll come find you.”

Celestia stood there, staring in disbelief. “But I-”

“No, Celestia,” Clover said, cutting her off. “If you still haven’t seen her by tomorrow, then you may come and talk to me.”

It was another moment before Celestia moved. She supposed she had not ever asked to use the telescope before, but she never imagined Clover would decline her outright.

“Fine,” she said. It was less than respectful. “Farewell.” She walked away from Clover and Reverie’s bedside, pushing open the doors of the hospital room, her hoofsteps falling a little heavier than normal.

Clover turned back to Reverie’s bedside. The mare still had not changed one bit.

Yes, if she does not find you tomorrow, come talk to me. Then we have a problem.

**********

The night fell. Celestia had long since retired to her sleeping quarters at the barracks, as had most of the battalion. Even those who had elected to stay up late for one last celebration with their friends had finally turned in. The building was full of sleeping ponies, and the night as a whole was quiet.

All save for one little mare, who was practically bouncing off the walls with joy and energy, and one stallion, who chased her furiously.

“Wooooo! I’m coming with!”

“Quiet! It’s three in the morning, damn it! Ponies are trying to sleep!”

Cotton barely seemed to hear as she continued up the staircase, inexplicably staying one step ahead of her pursuer, who was still groggy from sleep.

“What floor did you say Celestia was on, Lucky? The third?”

“Cotton! You can’t just-!”

“Found it!”

She rounded off of the staircase, and into a narrow hallway, with doors leading to bunkrooms on both the left and right. She could see dim magelights being turned on behind closed doors, and heard ponies’ hooves moving to see what the commotion was. One door opened on the right, and a pony stuck their head out to look down the hallway. It was Celestia, pink mane messy from sleep and eyes framed with tired lines.

Cotton beamed.

Pulling the hookshot from her saddlebag, she equipped it to her hoof, and pointed it toward the end of the hallway.

“Wait, Cotton!”

But she could not wait. Taking no extra time to aim, she made a motion with her hoof, pressing an interior button. The halls echoed with a loud hiss of decompressing air, followed the clamorous rattling of a long steel chain. Celestia tiredly squinted as something flew her direction, and then suddenly drew her head back as the hookshot spearhead passed her by. It wedged itself into the stone at the end of the hallway, directly above an open window. By now, a few other ponies had peeked into the hall to see the scene.

“Don’t even think about it!”

Not even thinking about it, Cotton pushed a second button on the interior of the hookshot, the chain began to rapidly re-coil itself, yanking her down the hallway. Lucky dove after her, and missed.

She managed to keep her balance as she was pulled much faster than she could have galloped, her hooves skidding across the white stone. A loud clicking coming from the hookshot woke everypony on the floor, if not in the entire building.

Celestia walked out into the hall, rubbing her eyes at the scene.

“I’m coming wi-iiiiiiiiiith!”

“Wh-” Celestia’s voice was caught in her throat as Cotton’s arm wrapped around the base of her neck, dragging her with.

Seconds later, the hookshot finished coiling, but their momentum did not stop. Cotton’s grip on the device was not enough, and she was forced to let go of it, leaving it protruding from the wall without an owner. Cotton and Celestia, who at first had struggled to get away, but was now hugging onto her captor for dear life, continued moving, sailing straight through the open window together.

Sleep’s lethargic hold completely banished by adrenaline, Celestia’s instincts took over, and her wings automatically deployed, her body twisting to assume a corrective course of motion. It was more difficult than usual, with the weight of another pony pulling her down at an awkward angle. The two careened towards the ground in an uncontrollable spiral.

“Ahhhhhh!”
“Wheeeee!”

Wham!

They landed.

Celestia lay on her back, motionless, simply trying to comprehend what had just happened. Eventually, after deciding she had no idea, and probably never would, she attempted to roll upright. It was harder than she expected; she was forced shift around in some sort of soft material before finally rising to her hooves. After backing away and shaking her head, she looked at what she had landed in. It was a pile of hay.

A moment later, Cotton burst forth from the pile, somersaulting to her haunches and giggling the whole time. Bits of hay were twined into her curly mane and stuck all over her cyan coat. Looking at herself, Celestia saw she was very much the same.

She shook some of the hay loose from her mane, brushed some off her coat, and looked at her friend. “Cotton!” It was half an accusation, and half a question.

Cotton turned towards her, still grinning and giggling like a schoolfilly. Celestia wanted to ask her why and how she was still awake, where she had been for the past few days, and, to an extension, why she had been so unlike herself for the past few weeks, and if she was okay.

Instead, she simply asked the first thing that came to mind.

“Why?”

Cotton looked to the open third floor window, and saw the heads of a few concerned ponies, checking to see if they were alright. She looked back, grin still wide.

“I’m coming with!”

**********

Minutes after her acceptance into the 21st, Cotton received her first official reprimand from a superior officer, something that, judging by the way her expression of apology was undone by the ecstatic smile just barely hidden underneath, she was much too happy for. Emergency meetings were scheduled, a list of essentials was issued, basic rules were briefed, a lecture about the rising and sleeping times of the battalion was sternly given, and the Maiden’s Battalion had one more honorary member. Lucky told her to go and get some sleep. Cotton declared she would start packing instead.

Celestia’s conversation with Cotton before Lucky dragged her away was brief, but one thing was clear. She was coming with. Apparently, she was going to be the battalion’s ‘mechanic’. It was an odd job title, almost as though it had been made-up as an excuse to allow her to join. But, if the strange device still stuck to one of the third floor hallways was any indication, she would prove herself useful. Besides, Lucky was absolutely devoted to the efficiency of his force; Celestia doubted he would have accepted anything he considered dead weight. She remembered how hesitant he had been to accept Clover the Clever, and she was a seasoned mage! Though, she sensed that may have been a more personal matter than anything else.

The next morning came, and Celestia immediately knew where she was heading. After a brief morning ritual, she flew to Cotton’s cottage outside the city. To her surprise, she was not there.

Confused, she had flown back into the city, and asked around the market square, which was just barely beginning to open. The general consensus pointed in one direction – the old house of the late Coffee. Celestia had only ever seen the ‘hieyuman’ thing once, but apparently, Cotton knew him well enough to invade his home. For what, she did not know. Perhaps it was just Cotton being Cotton, which was a valid enough reason in Celestia’s eyes.

Celestia had arrived at the stone house, tucked away in a mountainside corner of the city, and sure enough, Cotton was there. As though it were her own home, she had invited her in, and left her waiting near the entry. Celestia felt out of place; the interior of the house looked as though it were an alien landscape, covered with craggy metal mountains, inscribed with hieroglyphics of unknown meaning. Cotton appeared completely comfortable as she zipped around, collecting this thing and that, stuffing metal objects of every shape and size into boxes and bags.

“You can have a seat, Celestia!” Cotton said, pointing to a nearby couch. “I’ll be with you in just a moment!”

Celestia cast the couch a wary glance. “Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

“Oh, I’m fine!” She picked up another object, twisting it in her hoof to examine it, before shrugging and tossing it into a box.

Slowly, Celestia maneuvered to the couch, and took a seat, resting on her haunches and trying not to touch any of the metal objects around her.

“I have to say, I’m surprised you’re joining us.”

“Gonna need this, this, probably this… I know!” Her voice was muffled as she dug around in a nearby closet. “Isn’t it great?”

“Well… yeah.” Celestia’s voice was less than enthused.

Cotton withdrew her head and looked at her, a small frown on her face. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want me to come?”

“No no no!” Cotton’s frown grew a little wider, and Celestia waved her hooves in the air. “I mean, no, that’s not what I meant. Yes, I’m glad that you’re coming! It’s just that… don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous for somepony like…” She trailed off. “Don’t you think it’s dangerous?”

A smile returned to her face. “Well of course it’s dangerous, silly. Everypony knows that! But I’m not scared. And somepony has to do it, right?”

“Well, sure, but maybe there are some ponies that are… better at certain things than others.”

Cotton waved a hoof at her. “Oh, I won’t be on the frontlines, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, I’ll have you to protect me, right?”

“I don’t think I…”

She stopped. Her eyes had met Cotton’s, and she could not bring herself to finish the sentence. They were so expectant of her, like she already knew that the response would be. Like she knew that, deep down, Celestia was better than she herself realized. And what could Celestia say? That Cotton was wrong?

If nothing else, those eyes were incredibly difficult to disappoint.

She sighed. “Right.”

“Then everything’s okay!” Cotton declared. She returned to her rummaging, while Celestia waited.

“So, how exactly did you get accepted into the battalion?”

Cotton giggled, and recounted to her how she had fixed a broken cannon, finished one of Coffee’s old designs, and afterwards, impressed Lucky Break with what she had done. She made the request to join, and after some consideration, he had accepted.

“And so now, my official duties are…” Cotton stood up straight, and adopted a deeper, more official tone. It sounded ridiculous. “To aid in the repairing and maintaining of combat machinery, including, but not limited to, heavy cannons, light cannons, siege cannons, heavy siege cannons, light siege cannons, heavy light cannons, and switchblades. Or something like that.

“I am also to ‘engineer new machinery useful and pertinent to the endeavors of the 21st division, or to improve upon the designs of already existing machinery, as such opportunities present themselves.’”

Celestia looked skeptical. “You can do all that?”

“Mm hmm!”

Celestia had no idea. She knew Cotton had some strange machinery at her cottage, but building and maintaining weapons of war? Not only did that not seem like her area of expertise, but Celestia had not even thought the mare was intelligent enough for it. She did not think any less of Cotton for it, but her attitude certainly did not imply the deep thought she usually associated with smart ponies, like Clover the Clever.

Cotton tossed a metal contraption toward an open box, and missed. Celestia idly reached forward to retrieve it. Cotton saw it, and cried out.

“No, don’t!”

It was too late. Celestia picked it up. Nothing happened. She raised an eyebrow.

“Is something wro-”

Suddenly, the metal device fell to pieces in her hooves. Bits of scrap dropped to the floor, and tumbling around briefly before coming to rest. Celestia did not know what the device was supposed to have done, but now, she was certain it would do nothing.

She stared at the pieces on the floor, speechless. Eventually, she sheepishly met Cotton’s gaze, keeping her eyes high and head low.

“Sorry.”

Cotton trotted towards her, and began scooping up the mess.

“It’s okay. Some ponies are just better at certain things than others.”

**********

“So, Cotton Cake was actually able to go?”

Princess Celestia nodded. “Indeed she was.”

Twilight tapped at her chin. “Was she actually useful?”

The princess smiled. “Oh yes, Cotton ended up being quite… useful. In the end, not a one of us regretted Lucky’s decision, even if she did take some getting used to. The Maiden’s soldiers were a hopeful bunch, but none were so optimistic as Cotton. She was a huge boost for morale.”

Twilight paused, levitating a separate sheet of parchment towards her, making a few additions to the bottom.

“So, she was a boost for morale. Did she actually make weapons?”

Celestia eyed her student. Though she was doing her best to be aloof and subjective, Celestia could see the skepticism in Twilight’s face. The princess could not honestly fault her with it. With how she had been describing the little mare named Cotton, ‘weapons engineer’ was hardly the career that came to mind. Besides, she had experienced the very same doubt when first learning of Cotton’s supposed role.

“Indeed she did, Twilight. Though, if I remember correctly, and I usually do, Cotton tried to focus more on tools than actual weaponry. The circuit-based magelight, the hookshot… even the earliest version of nightvision goggles were of her design.”

Twilight seemed to skip a beat with her writing. She looked up, and blinked. “R-really?”

Celestia nodded. “She was not as good as Joseph the hieyuman, and never would be, but with magic she was able to do things he was not, even if her magic was a bit abnormal. Sometimes, it was even because of its abnormality. It wasn’t an invention, per se, but she once enchanted a boomerang with her ‘style’ of magic so that it spun perfectly, and always returned to the thrower no matter where it went or what it hit. I think that one was more for fun than utility, though.”

“Wow… I never would have guessed.”

The princess smiled. “Nopony would have. She was very intelligent, both socially and intellectually, but ponies sometimes associate social skill with a lack of true wit. I don’t know the full truth of that, for I have met more than one introverted scholar…”

Twilight seemed to feel the pressure of Celestia’s gaze increase, but it was not unkind.

“…but one should never think of it as some sort of tradeoff.”

Twilight crossed out a few sections of text, and summarily replaced them with some neat, albeit small, writing in the margins. When she shuffled it away, Celestia could see the heading of the page, ‘Persona: Cotton Cake.’ She wondered if Twilight had kept track of everypony this way.

“So, you had one day before the battalion departed.”

“Two days. It was one day before we prepared to depart,” Celestia corrected.

“Right. I presume you spent it with Cotton?”

Celestia shook her head. “Actually, no.”

“No? Why not?”

“Well…”

**********

Cotton let out a great, satisfied sigh. “Finished!” She dusted her hooves together, and sat back on her haunches, looking at her handiwork. In the middle of the floor was a great pile of wooden crates, stacked so high they nearly reached the ceiling.

“You’re bringing all of this?” Celestia asked, gazing at the pile with wide eyes.

“Yep. Just the essentials.” She trotted over to the couch where Celestia was sitting, and plopped down next to her, letting her whole body weight fall into the cushions. “Whew! That was tiring.”

“What all is in there?”

“Oh, you know. Tools, and parts, and…” Cotton paused, allowing herself a great yawn. “…Stuff.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a sideways smile. “So now you’re tired?”

It took a second for Cotton to respond. “A little.”

“That’s what you get for waking up at three in the morning.” Celestia playfully nudged her in the shoulder. She swayed to the side, her recovery slow and sluggish.

“Actually, I was up before then.” Her eyes were half-lidded, but she wore a content smile on her face.

“Really?” Celestia turned towards her, expression shifting to slight concern. “Exactly how long have you been awake?”

Cotton’s eyes slowly lifted, searching the corners of her brain for an answer. “Twenty… eight? Hours?”

“Twenty-eight!”

Cotton tiredly shrugged. “Maybe less.”

Celestia turned forward again, regarding Cotton’s hoard of equipment, and whistled. “That’s a long time. How?”

“To tell you the truth, Celly, I haven’t been sleeping well.” There was an awkward silent moment, in which it sounded as if Cotton was going to continue, but did not. She rubbed at her eyes, and spoke just as Celestia was about to ask why.

“I was sick. But now I’m better. So don’t worry.”

Celestia slowly nodded. “Okay.”

“Oh,” Cotton added, “and it might also be because I drank a couple mugs of…”

Celestia waited, longer this time. No response came.

Eventually, she felt a light weight fall onto her shoulder. She looked to her left, and down. It was Cotton, fast asleep, leaning against her side.

Celestia had to suppress an adoring smile. Cotton’s entire form had slouched towards her, her head and body drooping against Celestia’s own arm and shoulder for support. Even now, she was slipping off, the rest of her body sliding against the couch below her. Celestia swiveled towards her, careful not to disturb her sudden sleep, and caught Cotton’s head and back in her arms, supporting them with as much delicacy as she could. Slowly, gently, she lowered her form to the couch, simultaneously moving removing herself to make room. After carefully removing her hooves, Cotton’s head fell to the cushions, and she subconsciously curled into a comfortable sleeping position.

Celestia got up, and looked around. It was not long before she found a blanket, creeping over to retrieve it, and noiselessly draping it over her.

Celestia stared for another moment. Her eyes were peacefully shut, and her mouth was just barely opened. She let out a soft, almost inaudible snore. Her legs were all curled against her body, save for her left foreleg, which was a little stiffer and straighter than the rest. Celestia glimpsed the scar just underneath, between her shoulder and ribcage.

She could not help but think Cotton looked so… small, like this. Too innocent, too cute, to be going off to any war. Any fierce attitude she sported while conscious, which was scarce to begin with, was completely undone. In sleep, Cotton was harmless and utterly disarming.

Cotton mumbled something, turned her head, and curled deeper into the blanket.

Celestia was both gladdened and frightened that Cotton would be tagging along.

**********

“So… she had a coffee-crash.”

The princess nodded. “I believe so, yes. I decided to leave her alone. She looked like she needed the sleep. When she awoke, I believe she visited with her parents, and visited Joseph’s grave one last time.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I had friends in Canterlot, and I certainly socialized with a few, but there were no real ponies that I felt I needed to go out of my way to say goodbye to.” Celestia paused. “There were two things I usually did when I had nothing else to do. Well, no, three things. One was to train some more. The second was to spend time with Cotton. The third…”

**********

Bless my heart with faith, to quell the godless doubt.

Lucky prayed. In the darkness underneath his drawn hood and behind his closed eyes, the room felt much bigger than it actually was. Considering the room’s size to begin with, he felt almost as if there were no walls at all and he was kneeling outdoors, if the outdoors were as blessedly tranquil as a church. And if they had hard, smooth floors.

There were other ponies around, but not many. A few were scattered in the pews, merely contemplating in silence. Even fewer bowed at one of the four shrines, praying to the altar and god of their preference. Only one other pony was next to him at fortune’s altar, but they did nothing to communicate. The distance between them felt huge, anyways.

Other than a select few, the cathedral was mostly empty. There were far too many things to be done on a day like today, too much celebrating with friends, too much time to spend with family. These were hours too precious to be spent in the presence of the Pantheon.

Except, Lucky’s closest ‘family’ did live here.

He realized the cadence he had been speaking ended. Lacking a true something to ask for, he simply started over.

O Tyche, Lady of Fortune, hear my plea…

He spoke the words without really speaking them. There was an odd comfort to be had in mere repetition. He hoped Tyche did not mind. Perhaps she would be lenient towards one of her devout patrons.

Lucky was not here to bargain with the gods. There certainly was comfort in this place, and he did appreciate it, but he was hoping for something else, somepony he did not care to go out of his way for, and yet, wanted to see all along.

He became aware of hoofsteps behind him, as well as hearing a light cough. In his darkness, the sound could have come from miles away, but as he opened his eyes, the world came back into focus and perspective. It was only a cough, but he knew who it was. Lucky turned around to see Father Bright, a small distance away, arranging something on the podium where he gave his sermons.

Lucky nodded to himself. A final word with the father seemed appropriate.

He started towards him, and to his surprise, the Father did the same. They met halfway, still relatively close to the earth shrine.

“Well met, Commander Break,” Father Bright spoke in that familiar, comforting voice.

Lucky drew his hood back. “Well met, Father.”

“’Tis good to see thee here. The gods are undoubtedly pleased.”

“Praise be to them,” he said, nodding towards Concordia’s shrine. “They have made themselves known, Father.”

“Good, good.” He nodded his head. “Lucky Break, I wish to speak with you.”

Lucky gave a surprised start. “You do?”

The Father chuckled. “You sound like a colt in Sunday school! It is not my wish to reprove you for being naughty. Not now, at least.”

He quickly shook his head and blinked. “Oh.”

“’Tis only a brief question. How do you feel about Celestia?”

Lucky paused.

“What?”

“How do you feel about the alicorn?

He tilted his head. Well that came out of nowhere. “She isn’t dangerous, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Father Bright smiled. “Oh no, child. Of that, I am quite sure. I was not asking how I should feel, I am asking you feel.”

A million confused and muddled emotions flooded his mind. The sentiments were far too many, and were tangled in a knot far too complex to make sense of.

“Why?” Lucky asked. It was the only thing he could say.

“Hmmm.” The priest put a hoof to his chin. “Interesting you should ask. I do not know why, exactly. Concordia has prompted me, and I must act.” He put his hoof back down. “Though, if I had to guess, perhaps the gods know you have something to say. Bearing witness to your thoughts only helps to make them real. Speak, if you will, and become of a sounder mind.”

Lucky nearly scowled. That stallion was too perceptive. He knew a problem when he saw one. Just like his daughter.

“So, how do you feel about Celestia?”

“I…” Lucky paused, looking around to collect his thoughts. His gaze strayed to all the different shrines. If the gods prompted the Father to ask, perhaps they would prompt him to answer.

“I think she’s a good soldier.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She performs admirably when training.”

“Hmmm. What training exercise does she do best?”

“Dueling.”

“She fights with a sword? Even though she could fly, or do magic?”

Lucky nearly glared at the Father, but quickly corrected himself. “One is not inferior to the other.”

“I know, and I did not mean to imply that.” There was a brief silence which Lucky did not see fit to break. Father Bright continued. “Dueling is your favorite exercise too, is it not?” Lucky nodded. “Have you trained her yourself at all?”

“No. Too busy.”

“Too busy,” the old priest murmured. “A stallion is always too busy, Lucky Break. I understand time is a valuable commodity, which is why it will always escape you unless you make more of it.” He paused, allowing his message to sink in. After a moment, he resumed.

“I am curious. Do you consider yourself her friend?”

“I consider myself her commanding officer.”

“That is not what I asked. Are you her friend?”

Lucky rolled his eyes. “Does this really matter?”

Father Bright cast him a hard gaze, something that was uncharacteristic of the priest. His countenance was normally as forgiving and gentle as the morning sunshine, but when he felt it necessary, that sunshine could quickly become harsh and burning. Just as the gods could forgive, they could also find fault, and being the devout follower that he was, those eyes demanded with the Pantheon’s full pith.

Lucky tried to return the gaze, but failed miserably. He sighed, and dropped his head. When his gaze returned, its expression was one of defeat.

“We haven’t spoken very much since her first day of training.”

“So…?” Father Bright said, motioning to the side with a hoof, his tone leading Lucky to finish.

“So… maybe. No, probably not. I don’t think she wants to be friends.”

“Do you want to become friends?”

Lucky fell silent. His gaze dropped and then swiveled away, looking at something, or nothing, in the distance of the cathedral. Half a minute came and went in silence before he finally spoke. When he did, it seemed as though it required greater than normal effort to do so.

“Perhaps.”

“Why?”

Why indeed? There were a thousand answers, and none of them made sense. “I don’t know. I suppose she’s a pony worth befriending.”

A moment passed. Though Lucky had expected a response, there was none. He looked back at the Father, and saw that he was smiling. It was small, but it was undoubtedly there, and it was undoubtedly happy.

“Anything else?” Lucky asked impatiently, wondering at his expression.

Father Bright thought about it for a second. “Do you think she is pretty?”

Lucky seemed to choke on the air. “W-what?” he replied, a little louder than normal. “I suppose…”

“No, no, no,” the priest said, cutting him off. He chuckled. “I jest, child, I jest. No, that is all. The gods are satisfied, I think.” He paused. “I hope you are, too,” he added after a short while.

He shrugged. “I’m glad they are,” he said, his tone noncommittal. “They seem to take special interest in my new recruit.”

“I’d be surprised if they didn’t, Lucky Break. I have talked with her myself. She is special, in more ways than one. It does not take a deity’s perspective to see that.” He paused. “She comes to me with her problems, sometimes.”

“They must be unique problems indeed.”

Father Bright shook his head. “No. They are as commonplace as can be for a soldier. Commonplace for a common pony, even. She is worried about the war. She is anxious about her own performance, and what ponies expect of her. She often wonders what you, Lucky Break, think about her.”

He shrugged. “Well, now the gods know. Maybe they can tell her.”

Father Bright chuckled, a little more fervently than before. To him, something about that was very funny. “Maybe they do not know all of it, but yes,” he said, stifling his laugh. “Perhaps they can.” He stepped towards Lucky, and clasped him on the shoulder.

“She is unique. You keep her safe.”

“You have my oath. I will.”

This time, I will.

Father Bright smiled. “Good. Then I may bid you farewell.” He turned, and started walking back to his podium.

“Father, this won’t be the last time we see each other.”

He replied without turning back. “I do not doubt it.”

Lucky watched as he continued walking away. That stallion… sometimes Lucky simply did not understand him. But then, everypony had their quirks, and if his was some deep connection to the gods, then all the more power to him. He would not be the first pony Lucky respected with that particular trait. Still-

Somepony bumped into him. He looked, and saw it was the other worshipper that had been at Tyche’s shrine next to him. Cloaked and hood drawn, they did not look back at him, but mumbled a quick “pardon me,” which he quickly excused. They continued away from the shrines and towards the cathedral exit, and Lucky returned his gaze to the Father.

Still, what had been the point of those questions? Lucky had just wanted to bid farewell. Did the gods really tell him to…

“Wait,” Lucky murmured aloud.

He stopped, and looked back at the pony who had bumped into him. Their light yellow cloak was quite long, but had been trimmed to size. As it swished around with the pony’s gait, he could see snow white fur on the back its owner’s legs, as well as the hanging end of a light pink tail. Strands of flowing pink fell from the hood as well, and while they were mostly obscured, they were too long to be completely hidden.

That cloak suddenly seemed terribly familiar.

Lucky watched the pony through her entire walk to the cathedral doors, not daring to blink or breathe until she was out of sight. The doors opened and shut, and he still stood there. He realized his mouth was slightly agape.

Lucky’s gaze slowly swiveled back, and he cast an incredulous look at the Father, who was simply humming some merry hymn, rearranging papers beneath his sermon stand.

Elsewhere, Celestia wondered if a pony’s blush had ever been hot enough to burn through fabric.

Additional Research: O Fortuna, pt. 1

Twilight took a great deal of pleasure in the organization of her workspace. She treated it like an interactive work of art, and came to know, appreciate, and love it more deeply than any painting or sculpture. Each one was just a little bit different, but her favorite was by far the study in her own library.

She enjoyed a fine oak table, made from the very tree it was housed in, smooth and finished, arranged to be perfectly square with the architecture around it. Atop it sat perfectly squared books, next to a stack of perfectly squared papers, next to three perfectly squared quills. Sometimes, the last quill would be slightly crooked towards the parchment, if she was feeling spontaneous. She would nudge it askew, ever-so-gently, and giggle at the result.

Thus it was currently arranged, glowing in the evening sunlight streaming through the library windows, sitting proudly and perfectly organized. It stood as a beacon of civility, like the flag of a conqueror claiming this spot in the name of order. It filled Twilight with pride; if workspaces were works of art, hers was a masterpiece.

In an instant, she set two hooves on the table, and swept it all away.

“No, no, no!”

Spike dodged away and covered his head as papers went flying in every direction and books came crashing to the ground.

“What the hay, Twilight?” he protested, stomping a foot on the floor. “I spent, like, an hour organizing that for you!”

Twilight, frantically shuffling through the papers and books still on the table, barely seemed to hear him. “Where is it? Where is it? Spike, where is it?”

“C’mon Twilight, you’ve asked me that a million times now! I don’t know!” Spike pulled the sharp end of an errant quill out of his scaly hide, grumbling and flicking it away. “Is this envelope really that important?”

Suddenly, Twilight stopped. “It’s not an envelope, it’s a thin box,” she said evenly. She then wheeled away from the table to face her assistant, papers flying as she flung her hooves into the air above him. “And it’s extremely important! It’s the most important thing in Equestria! In the world!”

“Why is-”

“It is the, most, important, thing, ever! And I’ve lost it!”

Twilight drew closer, taking a step towards Spike on every syllable until her face was inches away from his.

He merely rolled his eyes. “I’ll say.”

Without warning, Twilight’s form was replaced with a burst of crackling purple sparks, vanishing as she teleported to the second floor of the library.

“If it’s so important,” Spike shouted up the stairs, “why can’t you remember where you put it?”

There was another sudden pop directly behind him. He jumped in surprise, and pivoted on his heels to see a very upset Twilight.

“I do remember where I put it!” She raced over to her now completely disorganized work desk. “I put it right here!” she said, pointing to a specific spot. “And now, a few days later, it’s just… just gone! Poof! Vanished!”

Spike raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, which only served to make her more frustrated. He may have doubted her, but she knew she had set it on her desk. A royal chariot had taken her home a few days ago, and the first thing she did was put it there. After allowing herself some hours for a well-deserved and much needed nap, she rose from her bed, not completely rejuvenated but very eager to research, beginning, of course, with the princess’s letters.

It never happened. She had been in Ponyville four whole days, but not once did she get the chance. Seemingly all at once, her friends were besieged by a multitude of problems, all of which deserved her attention. How could she have known that Applejack would need help fending off a stray timberwolf? Or that Rainbow Dash’s mane would suddenly and inexplicably lose all its color? Or that Fluttershy would find Cerberus’s puppy, and try to care for it? Or that Pinkie Pie would turn invisible, for no apparent reason?

All of these matters, and more, kept her from studying the most important research project in the world. The climax of it all came when Spike had informed her of a letter he received from the princess. Apparently, Celestia was able to clear up some time just for the two of them, and had scheduled an appointment for that very night. A chariot would depart for her soon.

Surprising herself, Twilight realized she would have preferred not to go. There were still so many things that needed double-checking, so many points that needed to be studied. Still, she knew chances like this did not come very often, and so she decided she would indeed go. Besides, it would be rude to decline an invitation from the princess herself.

Not that Celestia had necessarily asked her. She had simply assumed her student would jump at the chance, and rightfully so. In any other circumstance, she would have.

Nevertheless, Twilight packed her things and put them by the door, leaving only a few books, three quills, some ink, some parchment, and of course, the princess’s box unpacked. It would be two hours before the chariot arrived, and she figured she could at least read the letters in that time, and maybe even take some notes on them.

Only, to her surprise and utter horror, the box was nowhere to be found.

The next two hours had been spent frantically searching for it, with zero success.

“Listen, I don’t know where it went, but we need to find it. So stop standing around and help me look!” Once again, she vanished in a shower of sparks.

“Twilight,” Spike called, a note of complaint edging into his voice. “We’ve scoured this place from top to bottom. Can’t we take a break?”

“No!” Twilight shouted from the top of the stairway, retreating to search her bedroom for the sixth time.

Spike climbed the stairs after her, watching as she dug around in a nearby closet. “What about when the royal chariot gets here?”

“No, not even when the…” She stopped, slightly withdrawing her head from the closet. “Well, I am not going to waste the princess’s time by being tardy. But the chariot won’t be here for another-”

“The chariot’s here.”

Twilight stood straight up, nearly jumping in surprise. “What?!”

She turned around to see Spike standing near her bedroom window, motioning towards it with his thumb. Twilight teleported, popping into existence right in front of Spike and nearly knocking him off his feet. Sure enough, a gleaming golden chariot drawn by four royal guard pegasi was touching down in front of her library.

Her eyes seemed to bulge at the sight. She quickly retreated from the window, putting her back flat against the wall next to it as if she were hiding. Her chest heaved in and out as she took deep, panicking breaths.

“Don’t you think you’re overrea-”

A sudden knock on the door elicited a frightened squeak from Twilight.

Spike shook his head. “I’ll get it.”

He ran out of the room and down the stairs. Twilight stayed where she was, slowly sliding down the wall and collapsing to the ground. “Ohhhhh…” she moaned. “What am I going to do, what am I going to do?”

Her mind came up with a dozen courses of action, each less viable than the last. She shifted to her belly, putting her forehead to the ground and covering herself with her hooves. “If the princess finds out I took it…”

“What’s inside this box, anyways?”

Twilight looked up and saw Spike standing in front of her.

“Where are the guards?” she asked.

“Outside, loading your stuff.” He cast a thoughtful glance back down the stairs. “It’s probably gonna take them a while.”

She lowered her head back to the floor, again covering it with her hooves. Her voice was muffled when she spoke. “Letters. Letters that belong to the princess. And a small chain necklace with a jeweled, sword-shaped charm on the end. Also probably hers.”

“Really? That’s it? So the princess is missing some of her mail. Big deal.” Spike shrugged. “And I saw the necklace when you opened the box, Twilight, before you left. It was kind of… I dunno, small, I guess. Princess Celestia has way better jewelry than that, she’ll never miss it!”

“No, you don’t understand!” Twilight said, rising to her hooves and starting to pace. “Those letters were likely very personal! Losing those is like… like losing somepony’s diary! And who knows what that necklace is, or what it means to her!”

“So why did you steal them?”

“Borrowed. I borrowed them.”

“If losing these letters is like losing somepony’s diary, isn’t reading them like that too?”

“That’s not the point!” Twlight continued pacing in a tight circle. “Oh… Ohhh… I meant to return them…”

“And now you can’t.”

She stopped and cast an angry scowl at her assistant. It quickly petered out, however, losing intensity until it was no more than a despairing grimace. Spike saw Twilight’s lip quiver and her eyes moisten before she turned her head away.

“Twilight…” Spike walked closer to her, tilting his head and wearing a concerned frown. “How about this? I’ll keep looking while you travel to Canterlot. If I find them, I’ll send them to you with dragonfire.”

Twilight was silent. Eventually, she sniffed, rubbed at her nose with a hoof, and then turned back towards him. Her eyes were wide, and her lips pursed.

“Will that get you to calm down?” Spike asked.

She closed her eyes, took a moment to compose herself, and nodded. “Mm hmm.” Stooping down to her assistant’s level, she grabbed in him in a comfortable hug. “Thank you, Spike.”

Behind her back, he smiled. “Yeah, yeah.” After a few seconds, they broke apart.

“Um, I think the chariot is waiting for you,” Spike said, standing on his toes and looking over Twilight’s shoulder at the window behind her.

She glanced over to see the royal chariot loaded with all of her luggage. She turned back, and cleared her throat. “Okay. Please, Spike, I really need you to try. These letters are-”

“Important, I know.”

“Extremely important.”

“I know.”

There was another knock on the door.

“Coming!” Twilight shouted down the stairs. She began to walk towards the exit with Spike trailing close behind. “Keep the library in order while I’m gone, and please… find that box.”

“I’ll do my best. Maybe somepony took it by accident when they came to check out a book. I’ll ask around town.”

Twilight nodded. Together, they reached the door.

“Okay, well, I’ll be in Canterlot until morning, so…” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, Spike. Take care of yourself!”

“You too, Twilight. You’ve hardly gotten any sleep this past week so… try and take it easy, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, telekinetically pulling the door open. “I won’t overwork myself.”

With one last farewell, they waved goodbye, and she walked out of the library, closing the door behind her. As it shut, both Twilight and Spike were thinking very similar thoughts.

Yeah, right.

**********

Twilight Sparkle arrived at Celestia’s study right on time, if ‘on time’ meant half an hour early, which was exactly what she preferred. It gave her plenty of time to set up her workspace in a true Twilight fashion; books and notes were placed in meticulous relation to each other, making cross-referencing quick and easy. Quills, parchment, ink, extra parchment, and extra ink were all within reach. She allowed herself plenty of space to work and, of course, everything was perfectly squared.

She had planned what the arrangement would be prior to her arrival, and so the setup only took fifteen minutes – a near-record time. After that, she sat complacently at her writing desk, idly reviewing her notes and waiting for her teacher to enter.

Fifteen minutes went by, and the princess did not show up. Fifteen more minutes went by. Still no sign of her. Another fifteen minutes came and passed, and then another.

Twilight frowned. Their tea was getting cold. Steam had long since ceased to rise from the spout.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

Twilight nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard a voice behind her. She raised her head off of her desk, and…

Wait, did I fall asleep?

She dabbed at a tiny pool of dribble that stained an otherwise fresh sheet of parchment.

I fell asleep.

Her gaze swiveled over to the nearby grandfather clock. It was two hours past sunset, two hours past their appointment. One hour she had been sleeping.

“Miss?”

Twilight shook herself awake, and turned towards the voice. Standing in the entrance was one of the palace’s royal guards.

She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “Yes?”

“I have a message. Regretfully, Princess Celestia has been caught up in some last minute, emergency affairs. She sends her deepest apologies, and has expressed that you may either stay and wait, or depart home and… catch up on some sleep.”

Catch up on sleep, Twilight thought. That’s the princess, alright.

“How much longer would it be?”

The guard indecisively bobbed his head back and forth, turning to somepony outside of the room and asking the same question. After a moment, he turned back.

“One hour, perhaps longer.”

It did not take long for Twilight to decide. “I’ll wait.”

The guard nodded. “I will let her know.” Excusing himself, he backed out of the room, and closed the door.

One hour was not too long, Twilight decided. Perhaps in the meantime, she could entertain herself with independent research. She stood from her stool, and browsed over her cart of materials. Maybe she would study from one of her books, review her notes, or-

Behind her, there was a sudden whoosh of air, paired with the faint noise of crackling fire. A green light briefly lit up the room. It was all closely followed by a hollow thump, before the room again fell silent.

For a long time, Twilight did not dare to turn around. She closed her eyes.

“Please, please, please, please…” she whispered to herself. Slowly, and with her eyes still closed, she faced her desk.

“Please be…”

She opened her eyes.

“…‘The Pony Sutra’.”

Twilight blinked.

“What?”

Without warning, another flash of green fire appeared directly in front of her. She yelped in surprise, backpedaling a ways as another item dropped onto the writing desk.

Once she realized what it was, she immediately retraced her steps.

“The princess’s letters!”

Sure enough, a thin, unassuming paper box sat atop the desk. Twilight reached out and grabbed the lid, tossing it away to inspect the contents inside. She nearly cried tears of joy. The letters were all there. On top of them all sat a note from Spike. She opened it up, and read, never having quite so enjoyed the little dragon’s excellent calligraphy as she did now.

Twilight,

I did like I said, and asked around town for the letters. Turns out, Pinkie Pie had them. I guess she thought they were for checking out? She didn’t argue when I asked for them back. Said they were “very enlightening, and usually it’s not really [her] thing,” but now she wants to know how it ends.

“Aw, he remembers how to bracket explanatory material. I’ll have to remember to reward him for tha-”

She paused. Her eyes quickly scanned over the paragraph again.

“Pinkie Pie read these? Before me?” She shook her head, and read it again. “Pinkie read Princess Celestia’s personal letters? Before me?”

Twilight continued reading, but not before resolving to have a talk with Pinkie about what exactly was available for loan from a library, and what was not.

I’m not going to read them. Too tired. I tried to make them appear behind you, so that maybe the princess won’t see. Hope it worked.

The necklace was still in there, too, but I can’t send it. It’s too solid to burn, and I think I’ll only end up charring it. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe until you get back.

Your #1 assistant,

Spike

Further down the page, a hastily scribbled note had been added.

P.S. I accidentally sneezed, and sent you a book. Not sure which one. Sorry. Pick up some medicine on your way back, I think I caught a cold.

Twilight broke into a huge grin. Spike really was her number one assistant. She made a note to pick up more than just medicine upon her return.

Setting Spike’s note aside, she dug into the box itself. To her surprise, the letters seemed like they had been put into order by Pinkie Pie, and did not seem any worse for wear. Twilight had half expected them to be covered in cake frosting; this was just impressive.

Without truly reading them, she took a quick inventory. It actually seemed to be one cohesive message, with several pages only being continuations of the first, all of them in the same hoofwriting that must have been Lucky Break’s. A few were different, however, in both calligraphy and message. These ones, she realized, were from Celestia herself. All in all, there were only two continuous messages. Perhaps one was in response to the other?

Reasoning that she read letters from the princess all the time, Twilight shuffled the papers together, and began reading the words of Lucky. They were weathered, aged, and used old Equestrian characters, which were familiar enough to be read, but different enough to make it difficult. And, to be honest, Lucky’s hoofwriting seemed to be fairly poor. None of it deterred Twilight in the slightest. Indeed, the first two words were enough to completely draw her in.

“Dear Celestia…”

**********

I received your letter. Carried on the wind, it fell, quite literally, into my hooves.

Do you think I was guided to it? Did you think I was destined to find it? Because I thought I made it clear, that isn’t how it works. Tyche has never been so indecisive, nor has my gift been so undefined as to address pitifully vague petitions like, “please, let it all be okay.” Which is, I assure you, the one and only thing I can stand to think right now.

So maybe it was the gods themselves. Maybe the stories we both thought to be exaggerated are true, and maybe they favor you above the common pony. Maybe, because they knew it might help you, because they knew I might help you, they led me to your letter. Then again, if that were true, perhaps you wouldn’t be walking headlong into what we both know is probably a trap. What we both know is certainly a death sentence.

And whether or not it will ultimately help you remains to be seen, but know this: I have been swayed. Take that how you will.

I realize you may not receive this while it still carries relevance. Or, more likely, you shall never receive it at all. Not before you die, not before I die, not before the whole Maiden’s Battalion is swept into utter ruin. But if nothing else, you made one tactically sound decision: you left me behind with Cotton. I am reminded of something she said to me once. “Better to die an optimist than live a pessimist.” Sounds a bit odd for our little inventor, doesn’t it? Only she could come up with something that simultaneously gloomy and cheerful. Yet, it’s probably true.

And so, the Maiden’s soldiers will die like optimists, just as they always have, and I will write as though you are reading the words over my shoulder. How I wish you were.

I don’t know if you’re angry with me, but if you were, it would be rightfully so. There’s so much to be angry about. I’m angry too. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive her for doing what she did. You know who I mean, and I know you understand.

That doesn’t make my actions and words any more justified. Normally, I would never expect for you to forgive me, but in the face of what just happened, I know you are not that type. Grudges are heavy things, I know; and you seem light as a feather.

However, at the risk of appearing pretentious for too boldly assuming, allow me to formally ask. Celestia, forgive me. I am sorry. For everything.

In your letter, you asked me what it must have been like. The question was vague, maybe intentionally so. “It” could have referred to any number of things. My foalhood? My gift? The battalion at its formation? Or my time serving with its old commander?

Perhaps it was just idle wondering on your part, but it provoked me to thought and remembrance. I’ve told you bits and pieces about my life before, but maybe if I put it on paper, it will become more real. And maybe, if you have all the details, you’ll come to understand why I acted the way I did.

Forgive the poor penmanship. The transport I ride in is moving quite quickly. It bumps and lurches often.

As a foal, I was born and raised in Ponyville; you know this. Before the war came to Equestria, my life was quiet, and that was the way I liked it. I didn’t even yearn for adventure, like most little colts do. I was quite content to let things be how they were. My father was a blacksmith, my elder brother was his apprentice, and I knew someday I would be just like them. Back then, my worries were small and simple, like trying to gain the approval of my more adventurous brother, or trying to impress the subject of my silly foalhood infatuation.

All of that ended. When the Hieyuman army was defeated, the hordes attacked Equestria. Many beasts slipped past our own army, which was still young and amateur. They wandered into civil territory, leaderless and lost. Ponyville was a frontier town at the time, but we had only heard rumors about the war. I had never seen a monster, and barely knew what a hieyuman was. Why would I? To us, it was only inconsequential news of distant goings-on.

I was only eight years old when the war became much more than that.

**********

“I don’t wanna!”

“C’mon, just do it!”

“No!”

A small, grey-coated, orange-maned colt stood atop a rocky cliff, inches away from the edge. Below him was the lake, its surface relatively undisturbed, save for the dozen or so earth-tribe colts and fillies thrashing playfully in the water. Three of them, all colts, were treading water near the base of the cliff, looking up at him.

“Jump in! The water’s fine!”

He shuffled a few inches forward, and peered over the edge. The cliff face was on a slight forward incline. A pony would have to jump far enough out to reach the water; otherwise, they would simply hit the cliff, scraping against it as they tumbled the whole way down. The others thought he could make it – he was not so sure. Even if he could, twenty feet was a long ways to fall, especially for a colt who was not the strongest swimmer. The distance seemed to multiply infinitely as he thought about the drop. Briefly, his eyes closed, and his left shoulder seemed to spasm. He clutched at it with a hoof, rolling it in its socket.

“No!” he repeated.

A different voice called out this time. “What are you, a chicken?”

“I’m not a chicken!”

“Rummy’s a chicken, Rummy’s a chicken!” one called out in a sing-song voice. Another joined in. “Rummy’s a chicken!”

“Hey, knock it off guys.”

They fell quiet. He did not see who it was, but he undoubtedly recognized the voice.

There was a small silence before one of them spoke again. “Sorry.” He watched the pair of colts swimming further away from the cliff to join their other friends.

**********

They called me “Rummy.” I can’t quite remember how that came to be, but I think it had something to do with the phrase “rum luck”. Bad luck. It was a dumb nickname, but there have been worse.

**********

One of them stayed behind. Rummy watched the third colt swim to the edge of the lake, clamber out onto the rocky shore, and gallop out of sight. In another minute, he reappeared behind him, bursting through a thick line of foliage and approaching the edge of the cliff. A few feet away, he slowed to a stop.

“Hey.”

Rummy turned to face him. “Hey.”

His coat was a light, fading green; it always reminded him of the color of tall, drying grass. His mane was a similar shade to his own, though it was closer to yellow than it was orange. Their manes and tails were cut in a very similar manner, messy, but short and manageable. They were less likely to get caught in the forge fires that way.

Their bodies were very similarly built, and the profiles of their faces likewise. One appeared to be a few years older than the other, and though they were both still just colts, the elder had already earned his cutie mark, a blacksmith’s hammer inlaid with a four-leaf clover. At first glance, an onlooker might guess they were family. They would be right.

“You okay, Rummy?”

He half-heartedly shrugged, putting up his bravest façade of nonchalance. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He paused. “Your friends are jerk-heads, Strike. I’ll never be that mean to ponies.”

**********

Back then, even if I hadn’t had a nickname, nopony would have called me “Lucky”. It would have been too confusing. My brother was called Lucky Strike, and my father, Lucky Chance. My mother, Karma, was the only one lacking the “family name”.

**********

“They aren’t jerk-heads, Rummy.” Lucky Strike walked closer towards his brother. “They were just having a bit of fun is all. They didn’t mean it. They’re gone now, anyways.”

Rummy turned his head, and saw the other colts and fillies swimming in a group a small distance away, shouting as they played keep away with a buoyant red ball. They were all older than him. Well, all but one.

“It really isn’t that scary, you know.”

“Strike!” Rummy looked back at his brother in distress. “I don’t wanna!”

“Are you sure? It’s easy, really. We can jump together if you want.”

Rummy shook his head vigorously back and forth. “Nuh-uh. No.”

“Why not?”

His gaze strayed away, plastering his eyes ashamedly to the ground. The upper part of his left arm seemed to seize up. He unconsciously rolled his shoulder. “I dunno. I have a bad feeling.”

“You’re scared?” Strike laughed, and placed himself next to his brother, hanging a hoof around his back. “There’s nothing wrong with a little fear. You just gotta confront it!”

“I’m not scared!” Rummy protested, pushing the hoof off of his back. In doing so, he lost his balance and stumbled away. One of his hooves slipped off the side of the cliff, and his voice broke as he yelped in alarm. For a terrifying moment, he hovered precariously over the edge, frantically swinging his arms until Strike caught him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him back to safety.

“Y’okay?”

Rummy quickly shook his head up and down. He was rapidly panting, and his eyes were full of what was undoubtedly fear.

“Calm down, brother, you’re fine.” Strike looked back at the lake. After a few seconds, he crouched a bit to his brother’s height, and pointed towards it with a hoof. “Look over there. You see who that is?”

Composing himself, Rummy pushed Strike’s hoof away, shaking his head and snorting with contempt. “I know who it is.”

“Who is it, then?”

“Stop it, Strike.”

He gave a sly, half-smile. “Help me out, I can’t see that well,” he teased. “Who is that over there?”

Rummy gave an exasperated, groaning sigh. “It’s Daylight, okay?” He grabbed his brother’s hoof and pushed it to the ground. “Now would you stop it?”

Sure enough, a small distance away, a young earth pony filly played in the water, just as confidently as all of her older friends, or perhaps even more so. Though she was soaking wet, the light purple of her flowing mane was could be easily seen. Similarly, the fading light yellow of her coat was as clear as day.

**********

There was always something about her, like you could see her from any distance, no matter what was in the way. Rain, snow, fog, smoke, foliage – none of it seemed to dim her form. Even if she was out of sight, some ponies claimed to have simply felt where she was, comforted by the knowledge that she was still with them on the battlefield. I may have been one of them.

**********

“I’ll bet if you jumped, she would be really impressed.”

“Strike…” He sighed and plopped onto his haunches. “Why do you think I’m even up here?”

“Ha!” Strike pointed at him as if catching him in a lie. “See, you’re not a chicken, you took the first step! Now you just have to take a few more, and…” Strike motioned off of the edge with a hoof, whistling as he pantomimed his brother sailing through the air and hitting the water. “…ploop! Easy as pie.”

Rummy was silent, looking at his hooves in contemplation.

“She did it, you know. And she’s even a year younger than you!”

“I know.” He looked up, and looked towards her. “It doesn’t even matter anymore. Everypony’s done with the cliff. She won’t even see me.”

A slow, scheming smile spread across Strike’s features. “Sure she will.”

Rummy tilted his head, looking at his brother with a raised eyebrow. It was not until Strike cupped his hooves around his mouth that he knew what he was doing.

“No don’t-!”

“Hey! Daylight! Over here!” He put waved his hooves wildly in the air. “Hey!”

“Stop it!” Rummy pleaded, tugging down on his brother’s arm.

“He-eeeeey! Watch this!”

“Shut up, you poo-headed-”

“Oh!” Strike interjected. “Looks like I caught her attention.”

Rummy looked at the group of colts and fillies, and to his horror, Daylight was indeed looking their way, as were a few others. Strike grinned hugely, and waved at her. She returned the favor, giving an odd smile back.

Her gaze turned slightly. Across the distance, Rummy could practically feel their eyes locking. She smiled at him, too.

He broke contact immediately, and glared at his brother. “Strike…!” he muttered, craning his head, flinching away from the attention.

“What?” he answered innocently. “Oh look, on the east shore. It’s her mum. Darn, she probably has to go.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Rummy asked frantically, gripping his brother by the fur on his chest and shaking him.

“What do you think, dummy? Jump!” He nodded towards the opposite shore, where an adult pony walked along the banks towards them. “She’ll be here in, like, twenty seconds. If you’re gonna do it, do it now.”

“But I can’t!” He released Strike’s fur, and turned away with wide, fearful eyes. By accident, he once again made eye contact with Daylight, who was still looking towards him. Unprepared, he gave a nervous smile and a tiny wave. She returned the gesture with a similarly small greeting.

“Sure you can! We’ll do it on three. Ready?” Forcibly handling him, Strike pulled Rummy to all fours and faced him towards the cliff.

“One…”

Rummy shook his head. “Wait, I-”

“Twothree!” Without warning, Strike galloped forward. Caught off guard, Rummy pursued him towards the edge.

“Wait!” Rummy called, but there was no stopping his momentum. Strike gave an exuberant laugh as he jumped from the cliff, tucking into ball and performing a backflip. He reached the water and landed with a dive. Rummy, however, skidded to a stop, sliding across the rock and just barely reaching the edge.

Everything seemed to go silent. Pebbles pushed forward by his hooves tumbled down the steep rocky incline. A gentle wind whistled by him, ruffling through his mane. The slightest movement of his shifting hooves caused a soft clop that seemed to echo. He peered over the edge, watching his brother resurface, taking a gasp of air and shaking his mane dry, then motioning for him to jump.

Rummy swallowed. He set his four hooves squarely on the ground, and took a deep breath, and then another. He backed up. Gathering every last ounce of pith and conviction he had, he began to will himself forward. He took one step forward, then another, and another. Daylight’s mother was getting closer. He rolled his achy shoulder.

Without actually having built any momentum, he reached the edge of the cliff, again simply standing there and peering over. He looked at Daylight, who was still there, just watching him. He looked at Lucky Strike, who he realized was cheering him on. Finally, he coiled all his energy into his legs, crouched into a jumping stance, and…

I can’t do it.

…he froze.

The seconds passed, and Daylight’s mother called her to the edge of the lake. Her attention on him broke, and she swam to the side, shaking the water out of her fur and trotting away and out of sight.

Below, his brother put a disappointed hoof over his face. Rummy watched him swim to the side and climb out, heading for the quick path that lead up to the cliff. By the time he got there, Rummy was was lying flat on his belly, clinging to the edge of the cliff with all four hooves. His shoulder was noticeably trembling.

Lucky Strike sighed. “C’mon, Rummy. Let’s go home.”

**********

So I wasn’t exactly the bravest colt around. In fact, truth be told, I was a proper coward. I never did anything remotely dangerous unless I was practically forced into it.

When I was a colt, I had a nervous tic. Truthfully, I still have it. You’ve seen it before. But back then, before I had it under control, it was much worse. It would happen at seemingly random times, but especially when I was scared. It was embarrassing, but looking back on it, it wasn’t all bad. My brother stood up for me more times than I could count. He was the brave one.

The doctors thought it was some kind of disorder of the mind, an innate proneness to mild seizure. Everypony else agreed. I half-knew that they were wrong.

With the tics and twitches came feelings. Usually, they weren’t anything defined; my shoulder was aching, and to this day, I’m still not sure what that meant. The feelings were most often as vague as “good” or “bad”. Whenever I was about to do something potentially dangerous, I felt “bad”. It sounds like basic fear, I know, and that’s what I almost thought it was. It’s more than that, though. Different. Those feelings made me scared, to be sure, but they in themselves were more along the lines of… “Impulsive self-preservation” is the best I can come up with, though even that is not entirely accurate. In any case, it was enough to paralyze me.

I was only a colt, though. Who was I to say they were wrong?

**********

The two walked down the forest path in relative silence. Rummy trailed behind his brother, kicking at rocks along the ground. He tried to think of something to say, but the only thing he felt was sorry, for himself for his brother. Finally, he decided to simply voice that.

“I’m sorry, Strike.”

They did not slow down, and he did not immediately respond. Strike idly picked a leaf off of a tree in passing, not even looking at it before tossing it to the wind.

“What for?”

“For not jumping.”

Strike gave a humorless chuckle, though it was not unkind. “Don’t be sorry for me. Be sorry for you. There’s just some things you gotta do, Rummy, even if they’re scary. Some things are more important than your own self. That’s what dad says, anyways.” He grinned and looked back, viewing Rummy out of the corner of his eye. “Impressing your special somepony is one of those things!”

“She’s not my special somepony,” Rummy muttered, huffing indignantly. A moment passed. “Are you sure you don’t mind walking home with me? Don’t you wanna keep swimming?”

“Nah. I got bored of swimming, anyways.”

**********

My brother understood my ‘condition’. I had told him everything I knew about it, feelings and all. Maybe he didn’t understand completely, but he knew enough to care. He knew enough to take one of his only days off at the forge to spend with his weak little brother, and to walk him home when he was feeling bad.

**********

The lake was about half an hour’s walk from the town square of Ponyville, though that was hardly indicative of everypony’s journey. In the spread out, loosely organized layout of the rural town, the distance and time varied wildly depending on where a pony lived; some walked as long as two hours just to get to the lake, and for others, the trip was much shorter. There was even a logger who kept his cabin on the shore. His children could swim whenever they wanted.

The forest surrounding the lake was small, and it did not take long for them to exit it. They talked about small, inconsequential things on the way. Strike was particularly excited about the sword he was making. Even though they both helped out with the family blacksmithing business, it had taken much convincing for their father to allow the venture. Eventually, he was made to reason that a “stallion” of twelve years was finally old enough to produce his very own work. Of course, taken by stories of knights and dragons, Strike had elected to craft the sword of his dreams. It was his very first completely independent project, and tonight, it would be finished. He had but to engrave a personal symbol into the blade or hilt, and Strike’s sword would be ready for action.

Rummy was content to walk and listen, nodding and laughing at the right moments, occasionally contributing to the conversation to keep it moving. He adored his older brother. Strike was strong, both in body and spirit. He was a natural-born leader. The kids would always do what he said, hanging on his word and seeking his approval. He was skilled at the family trade, too; Rummy knew very little about swords, but in his opinion, the metalwork was excellent.

Rummy found himself unconsciously attracted to strong spirits, perhaps because he lacked that strength himself. He found it captivating, watching ponies like his brother work and interact. He did not particularly wish the same strength upon himself; he simply enjoyed in the presence of somepony who knew what they were doing. Rummy was a follower, not a leader, and that was okay with him.

Not many ponies lived in Ponyville, and as such, there were not many foals his age. Perhaps it was good, then, that he did not mind being on the tail end of things, tagging along with his brother and his group of older friends. Then again, Daylight was the complete opposite. Despite her youth, she was the only other pony who outshined his brother in terms of force of personality. Daylight was not afraid to take charge, Daylight was not afraid to be the center of attention. Or rather, she was simply never afraid; she jumped off that cliff many times over before Rummy had ever considered it. In fact, she was the one that proved it was safe. The foals had stood gathered at the top, postulating that it probably was, and that they probably could do it, but none of them would. Not until Daylight had arrived to the scene, heard of their hesitations, and galloped straight to the edge as fast as her little legs would carry her. Rummy remembered taking a still-framed mental picture of her in midair with the other colts and fillies looking on in awe, and it summed up everything about her. Daylight was strong, brave, daring, spirited…

“Hey!”

Rummy blinked, and shook his head. “Hm?”

“You in there?” Strike asked, rapping on his brother’s forehead with a hoof.

“Oh… yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

They began to enter Ponyville’s main square, walking past businesses and small homes. It was evening, with the sun only just beginning its long descent to the horizon, but some shops were beginning to close up. Ponyville was never terribly busy, and if anypony needed supplies, they usually got them earlier. The farmers awoke before the sun even rose to tend to their crops, and thus, so did everypony else.

“Nothin’. You just kinda dozed off there.” Strike smiled, nudging Rummy’s side. “Dreaming about a certain filly again, were we?”

“No! I wasn’t!” Rummy protested, nudging his brother back, harder.

“Yeah-huh, you were.” Strike returned the nudge with a push.

“Nuh-uh, I wasn’t!” Rummy pushed back.

“Yeah-huh!” Strike shoved him.

“Nuh-uh!” He came galloping back and flung himself over his brother’s neck in a tackle. Strike was able to keep his balance, but only just. Rummy fell off, and rolled back to his hooves. They both looked at each other, and giggled.

“You should go talk to her,” Strike said after they resumed walking. “She’s real friendly, if you get to know her.”

“And you know her?” Rummy demanded.

They rounded a corner. Fortune’s Forge was in sight, smoke billowing out of the furnace’s chimney. Apparently, their father was still working. A client, the town’s sheriff, exited the building, calling back a quick ‘thanks again’ before trotting off. Next to the forge stood the Lucky family home, a modest, multi-roomed wooden building that was either a small house, or a large cabin.

“Well, I’ve said more than ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’.”

Rummy sighed. “I never should have told you.”

“What? About your crush?” He laughed. “It’s okay, I won’t say anything. But you should at least go meet her. Introduce yourself. Maybe we can try cliff jumping tomorrow.”

Rummy rolled his eyes, but smiled. The two reached their home, and entered. Immediately visible was their mother, Karma, standing at a wood-burning stove, boiling and stirring a pot of something. Potato soup, Rummy hoped. Their mother was an earth pony, just like nearly everypony else in the town, with a burnt yellow coat and a fiery red mane. She glanced back at them.

“Hi, boys.”

“Hi, mum.”
“Hello, mum.”

“Have fun at the lake?”

“Yeah, it was great!”
“It was okay.”

“Mm, good,” Karma replied, not appearing too invested in their responses, distracted by trying to keep the pot from boiling over. “Stay close, supper will be ready in a little bit.”

“Okay!”
“Okay, mum.”

They both started off towards the room they jointly shared, but were stopped when they heard the door open a second time. They turned around to see their father, Lucky Chance, step through the doorway, still wearing a dirty blacksmith’s apron covered in tools and pockets. His coat was a very light grey, and his mane, a very light orange. Rummy actually looked quite like him, albeit on a much darker scale.

“Hey boys. Hello, darling.”

“Hi, dad.”
“Hi, daddy.”

“Hello, dear.” Karma left her spot near the stove to greet her husband, giving him a quick peck on the lips before retrieving some food item from the cupboard to the left of him.

Chance frowned. “That’s it?” Karma rolled her eyes and stepped away, only to let out a girlish giggle when she was drawn back in by the blacksmith’s arm. Rummy shuffled uncomfortably in place, his gaze straying sheepishly towards the ceiling, while Strike simply covered his eyes as their parents met in a deeper kiss. Soon, at the behest of Strike’s exaggerated gagging, they broke apart.

Karma lightly laughed. “You got me all dirty,” she said, looking at the front of her coat. Some soot from the blacksmith’s apron had indeed rubbed off.

Chance opened his mouth, but was cut off by Lucky Strike, as he jumped in between the two to stop any further sickening interaction.

“Dad!” he shouted, too loudly. “Did you get the new engraving tools?”

Chance kept a straight face. “Strike, you know I’m not done in there, yet...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Strike said, waving his words away with a hoof. “But you have them, right?”

Chance paused. “Maybe.”

Strike excitedly glanced back at Rummy, who was already wearing a huge grin. They exchanged a conspiratorial look before he turned back.

“Can I use them?”

Their father’s face was impassive. He stared down at his son, seeming to draw out the moment. Eventually, Strike knew he was overplaying the drama of it.

“Da-aaaaad!” he complained.

Finally, he allowed a smile to his face; it was small, but hinted at more than he was showing. “Yes. After dinner!” he added, taking a step back to avoid Strike’s wild celebration. Rummy joined in, excited for him. They jumped in a circle around each other, whooping for joy.

Karma raised an amused eyebrow at her sons. She stepped around them to address her husband.

“I know you’re not done next door. Did you want some soup?”

“Nah, not yet. Thanks, though.” He stepped forward, and spoke a little louder, catching the attention of his celebrating sons. “Sheriff Shiner dropped by, asked if I would do him a favor.”

**********

The sheriff and my father were always doing each other favors. They grew up together one generation ago in Ponyville, and from what I heard, they were the best of friends. Usually, my father would fix things of his, or even craft new weapons, not that there was much crime around Ponyville to begin with. This time, however, the favor was unlike anything he had ever asked of him. It was not unique, uncommon, or even noteworthy in any way. It was certainly not something to fret over. Not for him, at least.

You see, the sheriff had two daughters. One of them was

**********

“Daylight and her sister here are just going to stay over for a small while.”

Strike ceased his jubilations, and looked curiously at the door. Rummy, caught by surprise mid-jump, crashed into a wall and tumbled to the floor.

Lucky Chance stepped aside, and sure enough, much to Rummy’s delight and utter horror, Daylight stepped inside the doorway. She looked all around her, curiously taking in the sights of their home. Carried in a saddlebag at her side was her sister, a newborn foal, less than a year old, who was fast asleep. Her coat and mane were two faded shades of blue.

“The sheriff is looking into some strange reports over by the lake. ‘Parrantly, a colt’s gone missing. You boys didn’t see anything up there, did you?” Chance said, addressing his sons. Strike shook his head. Rummy brought himself upright, and then did not move at all.

“Mmm,” he grunted. “Well, he’s there, and the missus is on some important errands. You wouldn’t mind making a little extra soup, would you, dear?”

“Already did.” Karma removed a large wooden stirring spoon from the pot, and gave it a taste. “In fact, it’s done right now! Would you care for some soup, honey?” Karma said, addressing their guest.

Daylight nodded her head politely. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Thank you, dear.” Lucky Chance turned, and waved a casual farewell. “I’ll be next door.”

**********

That was the last time I ever saw my father.

**********

“Well? Don’t be rude, boys, say ‘hello’ to our guests.”

“Hiya, Daylight!”
“…H-hello…”

“Hello.” She lightly waved, careful not to disturb her sleeping sister. “I saw your trick at the lake, Strike. Very impressive.”

Strike grinned with playfully inflated pride. “Thanks! You weren’t so bad yourself!”

Rummy wanted nothing more than to pull a mask over his face and magically become one with the scenery. Of course, that was not what happened. His heart skipped a beat as she turned to him.

“And you’re… Break, right?”

“Uhhh, no… I mean yes!” he nearly shouted. Daylight put a hoof to her lips, shushing him to be quiet, and pointing at the baby. “S-sorry… yes, I am. Lucky Break. But most ponies call me Rummy.”

“Oh, I remember. You were at the top of that cliff, right? Just before I had to go?”

He could not bear to speak. Averting his eyes, he ashamedly nodded instead.

“Rummy…” Her eyes darted to the corner of her head. “Break… Rummy, Breaky, Breaky… Break. Hmmm.” She contemplated for another moment before speaking again. “Uh-huh.”

Rummy blinked. “Uh-huh…?”

“I like your real name better,” she said simply. “Lucky Break.”

Rummy blinked, surprised. He liked his real name better, too. Not that he would have ever admitted it to anypony. He lacked the conviction to give himself a new title, especially not when ‘Rummy’ had stuck so well.

“Thanks!” he replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I really like your name, too! Daylight is a great name.”

From the time Daylight had walked into the room, Strike was nearly bursting into laughter at the exchange. Finally, after grinning and giving a small, snorting laugh through his teeth, he composed himself.

“You should have seen him at the cliffs, Daylight,” he said, wrapping his arm around his little brother. “Jumped the second you weren’t looking. It was amazing!”

“What? I never-”

Strike cut him off with a swift elbow to the ribs.

“Oh, I’m sorry I missed it,” Daylight lamented. “Maybe you can show me next time, Lucky Break?”

Rummy stopped a small fit of coughing and froze. His heart skipped yet another beat. He inexplicably liked it when she said his name. It felt good; it meant validation, that yes, he did exist in Daylight’s eyes. Plus, it simply sounded nice. Maybe she would say it again.

“What was that?” he asked, feigning not to have heard.

“Maybe you can show me next time?”

Ah, well, it was a valiant effort. “Er, yeah! Definitely! Maybe tomorrow, we can-”

Mid-sentence, Rummy stopped.

**********

I’ve told you about my gift before. It’s called “Luck”. Or, at least, some ponies were presumptuous enough to call it that. I rather dislike the moniker. It implies something different than what it actually is, and, as you can see, it’s annoyingly similar to my own name. But Clover calls it “directed extrasensory guidance”, which rolls off the tongue about as easily as sandpaper on a summer’s day, and the Maiden’s soldiers tried to call it “lucky-sense”, which I absolutely forbid. Eventually, somepony started calling it “Luck”, and the name stuck.

Clover told me once that Luck is an extraordinary ability, with, and I quote, ‘cosmic implications we cannot even begin to understand.’ I don’t know if I would say that, but it is pretty handy for staying alive. However, even I will concede that it is far more complicated than meets the eye.

A very basic definition of Luck is this: it helps me achieve my goals.

I choose a goal, something I want to have happen. Then, through the grace of Tyche, or whatever else you’d like to attribute it to, I get impulses, urges to take certain actions. If I follow these impulses, and if the goal is possible and its conclusion in the somewhat near future, the chances of my success are greatly elevated. So the problem then becomes not how to achieve success, but what you define success to be, and what goals you choose to pursue.

I am reminded of the saying, “Be careful what you wish for, it might come true.”

However, a weak-willed, eight year old colt doesn’t have any goals. Not anything concrete, nothing he can actually focus on and pursue. Left unchecked, Luck will always revert back to the most basic goal of all, nature’s first and foremost prerogative. To survive.

In addition, if the impulses are left unchecked, or if you lose control (and let’s be honest, I sometimes do), they become not just mental urges, but actual, physical tics. Ignored by all but the subconscious, certain impulses affect certain parts of the body. It’s strange, I know. Clover once told me about a stallion she met, the only other pony she had ever seen with Luck. He was old, too old to be a soldier. Apparently, he had lived his entire life with this gift, and instead of mastering it, he simply discovered what each and every twitch and spasm meant for all the parts of his body. Impressive, really.

At the time, I knew none of this. I was beginning to suspect my tics meant something more, but I was eight years old in a frontier farming community. We had a single teacher for the entire town, a unicorn hailing from the civilized west; one schoolhouse where everypony went to learn reading, writing, and basic arithmetic. Of course nopony knew the greater, “cosmological” implications of my condition.

This is why I wasn’t the only one who was frightened at what happened next.

**********

Strike smiled. Wasn’t it just like his brother to lose himself in a fantasy, when the object of it was standing before him? Nevertheless, Daylight seemed to find it amusing in an odd sort of way, giggling at his distant expression. If she could tolerate that, Strike thought, then they were absolutely meant for each other.

But the silence dragged on, and his brother refused to snap back to reality. Daylight’s smile was fading. His own was already gone. Something was wrong, he knew it.

Rummy was not simply still; he was literally completely motionless, like a thing made of stone. His knees were locked, his legs were stiff, and his neck was rigid and unmoving. His mouth still hung open, paused in the middle of a yet to be spoken word. Most disturbingly of all, however, were his eyes; they were dilated and distant, looking at Daylight, but not really looking at her.

Strike was the first to speak. “Rummy? Brother? Are you okay?”

And then, Rummy shook. It was not small, and it certainly was not natural. His whole body was taken by a violent shivering, as if he were suddenly very cold; except no natural bodily mechanic had ever looked quite like this. It looked as though every single one of his muscles expanded and contracted in desynchronized, disorderly chaos, making him tremble in a full-bodied seizure, until it looked as though he might have been leaving the ground, so great was his motion.

After only a few seconds, it stopped.

His mother had seen the occurrence, and after the initial shock had closed the gap between them, trying to grab hold of her son and steady him. Rummy pushed her advances away.

“I’m fine, mum,” he said, shooing her arms away from him. She stopped, but did not step back. Rummy hung his head, breathing heavily.

“Are you… okay?”

Rummy looked up to see Daylight looking at him, a mix of caution and concern in her expression. One of her hooves was lifted, and to Rummy’s dismay, he could not tell if she intended to step forward or back.

In fact, as he looked around, he saw that everypony was looking at him. Strike, with that calm, poised expression that he knew meant he was ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. His mother, with creeping worry etched into every inch of her expression. If Daylight’s sister was awake, she would probably be looking at him, too. He hated all the attention.

He quickly stifled his breathing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He tried to sound nonchalant, as if it were an everyday occurrence. “That was a doozy.” He laughed nervously. Nopony else did. “So, about tomorrow…”

His words were caught in his throat, and he started shaking again, this time, more uncontrollably than before. Rummy immediately collapsed to the floor, continuously convulsing in place.

He knew it was his tics, the infernal things. He felt the familiar motions and emotions; except this time, they were all happening at once. It was more than a minor annoyance. He was absolutely terrified.

“M-mum…” he managed to say.

She was already at his side, trying to hold and steady him. When he did not stop, she only did what she could to prevent him from hurting himself.

“Strike, why don’t you take Daylight to see your new sword, okay?” she suggested without looking at him. Her tone would have been sounded calm, had she not said it so quickly.

He complied immediately. “Okay.” Strike ushered Daylight out of the door. “C’mon, I wanna show you something. It’s really cool, c’mon.” Despite his words, he was not leading, but rather forcing her to move, however gently. Her hooves were only grudgingly shifted out of place, but eventually, she was corralled out of the door, taking one last distressed look before she exited. Strike, with nopony forcing him, did the same, and for longer. Eventually, though, the door closed, and Karma and her shaking son were left alone.

It was only a few more seconds before Rummy stopped, but the trauma was far from over. Cradled on the ground in his mother’s arms, he shivered, this time of his own volition. Traumatized tears were not far behind. He sobbed, and Karma pulled him tight, quietly telling him everything was okay. And really, it was; he was unharmed, sheltered, and in the arms of somepony who loved him. It did not seem to stifle the primal fear he had just experienced; the fear of his own body.

Half an hour later, he had finally calmed to the point stillness, reduced to sad, distressed sniffles. The first thing he said came as a surprise to his mother.

“Do you think she hates me?”

Karma, still curled on the ground and comforting her son, tilted her head. However, she did not let her tone show anything but motherly love.

“Do I think who hates you?”

“D-daylight.” Rummy sniffled, and his voice wavered. “I’m too quiet. I shake all the time. I’ll bet she hates me.”

“Hate is a strong word, dear,” Karma gently said. “Nopony hates you.”

It was a moment before he spoke. He looked up to his mother, whose head was above his own. “Really?” he quietly murmured.

“Of course, Rummy. I love you, your father loves you, and your brother loves you.”

His unsure eyes were still searching hers. She added, “And Daylight is a reasonable filly. Your condition is nothing to be ashamed of. We love you for you, and any true friends you happen make will be the same. They see what’s on the inside.” She poked his chest. He sniffled, and looked down at her hoof.

Next door, Rummy could hear a set of metallic chinks alongside his father’s. Strike was working on something.

“You’re a good pony, Lucky Break. You’re the good guy,” she said, drawing on her knowledge of stories and fantasy. “You just keep being the good guy, and only the bad guys will ever hate you. And we don’t care how they feel about us, huh?”

Karma gave him another squeeze. He was quiet for a long time.

“Okay,” he said, meekly nodding.

“Okay?” his mother confirmed.

He nodded again, and then fell silent, resting his chin on his mother’s hoof.

He was not sure how many minutes had passed, but eventually, Rummy wordlessly crawled out of his mother’s embrace, and sat at the table. He did not ask for anything, but his mother brought him a bowl of soup and a spoon, giving him a comforting pat on the back. She returned to her chores, but never went too far away.

Fifteen minutes later, Strike and Daylight reentered the room. Rummy still sat at the dinner table, sipping at a hot bowl of soup. He glanced back. They were chatting conversationally, Strike carrying his sword in a sheath hanging at his side. When they saw him watching them, their conversation ceased. Rummy sullenly went back to his soup without a word.

They exchanged a worried glance. Karma put out two extra bowls and ushered them to the table, bidding them to eat. They did, and there was little noise, save for the quiet clinking of silverware.

Nopony said anything, but Rummy knew what they were all thinking. Strike kept shooting him concerned glances, and though Daylight was courteous enough not to react, he could tell she was wondering about him, too.

Eventually, Strike broke the silence, trying to draw attention away from his brother and towards himself. “Hey Rummy,” he said, drawing his sword. His brother did not look up. “Hey, I carved a symbol into the blade of my sword. Daylight helped me. Look. Rummy, look. A clover.”

Rummy glanced as minimally as he could, and sure enough, a four-leaf clover had been chiseled into the base of the blade near the hilt. He sighed. He was supposed to be the helper.

“Put that away, Lucky Strike,” their mother chided. “No weapons at the table.”

He sheathed it, still looking at his brother. “Pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah,” Rummy muttered half-heartedly. He idly stirred his soup around with a spoon.

Karma spoke up. “I’m going next door to bring your father some soup. Seems he’s forgotten to eat again. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t you be swinging that thing around, you hear?” she said, pointing to the sword.

Strike looked at her, and nodded. “Yes, mum.”

“And take care of your brother,” she added, lowering her voice a little, though Rummy could still hear her.

“Okay, mum.”

Karma cast one last glance at Rummy, expression filled with worry born of love. Eventually, she walked out of the door, bowl of soup in hoof.

**********

That was the last time I ever saw my mother.

**********

“So, Lucky Break,” Daylight started. Regardless of his attempted apathy, Rummy’s heart skipped a beat. “Did you want to go to the lake tomorrow?”

It took a moment for him to respond. He slowly looked up. “Huh?”

“Yeah,” she said. “That sounds like fun, right?”

Rummy’s first thought was that his brother had put her up to it. His second was the desperate hope that he had not told her anything else. And yet, it sounded sincere…

“Unless you don’t want to.”

That immediately brought him back. “No, no!” He saw her give a disappointed frown, and shook his head. “I mean yes, that does sound like fun.”

“Okay. Good! Tomorrow, then.” She smiled, and he smiled back. He still was not a very good swimmer, and he still did not know if he could jump the cliff, but if this was what his ‘episode’ had led to, then he was quite alright with it.

**********

Except that wasn’t what it led to. I’ve only had seizures like that three times over the course of my entire life, and each of them meant something different. I can never really be sure what exactly they had in common, but I suppose I can guess. Each of them led to me getting injured, each led to me fighting for my life in some way; but those situations have happened countless times since. Perhaps it was simply this: that something I never expected to happen was going to happen. Something big.

I’ve seen many things in my years, and I must be honest, it’s quite hard to surprise me anymore. Ponies can act in complete reversals of their normal behavior, becoming absolved or damned in the blink of an eye. Situations can be salvaged or lost with the most minor of actions. Too many unicorns have pulled too many spells out of nowhere in front of my eyes; magic, I have come to accept, can do pretty much anything until proven otherwise. Trust me, it’s easier to think about that way.

Back then, there was no way my child self could have expected any of this to happen. However, to tell the truth, if I were living back then as I am now, with my jaded wisdom and world-weary eyes, I would have been just as overwhelmed. There was absolutely no expecting it.

I may not have known what my tics meant, but everything that happened next gave me my first true glimpse of understanding.

**********

“I’m bored.” Strike pushed his empty bowl further out onto the table.

“Me too,” Daylight said, doing the same.

“Uh, yeah. I’m bored too.” Rummy pushed his bowl away from him.

Strike looked around, until his gaze rested upon the sword hilt jutting out from the sheath at his side. “I’m gonna go try out my new sword.”

“I’m coming with,” Daylight said, standing up and stepping back from the table.

Taken by surprise, Rummy frowned, degrees less enthusiastic than the others. “Uh… didn’t mom say no swinging that around?”

“She said no weapons at the table.” Strike grinned. “I won’t be swinging at the table, dummy!”

He was unconvinced. “What about your sister, Daylight?” he said, turning to her.

“She’s right here.” Daylight patted her carrier saddlebag reassuringly. Humorously, even though she was sleeping, the baby hiccupped when patted, smacking her lips and sighing as she fell back into dormancy. “She’s a pretty deep sleeper, I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s still light, and we won’t go very far, only just to the little grove out back.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

For Rummy, that settled it. “I wanna come!” he said, scrambling to get away from the table too.

**********

I often wonder what would have happened had I decided to stay put.

**********

Additional Research: O Fortuna, pt. 2

A short ways behind the cottage was a grove of trees, small enough to remain unobtrusive, but large enough to be explored and played in by adventurous colts and fillies. It was only a five minute walk, and their cottage remained well within sight if they stayed on the edge of the treeline. It was a close enough to the town square that it made a popular play area for all the children, though they were surprised to see that nopony was there when they arrived. Most of the foals were still at the lake, they supposed, though why they would still be there at this hour when the evening would only get colder was beyond them.

The trio ventured deep into the grove until they found the very center of it, marked by a wide clearing and a shoddy but much beloved community treehouse that the foals of Ponyville all shared. Red evening sunlight came diffused through the forest canopy above, creating a pleasant twilit sanctuary, ideal for the training of warriors.

They spent around five minutes finding branches and logs to set up as targets for Strike. After they had constructed four dummies, which were nothing more than intertwined sticks leaning against trees or propped up on stumps, he began to get impatient and charged in, swinging furiously. He cut one target in half, then another, and pierced another with a thrusting blow. The last one was blown over by a light breeze of wind. Undeterred, he slashed at it against the ground, shouting the trademark phrases of storybook heroes all the while.

After his foes were vanquished, he turned back to his audience of Rummy and Daylight and reared triumphantly back on his hind legs, holding his sword high in the air. His bravery was met with modest applause, and soon after, they began setting up the targets again.

“Can I try?” Rummy asked, gathering up the remains of the dispatched branches.

“Hmm…” Strike muttered less than enthusiastically, bobbing his head back and forth. “Well, okay. But only for a little bit. And don’t hurt yourself.”

Rummy gave a wide smile and continued constructing a target, making it with extra care. This one would be his.

“Hey, do you hear that?”

The brothers turned around to see Daylight tilting her head with one ear perked straight up to the open air.

“Hear what?” Rummy asked.

“Shhhh!” Daylight reprimanded.

Strike fell silent and put his ear up as well. Rummy, still not hearing anything, mimicked them.

“Look,” Daylight whispered. “There.”

They looked at Daylight to see her pointing towards further into the woods. She dropped her hoof, and squinted at something.

“Uh… our treehouse?” Strike chuckled. “Yeah, it’s still there.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and pointing again. “Past the treehouse. Through the woods. What is that?”

Rummy and Strike looked closer. Sure enough, moving west through the distant edge of the grove, there was… something. They had a poor angle on whatever it was, but through spaces between the trees they saw two figures galloping at top speed. Both seemed to be in great haste. One was a pony wearing a cloak, that much was obvious. The dark color of her coat was impossible to tell for sure, but she was a unicorn; uncommon for the town of Ponyville, but not unheard of. The other, however, was a complete mystery.

Rummy rubbed his eyes, and looked again. The creature’s proportions were all wrong. Its forelegs were considerably smaller than its hind legs. Its head was small, and its stature impossibly tall. Stranger still, the creature moving beside the pony galloped on two legs. And it was moving just as fast! If he listened, he could hear their hoofsteps; one was the successive, quadruple clop of galloping, as was normal, and the other was simply beat after beat, in completely unbroken two-four time.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or a skewed result of their brief viewing through the alleys of the forest, but they could not be sure. Nopony was able to get a better view, and the two beings quickly vanished from sight behind thicker foliage.

“Did you see that?” Rummy said, turning back to his companions.

“Yeah.” Strike casually held his hoof on the pommel of his sword while the tip dug into the ground. Looking at him, Rummy could tell that not only was he ready to use it at a moment’s notice, but was dying to do so. “What was that thing?”

Daylight shook her head. “I dunno…”

They waited for a moment, silently puzzling over what they had seen. Eventually, Rummy’s eyes widened, shining with a spark of sudden recognition.

“Oh, wait! I know!” Rummy said. “Miss Cheery told me about them! She said they lived in the east, across the ocean and by the north-eastern mountains. She said they were called hie… hie… manz. Hiemanz.”

“Hie-manz…” Daylight repeated.

“Miss Cheery?” Strike snorted. “That old unicorn don’t know nothin’. I’ll bet it was a monster! Hiya!” He swung his sword forward towards the unfinished targets they had set up. Mid-swing, he lost his grip on the hilt, and it flew out of his hooves and further into the grove. It bounced off of a fallen tree, wobbled back and forth in mid-air, and then came to rest in a pile of leaves even further down.

“Oops.” He gave a sheepish smile, and excused himself to fetch it. Daylight and Rummy were left alone.

Rummy thought about going to help, but he knew his brother would simply decline, regardless of how much struggle he seemed to be having actually finding his sword. So, he simply stood and waited, looking around at anything but her. It was strange, not having his brother around to defer the attention upon. Even though it was what he thought he wanted, it felt a little uncomfortable, being alone. He kicked a rock at his hooves.

“So what’s with the shivering thing?” Daylight asked suddenly.

Rummy looked up. “Hm?”

“Just now. You shivered a little, all over. And in the house, you did the same thing, but… more.”

He had shaken just now? Rummy had not even noticed. “Uh…”

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

“Well what is it, then?” she demanded.

“I, uh… it just happens, sometimes. Usually it’s not so bad.” As if on cue, he experienced a full-bodied twitch at that very moment. It was the very same sensation from a while ago, albeit on a smaller scale. He knew there was no hiding it. “Sometimes, my mom says it’s ‘cause the gods are tickling me.”

Daylight tilted her head, and giggled. “You’re funny.”

“Yeah…”

“I like you.”

Rummy’s ears perked up. What? She liked him? Actually liked him? Liked him like how? Like, just liked him? Or like liked him? He felt his cheeks burning up. She liked him.

“Uh… I like you t-”

A shrieking howl pierced the air.

He immediately cut his words short, and both of their heads turned towards the source of the noise. It seemed to originate from the east where the grove extended, well beyond their line of sight. They simultaneously fell into complete silence, neither moving a muscle, both listening hard for whatever it was.

Strike returned, crashing through the leaves of the grove, speaking with his prize sword in his mouth. “’Ey guys, what wa’zat?”

Daylight simply frowned and shook her head. Rummy briefly noticed that Daylight’s sister had awoken in the carrier saddlebag, but had yet to make a noise. They made eye contact briefly. She stared at him with young, clueless, icy blue eyes. He was about to notify Daylight, but was cut off.

Another howl echoed through the open air, this time, with all three of them listening intently. It was loud, guttural, and very unnerving; and despite its animalistic timbre, the sound was curiously unnatural.

Everything seemed to fall into an eerie silence, like the calm before a storm – and this was the severest calm he had never heard. Anything that made any noise was supremely disruptive. The wind blew, and the leaves rustled far too loudly. Strike shifted in place, rustling the grass, and Rummy almost felt like telling him to hold still. He even held his own breath to try and remain quiet, to no avail. His heart was pounding much too loud.

He felt wrong. Something was wrong.

Rummy had stumbled across a bear once, while exploring the forest. It had roared its warning at him, and he had galloped away as fast as his little hooves could carry him. He had had the good fortune to have not been pursued, but the memory of that roar shook him to his bones, and haunted his dreams for nights after.

This was something entirely different. No natural predator, no matter how enraged, could make the air vibrate and the leaves tremble like they were now.

They heard it again.

“W-what is that?” Rummy drew closer to his brother. “A monster?”

“What?” Strike said casually. “No. Probably just your hiemanz thing.”

“But the hiemanz went that way...” he muttered, pointing to the west.

Strike shrugged. “Maybe there are more of them.”

A moment went came and went in silence. Rummy shifted nervously. “Maybe we should go home.”

Nopony moved for a long time. Intent listening was all for naught in the vacuum of silence.

“Okay. Yeah.” Strike nodded. “Let me just go get something from the treehouse.”

“Strike…” Rummy whined. His whole body twitched.

“What? It’ll only take a second.” He took a few steps in that direction.

“Can’t we just go? Ple-” Rummy almost seemed to hiccup as his face briefly cringed. “Please?”

“Yeah, we can go, just hang on.”

“No!”

Strike stopped, and blinked. “Huh?”

Rummy was standing in place, shivering every so often. His eyes brimmed with emotion. “No, Strike, we need to go, right now. Please.”

His tone was uncharacteristically aggressive, and his words likewise. It threw Strike completely off balance. Even Daylight seemed to wonder at his outburst, watching their exchange with curiosity.

“Okay, Rummy,” he replied. “Calm down. It’s okay. We’re going.”

He sheathed his sword, returned to his brother’s side, and started walking south. The others followed suit. After they started, Daylight had noticed her wakened sister, who was by now obviously distressed, perhaps for the same reason they were. She softly cooed to her in an effort to stop the tears just barely brimming at her cheeks.

“So what did you think of the sword?” Strike eventually asked, voicing his question to no one in particular.

“It’s great,” Daylight said. “And this was fun. Dad doesn’t like me swinging swords. Actually, he doesn’t mind, but mom says it’s not ladylike. She says I’ll never need to.” She shrugged indifferently, but said, “We should play more often.”

Strike enthusiastically nodded. “Yeah, we should! Well, that is,” he added, lowering his voice and shooting a teasing glance back at his brother, “if it’s okay with Rummy.”

But he was not listening. Rummy’s head was craned forward and low, and he kept looking around and behind himself. He seemed to be in a state of undue distress, his expression worried, and his movements jerky and stiff.

“Rummy?”

“Huh? O-oh. Yeah.” He gave a noncommittal nod.

Strike scowled. “You okay?”

Suddenly, Rummy stopped. “What was that?”

They all stopped with him. Strike and Daylight looked around, perking their ears up and listening in all directions. They stood a long time in silence, but just looking at him, Rummy was so intent on some noise he had heard that it seemed rude to say otherwise. Strike was just about to anyways when they heard it. Twigs snapping and branches breaking, originating from far behind them. Something was moving towards them, at least at a walking pace.

“I hear it,” Daylight muttered.

“Uh-huh. Probably just a wild animal,” Strike said. “No big deal.”

“Y-yeah.” Rummy was quick to agree, and yet, oddly hesitant. “No big deal.”

They listened for another moment. The sound did not stop. Eventually, they resumed walking, all at a slightly faster pace.

“So yeah,” Strike continued, “if you wanna come along, this weekend me an’ Rummy were gonna go to the...”

He trailed off. The rustling behind them had gotten quicker, louder, and closer. Rummy’s brows were furrowed with fear. Daylight was only absently nodding at Strike’s speech.

“...to the... the, uh... the base of the Canter Spire...”

It was still getting closer.

“...going to the base of the spire for some gem hunting, in case you want to, you know, come along, or... or whatever...”

And closer.

Strike trailed off, and did not resume. Daylight was silent, and Rummy was whimpering. None of them dared to turn around. Whatever it was, it was of far greater size than they. And it was close.

They again heard the howl, coming from the far distance. This time, it genuinely frightened them. But not more than what came next.

Seemingly in response to the distant howl, the thing moving behind them gave a low, animal growl.

Without a word, they began to run.

The trio dodged through trees and ducked under branches, moving as fast as their legs could carry. Terrifyingly, their stalker gave chase. Its mighty steps were huge and rumbling, shaking the earth whenever they made contact. It seemed to have trouble with the tight quarters they galloped through, but it kept up just the same.

Rummy’s body reacted more violently than his mind. His gallop was plagued by a series of twitches and shakes that impeded his movement, effectively halving his speed. His brother said nothing, but fell behind, nudging Rummy’s hindquarters in order to get him to move faster. Daylight pulled ahead, but not too far.

They heard another growl behind them, louder than the last. Their pursuer bumped into something, and stopped. They heard creaking, cracking, and groaning, and then a tree – an entire tree! Rummy mentally screamed – fell beside them, hitting the forest floor with a great crash. He cried out in distress, and tried his hardest to carry his own weight.

Behind them, they heard a roar. It was identical to the one in the distance; only now, it was closer, and much more real.

“Go, Rummy!” Strike cried, still pushing at his brother.

He could not respond. His breath was a heavy mix of panting and whimpering as he tried his absolute hardest to move forward.

They were almost to the edge of the grove when they heard it again. The howl.

Except this time, there was more. The noise hit them like a wave, and stopped them all in place. Strike stood rigid and ready, Daylight cringed protectively over her sister, and Rummy covered his ears.

The howl was multiplied by ten, no, one hundred times or more, coming in from seemingly every direction. They were all different; some were roars, bass enough to shake the ground, and others were screeches, piercing enough to make a pony clutch at their ears in pain. Still others were indescribable, incomparable to anything the children had ever heard, save for the absolute terror they inspired.

For a moment, the deadly calm returned.

Then, the storm came, and it did not stop. A violent ambience began to play in the distance, like the racketeering of one thousand demons. It was ambiguous, and the children, in their fear-stricken state, could not make anything out for sure. Thundering, crashing, splintering, screaming... the only thing they knew, and they did indeed know it, was that it bad. Horribly, terribly bad.

The resumed running. They had to get out of the grove. They had to get to safety.

They did not know why exactly they were running towards the cottage, only that they must. The howls of a hundred beasts did not just happen. They were sure there was danger, somewhere, somehow. It was behind them, in front of them, everywhere.

Rummy nearly tripped over his own stiffened limb, but Strike would not allow him. “No!” he screamed, pushing his brother upright before he could fall. The edge of the grove was a small ways away.

Twenty-one yards, and Rummy was beginning to tire. They were sure to be caught.

Thirteen yards, and Strike actually took most of his brother’s weight upon himself. He would not leave him behind.

Seven yards, and Daylight broke the edge of the grove ahead of them. They were not sure they were going to make it.

Two yards, and Strike tripped.

And then, they broke free. Their momentum carried them tumbling out of the grove and into the open meadow that stood behind their house. Strike swiftly rolled back to his hooves. Rummy fell ungracefully, and took the full force of the ground on his side, sliding and scraping across it. Strike hurried to help him up.

“You’re okay. Yo-ooou’re okay, c’mon little brother, get up,” he said, quickly ushering Rummy to a stand. It was much harder than it should have been.

Once he was up, Strike peered over Rummy’s shoulder at the forest, looking back for the first time. He expected to see a monster, or a beast, or something charging after them. There was not. How long ago had their stalker given up the chase?

He gave a shout of triumph, rearing his hooves into the air. “We’re okay!” he cried. “We outran the monster! Nothing can beat us!” He gave his hooves one more triumphant wave before falling back to the earth, collapsing over the shoulder of his brother. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” he said, panting with exhaustion and relief. “We’re safe. We’re safe.”

“Strike?” Daylight said.

Strike did not have the energy to turn back, instead leaving his head draped over Rummy’s back.

“Strike?” Daylight repeated, more urgently.

“What?” he called irately, still content to just rest.

“Strike.”

He blinked. It was the strange tone of his brother that finally got him to raise his head. He looked into Rummy’s eyes, eyes that did not bother looking back at him. Nevertheless, he saw unmistakable reflections – of fire, destruction, and fear.

His own senses were awakened. Not once had he realized it, but the ugly ambience had yet to cease its sounding. Still, it washed over them in great, horrible cascades, starting with little power or variation, then getting louder, and louder, and louder, and with its volume, all the more distinct. Thundering earth, splintering wood, and eventually, the horrified screams of townsponies were all part of it.

“Look,” Rummy whispered.

Strike drew away from Rummy, and looked across the meadow towards their cottage, and the rural streets of Ponyville. It was then, wide-eyed and motionless, that he saw the source.

Across the meadow and in front of their home, a veritable legion of horrifying creatures ran rampant through the streets.

Things of all shapes and sizes hurried wildly in all directions, all of them many times larger than a natural pony. Their eyes strained against the setting sun, and only shadowy silhouettes were visible, but it was enough. Enormous lions roamed the streets, sporting scorpion tails the length of their own bodies, and broad leathery wings folded into their backs. Their forepaws alone were nearly as large a fully-grown pony, and could probably crush one with minimal effort.

Wolves zipped back and forth in packs of two or three. They appeared normal at first sight, save for their size, but the jaggedness of their outline and the glow of their eyes suggested something different, something far more sinister. They made a crackling noise when they moved, as if they were constantly trudging through dense foliage, snapping twigs and crushing leaves. One of them stopped between the alleyways and howled, just long enough for the trio to get a better look. It did not just sound like breaking sticks; its body appeared to actually be made from bits of wood. Its teeth and claws could have been deadly daggers, or rather, sharp wooden stakes.

Strike had paid attention when Ms. Cheery had taught them about monsters. He had thought it was exciting. Now, he was sure “exciting” was the completely wrong word. Nevertheless, he knew exactly what these creatures were: manticores and timberwolves. Beasts of the horde, creations of the wicked alicorns.

And if they were in the streets of Ponyville, then their pursuer in the forest...

Without a spoken word or cue, all three of them took off towards the cottage at once.

By now, Daylight’s sister was wailing in her carrier, jostled by the bounce of Daylight’s gallop, anxious at the loud howls, and frightened at the sudden burst of activity around her. Daylight could do nothing to calm her, and frantic to get to safety, did not really try.

Strike was years older than both of them, and while his gallop was the fastest, he slowed himself to wait for the others. It took a huge strength of will to do so; his brother was still barely moving at a trot.

“Hurry, Rummy!” he called.

“I can’t!” Rummy cried to his brother, who was beginning to pull ahead. “W-wait up! I… I can’t!”

Rummy’s gait was a complete mess. Nearly every galloping step he tried to take, his body would freeze up and shake, almost as if he were trying to jump in place. Each instance was brief but utterly crippling, until he was stumbling nearly the whole way. Eventually, he took a stuttering step from which there was no recovery, and tumbled to the ground. A moment’s struggle was all he needed to know that getting back up was impossible; the shaking was too intense, and too frequent.

“Wait!” Rummy called, lifting his head. “Don’t leave me!”

Strike slowed to a stop, and Daylight did likewise. She returned to his side, pacing around him, not knowing what to do. Her sister was still crying in her carrier. Strike was still approaching, only a few moments away, when a particularly loud pair of roars stopped him.

A manticore of particularly large size bumped into one of its brethren. The other pushed back, and they roared at each other before engaging in a bloodthirsty brawl, right outside of their cottage.

“Strike!” Rummy yelled.

He heard his brother, but could not take his eyes off of the scene unfolding before him. It was completely incomprehensible.

“W-what’s going on?” Tears were brimming in Rummy’s eyes. He was still intermittently shaking on the ground, though he had managed to sit upright on his own. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

Daylight’s sister was bawling loudly. It was all Daylight could do to take her out of the carrier and rock her in her arms, but nothing seemed to calm the little foal. Daylight herself looked as though she needed the same comforting treatment.

“What about mom and daddy? What do we do?!”

He turned back and shouted. “I don’t know!”

Suddenly, there was a great crash of splintering wood. They turned to the source of the noise – one of the manticores had actually killed the other. The winner had moved on; the loser had fallen directly into the side of the forge, crashing through the eastern wall.

“Daddy!” Rummy struggled to his hooves, managing to plant his right forehoof on the ground, and then his left, shaking as he pushed down on them.

His brother was much quicker.

Drawing his sword, he took off, dashing through the tall grass towards the forge.

“Strike!” Rummy screamed. “Don’t leave me!”

He slowed, but did not stop, and yelled back. “Stay together, go to the church!”

“Don’t leave me!”

But in the chaotic tumult, he was already beyond hearing range, and soon enough, he was out of their sight as well, disappearing into the wreckage of the forge. Rummy had only half drawn himself up before attempting to run forward. It merely resulted in an awkward, prolonged stumble, as he walked with an impediment that neither he nor Daylight fully understood.

“Strike!” His body froze up, then overcompensated by swinging his leg too far forward. He fell and skinned his knee, only to raise himself and keep going. “Strike!”

Daylight galloped in front of him. “Rummy, stop!”

He merely attempted to run around her. “Stri-iiiiiiike!”

She grabbed his shoulder and stopped him in place, shaking him. “Rummy!”

He looked at her. “What?” he said in a half-sob.

“He said to go to the church! We need to go! It’s made of stone, it can protect us!”

He pushed against her hoof. “But m-my family-”

“They will meet us there! C’mon!”

For the first time ever, he wished Daylight were gone. He did not want her attention, he wanted her to get out of his way. How could she be so sure, so composed? Rummy knew he was not the bravest colt in the world, but Daylight sounded like… like a grown-up. And she was younger than him. Was she even scared at all?

He looked into her eyes. It was hard to detect, but he was very familiar with the emotion. Yes, she was scared. And she was also probably right.

“O-okay.” He ceased struggling against her. “Okay. You’ll… have to help me…”

Standing on the opposite side of her sister, who was still bawling, Rummy wrapped his arm around the back of her neck, and together, they hobbled towards the church. It was set on the edge of town, so they would not have to cross any roads to get there.

The church was a modest building. Made of white stone taken from the mountain, it was undoubtedly the finest structure in all of Ponyville, as well as the sturdiest and most fortified, should the townspeople ever need a place to stay safe. If ever there was a time for such a use, it was now. Indeed, even as they kept their distance from the town proper, they could see ponies racing in its direction, frantically seeking refuge from the beasts that pursued them. And indeed, they were pursued. A great many of the beasts ran in that direction as well, chasing down their prey without mercy or remorse.

They were drawing close to the church. It was within sight, and at their slow pace, they would be there in another two minutes. The great brass bell atop the tower rang loudly and without end, serving as a hopeful beacon. Grand double doors stood open on either side of the building, with ponies standing watch, ushering in the fleeing refugees and doing their best to scare off the manticores and timberwolves that ran about, though they never directly confronted any of them. It seemed the beasts were intimidated by fire, the timberwolves especially, as they kept a large berth around the ponies carrying and swinging torches.

It was then that Rummy experienced the strangest feeling.

His ears perked up, his eyes went wide, and he stopped moving. He was vaguely aware of Daylight pleading with him to keep going, but oddly enough, it did not seem important. The feeling, however, was. His tail gave a sudden swish, and his head a sudden twitch, but that was unimportant too. Rather, he felt a sudden, survivalist urge, like the overwhelming need to take a breath after being underwater for too long. It was the strongest impression to…

“Get down!” Without warning, Rummy wrapped his other arm around Daylight’s neck and pulled her towards him, simultaneously collapsing to the ground. He let out a wheeze of air as he hit the dirt with the full weight of Daylight and her sister on top of him.

She struggled out of his grip, and rolled away. “Are you insa-”

“Shut up!” Rummy whispered frantically, putting his hoof forward to stop her attempts at getting up. She stopped struggling, and simply looked at him, shaking her head.

“Why?”

Rummy blinked. Why indeed? He had no idea.

He himself was about to get up, when a shriek pierced the air. It was close by, and it was undoubtedly that of a pony’s.

Lying on the ground, all they could see was the tall grass before them, and each other. Their hearing was unimpeded, however, and what happened next, they heard with perfect clarity. Daylight and Rummy stared into each other’s eyes, listening.

They heard a pony, probably an adult, probably female, let out a terrified scream. They heard her hooves stomp against the grass, passing right in front of them. They heard something chasing her, claws clicking against dirt, grass crunching under heavy paws.

They heard the fleeing pony trip on something.

They heard her tumble to the ground only a small distance away from them.

They heard a horrified wail, cut short by the sound of punctured flesh, diminishing into a whimper, and then a gurgle, and then nothing.

Daylight’s eyes were wide, but she kept her breathing even, and did not move a muscle. Her sister seemed as though she were about to cry at one point; after doing her best to console her, when it was apparent she was going to fail, she clamped a hoof over her mouth, hard. It was Rummy who looked as though he was going to be sick. He was breathing too quickly to be healthy, and appeared seconds away from vomiting.

The noises did not stop. Ripping, tearing, biting, gnawing, growling, snapping… it went on for horrible minutes, only yards away from them, and all they could do was lie there and look at each other.

Eventually, in the distance, they heard a great crash. The creature paused, twigs snapping as it shifted its weight. Rummy caught a brief glimpse of it – a disfigured, horrifying thing that seemed to be made of nothing but claws and scales and dripping red fangs. It snarled, and started off towards the source. In the most terrifying moment yet, it zipped directly by them. Rummy felt the wind from its movement, the tall grass that obscured him swaying for a brief moment. Had the thing been only a few inches to the left, it would have tripped over his head.

Daylight and Rummy simply lay there; for how long, neither of them knew. There was silence between them; and they heard nothing but the ever present riot in the background, the ring of the church bell, and the sound of something wet drip, drip, dripping on the grass. Rummy felt sick. He could practically feel where the thing had been moments before, like a horrible, lasting mark. It felt wrong.

Eventually, Daylight released her hoof from her sister’s mouth, who immediately wailed.

She began rising to her hooves, profusely apologizing. “Ohhh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s okay, shhhh…” None of it seemed to help.

Lucky rose to his hooves as well, wearing an odd look on his face. He refused Daylight’s help when she offered him her shoulder, moving forward on his own without a problem. Together, they raced towards the church.

On their way, they spotted a large patch of red-stained grass. There was no body, only a mass of…

Rummy gagged, and slowed to a walk. It was a moment before he could compose himself, letting the bile drivel from his mouth and continuing on.

**********

We reached the church. The view of the actual carnage was quite visible on our way. Ponyville was in chaos. Bodies of ponies lay strewn everywhere, many of them known to me. The beasts did not even see fit to eat all of their kills. They were simply in it for the sport. The corpses would lie there for another month, rotting in the town square until we came back to deal with the beasts, and bury them. Suitable, I suppose, for creations of Discord.

Still, all this from a pack of damn strays.

Some had tried to fight, others had escaped the town, but most of the citizens either died or escaped to the church. It acted as our place of refuge, spiritually and, in this case, physically. In fact, when it was constructed, the builders postulated that it might serve as a good “disaster center”, in which ponies could congregate should tragedy or danger strike their town. Not that anypony actually expected it to happen.

It was made of Canterlot stone – though I’m sure you already guessed that. As such, it was actually a fairly good place stay protected. It was all for naught, though; no mortal masonry can withstand the pushing of true demons. Against some of Discord’s fiends, there is no entrenchment that will stand, and realistically, the only tactical solution remains to attack. Sometimes, the only real defense is an active defense.

Of course, actually attacking was something none of us were going to do, which is why the church did not stay standing for long.

We both tried searching for our parents, to no avail. My brother was missing as well.

**********

The church was crowded. Every bit of open space seemed to be occupied. In one corner, the town doctor had set up a makeshift infirmary to care for the wounded. It was swamped with more ponies than he could possibly hope to handle.

After searching for family and failing, Daylight and Rummy had settled in, taking an available space by church’s only shrine, lying close to each other near the base of one of the three altars. Rummy did not bother checking to see which one.

Daylight had finally managed to rock her sister to sleep. She removed the carrier from her middle and wrapped her in the extra folds. Then, brushing the stiffness out of her fur, she laid down at Rummy’s side, curled protectively around the bundle of cloth that was her sister.

Rummy simply remained motionless and numb with his back to the altar. He glanced at Daylight. Her eyes were closed, but she was not sleeping. Normally, he would have relished the proximity. Right now, he did not care. He just wanted his family back. He wanted his mother, his father, and most of all, his brother Lucky Strike.

Immediately after they had entered the church, the doors had been closed. Occasionally, a watchpony at the window would call for them to be opened, allowing a straggler or two inside. After about half an hour, however, there were no more stragglers.

At first, the sounds were terrible. Chaos ran rampant outside the walls of the church, and the walls did less to muffle the howls of the beasts than they would have hoped. It certainly let through the death knells of fleeing ponies, which were undoubtedly worse.

After the doors were closed, the beasts began their assault on the church itself. Timberwolves clawed furiously at the entrances, and manticores flung themselves into the white stone. The walls held, however, and each set of doors was manned by no less than ten of Ponyville’s strongest. In fact, the citizens felt quite safe with them at the entries; there were few things stronger than an earth pony farmer, or rather, an earth pony farmer desperately defending his own life and the lives of his family.

The beautifully crafted stained-glass windows had been shattered by manticores, but thankfully, the gaps were too narrow for entry. Finally, after the bell ringer had been killed in the exposed steeple by a gliding manticore, the tower was sealed up. The bell went silent, and the church became a pitiful fortress, like a helpless turtle drawn into its shell.

Regardless of how helpless they felt, however, the ponies were relieved when the world of chaos outside fell silent. The roaring, banging, and scratching went away. A watchpony sounded a word of good news; the beasts retreated from the walls and doors, becoming disinterested and no longer attempting to gain entry. Some ponies were even daring enough to let out a cheer, though it was met with meager reception. Most were still in shock over what just happened.

Their relief did not last long.

Bmmm.

Rummy perked his head up, as did everypony else in the church.

Bmmm.

“Did you hear that?” Daylight whispered, looking towards him. He did not respond, but she saw his body twitch yet again.

Bmmm, bmmm.

A deep trembling shook the ground, intermittently sending bass vibrations that everypony could feel. Pebbles and pieces of glass shook in place with each new sound.

Bmmm, bmmm, bmmm, bmmm, bmmm, bmmm…

Rummy felt like he should rise to his hooves, and so he did.

It sounded like hoofsteps, but louder and deeper, as if they belonged to some giant creature. That was impossible, though. Nothing was that big.

Bmmm, bmmm, bmmm, bmmm, bmmm!

They began to get louder and closer.

Bmmm, bmmm, bmmm!

Some of the ponies let out cries of fear as whatever it was fast approaching, until it sounded to be right outside the church. The watchpony at his window could not get a good angle on the direction, and was not terribly inclined to keep trying. Everypony braced themselves for an imminent impact that was sure to come.

Rummy felt like he should back away from the altars, and so he did.

They waited. Nothing happened. The sound had suddenly fallen silent, and the quaking of the ground had ceased. For a long time, everypony looked towards the western doors, the source of the sound. A dozen earth ponies had already propped themselves up against it, putting up a living blockade, ready to repel any intruders. And yet, none came.

Minutes went by without event. They began to relax. Eventually, everypony assumed that whatever had made the noise was gone.

Rummy felt like they were wrong.

Without warning, there was an enormous crash above them. The crowd was instantly sent into a frenzy. Rummy tried to look up, but was knocked to his side by a galloping stallion. Attempting to get back up was met with further failure, as he was buffeted by another’s hooves, and another, until he fell to the floor. It was all he could do to curl into a defensive fetal position and close his eyes. He heard the doors on either side of the church swing open; the crowd was attempting to flee. Why?

A roar sounded above him, more terrible and loud and piercing than all the rest, shaking him to his core.

After doing his best to avoid being trampled by the panicking ponies, he raised his head and got his answer. Peeking through a wide new hole in the roof of the church was a huge dragon’s head. Its scales were a slimy copper green, its protruding teeth were razor sharp, and its eyes were looking directly at him.

He flinched at yet another crash, and another, and another. Looking back up, there was not just one, but four identical dragon heads in total, all smashed through the roof.

No, not a dragon. This mythic beast, he knew exactly what it was. He remembered it from the stories. Great heroes always slew them. Feeble peasants were always terrorized by them.

The hydra.

The heads withdrew from their holes, and began punching through in other areas of the roof, wildly thrashing about as if its sole purpose was to reduce every last timber to splinters. Debris rained down on the chapel floor, from small shingles to strong wooden support beams. Most of the other ponies had already evacuated the church. He felt like he should do the same. He turned on his hooves, and started towards the door.

“Help!”

Rummy skidded to a stop. Turning around, he saw Daylight still near the shrine, digging at a pile of debris. She spotted him, and called out.

“Lucky Break! Help me!”

“Daylight! C’mon!” he shouted, frantically motioning towards himself.

“My sister!”

Rummy blinked. Daylight turned back to the debris, digging at it from another angle. As she shifted, he saw it: her sister, still wrapped in the cloth carrier, was trapped near a wooden beam. The baby herself seemed to be unharmed, and was lying in the open. However, the fabric was pinned to the ground and pulled tight; the carrier was immovable, and with the cloth so taut, there was no chance of unbundling the poor foal. Indeed, it almost seemed to squeezing the life out of her, as she tried to cry, but could not quite muster the oxygen to properly do so.

“Help me!” Daylight shouted.

Rummy simply stood there, frozen in place by inexplicable indecision. He wanted to go and help her. But he felt like he should not. He lifted a hoof, and put it back down in the same spot. What was stopping him?

Surprised he was not already by her side, Daylight turned back to him, viewing his indecision with disbelief.

“Lucky!” Daylight cried, eyes wide with terror. “Please!”

**********

The first time Discord ever appeared to you, Celestia, he mentioned something about my gift. Do you remember? I threw a dagger at the profaned body of Reverie, but ended up hitting Cotton instead. After, he said something along the lines of, “it must be great for staying alive, but it never turns out well for your friends.”

Did you ever wonder what he was talking about? Because this is exactly it.

**********

Rummy felt like he should turn and go.

And so he did.

One last cry reached his ears as he fled the church.

“Lucky!”

And then, there was a great series more of crashes. He allowed himself one glance back. The hydra, which he now saw was taller than the church building itself, had completely wrecked the shrine wall, causing it to collapse inward. Right where Daylight had been.

He looked forward again. His insides twisted; it was the worst he had ever felt in his young life. Yet, more horrifying than anything else, he was unsure whether it was because of the close call, or the pony he had left to die.

The beasts had broken loose again. Even as the hydra was falling into the distance behind him, manticores and timberwolves ran rampant ahead of him, tearing at the crowd that fled before them.

“To Canterlot!” he heard somepony say. “Go to Canterlot!”

Canterlot… the mountain village to the north. Ponyville’s trading partner. Yes, he knew where Canterlot was and how to get there. Canterlot would protect them. He set his internal compass north towards the jagged peaks in the distance, which he realized was already the direction he was heading.

Rummy’s heart skipped a beat as he realized he was catching up with the beasts that pursued the fleeing townsfolk. He even passed one manticore, stopped to enjoy its newest catch.

And yet, he felt like he should keep on going forward. So he did.

A manticore broke off from the sickening parade and turned to face him, apparently having heard his tiny galloping hoofbeats. It roared at him with clear intent. He did not slow his charge one bit, not at all feeling brave, and not at all knowing what he was doing or why he was doing it.

He drew closer and closer towards the manticore, until it actually began charging back at him. It jumped, diving towards him with claws outstretched and teeth bared. Rummy was a moment away from death, when he felt something.

Rummy broke out of his gallop and gave a sudden shift in direction. Both his front and hind legs collapsed, but they rather than going limp, they retained an inexplicable amount of poise, as if it had been on purpose. In an instant, his form fell backwards while his momentum still propelled him forwards, and he felt himself sliding on the dirt road, rocks and pebbles grinding against his side.

Half of a second later, the yellow fur of the manticore obscured his vision as he slid underneath its killing dive.

He felt something, and his hooves dug into the ground, tilting him back to a standing position. Rummy resumed galloping without pause.

Before he had time to think about what had just happened, a timberwolf came towards him, fangs already dripping with blood. It bit at his neck, and he dodged to the left and galloped past it, moving faster and reacting quicker than he ever had in his entire life. As soon as it realized it had missed, the wolf turned and gave chase, not so easily giving up its pursuit.

Rummy could not outrun it, but he did not feel like he should try. Instead, he veered towards the safety of a nearby shop. Its door was already open, and as he ran inside, he closed it behind him.

He came skidding to a stop, taking a moment to view his surroundings. Tables and stools dotted an open floor. A cozy fire burned in a hearth against one wall, and an old piano stood on an elevated part of the floor. This was not just a shop, it was Ponyville’s saloon. His dad went here sometimes and came home acting all funny, though mother never liked it when he did, so he did not go too often. After he came home, he would often be carrying a bottle of stuff that he would never let Rummy drink. Unfair, seeing as sometimes the bottle was labeled with his name, sort of.

He felt like he needed one of those bottles right now. His head swiveled all around until he finally saw a large cabinet behind a counter. They were in there, he was sure of it. He hopped up onto the counter, and then hopped behind it. Nearby, he heard the timberwolf clawing at the door, howling with rage. It would not be long before it broke through.

Rummy stood on the tips of his hooves, and pulled on the cabinet handle. It did not budge. He frowned, and pulled harder, with still no effect. Was it locked?

On the other side of the counter, he heard the sound of splintering wood. Rummy peeked over to see a pair of claws furiously working at a hole in the door that was gradually becoming wider and wider.

He went back to the cabinet, and pulled, and pulled, to no avail. He was beginning to get desperate. Why he needed whatever was in this cabinet, he had no idea; he only knew that he did indeed need it. Drawing back, he turned around and coiled his legs, bucking them backwards in as powerful a kick as an eight-year-old could muster. It was not enough. There was no change in the condition of the cabinet, and now his legs hurt.

The nearby door splintered particularly loudly. He had only seconds left.

He paced back and forth for a moment in thought, and decided to try something else. Backing up as far as the space behind the counter would allow, he got low, and dragged one hoof on the ground. His eyes narrowed; he snorted through his nostrils. The door splintered again, and as though it were a signaling gunshot, he sprang into a full gallop. As he drew close to the cabinet, he jumped and put his shoulder forward, colliding full-force with the wooden panels.

They shattered into pieces, as did some of the contents inside.

Rummy was bleeding now, cut by splinters and shards of glass, shoulder soaked by some sort of liquid that stung at his wounds, but at last, the cupboard was open. He felt like grabbing a specific bottle, a rather large one that had only water in it. Bottle in hoof, he hopped back up onto the counter.

The door burst open, and the timberwolf came charging through. Rummy was ready for it. Standing up on two legs, he wound his arm back, and with all his might, threw the bottle at his pursuer. It was a direct hit, the bottle shattering on the wolf’s head, its contents splashing all over its body.

Rummy returned to all fours, standing tall and feeling, for a moment, very triumphant. It was only until the wolf shook its head clear and glared at him with clear malice did he ask himself the question: what was the point of that?

The wolf leapt forward and swiped an angry claw at him. Feeling very much like a puppet drawn on a string, he instinctively, almost involuntarily jumped off the counter and out of the way. He landed on the floor and bumped into a stool, knocking it over. The wolf swiped again, sweeping the whole table setup away, only just barely missing its target. It tried again, another swipe, another dodge. Again and again it happened. Rummy jumped, rolled, and ran further and further back, using tables as cover and stools as distractions, putting as many obstacles in between him and the timberwolf as possible.

Wham!

The wolf had finally landed an attack, sending Rummy spiraling across the room, landing in front of the fireplace. Luckily, the impact had been made with the flat of the timberwolf’s paw; the claw marks left Rummy bleeding, but it was not enough to kill him. Unluckily, he was about to die anyways.

The wolf slowly approached him, seeing its prey helpless on the ground, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that it had won.

Rummy, still lying on his side, began trying to crawl away. The timberwolf kept on its approach. He looked around. There was no escape to be found; the path to the door was blocked, and he was only backing nearer and nearer to the fire.

The fire. Rummy twitched. He felt like he should grab one of the logs.

The… logs? In the fire? Grab one of the logs that was currently on fire?

Yes, that is what he felt like.

And so he did.

He scrambled to all fours, and abandoning all caution, reached a hoof directly into the blazing fireplace, grabbing one of the burning logs and pulling it out of place. He screamed. Of course he screamed. He was in incredible pain. But it was what he felt like doing.

And then, he felt like throwing it, so he did.

The burning log sailed away from Rummy’s hooves. He fell to the floor, clutching his seared arm, still howling in pain. The last thing he cared about was where the log landed, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw it fly through the air and hit the timberwolf’s nose.

Without warning, the timberwolf burst into flame. If the eyes of a creature made of wood could widen, then this one’s certainly did. It howled in agony, backing away from Rummy and running in circles around the barroom, knocking over the few tables and stools it had left standing. Its legs were moving faster than the friction of the floor allowed, and it tripped, rolling into the counter, and then finally, sprinting out of the door. Rummy could still hear its howls for minutes after.

**********

Who knew alcohol was so flammable?

**********

He got up, and found he was unable to stand on his singed hoof. He looked at it. Some of the fur had been burnt off, and the skin underneath was beet red and beginning to blister. Actually, he noted, it was not that bad. Working in the forge had given him worse than this before. He would need the help of a unicorn doctor if he wanted the fur to grow back, and that was irritating, but considering he was still alive, he knew he could be grateful for what relatively minimal injuries he had sustained.

Spotting a mirror in one corner of the bar, he walked over to view his reflection, limping as he tried to keep his weight off his injured leg. He stopped and stared at himself. His hoof was singed with a second-degree burn, his face had a claw mark running across the cheek, and his shoulder was covered in lightly bleeding scratches and puncture wounds. In a moment of insanity, Rummy found himself excited at the prospect of showing his scars off to his brother.

He gave a start. His brother! Where was he? Was he okay? And what about his parents?

Suddenly, he felt like he should leave the barroom and go outside, so he did.

Rummy limped into the center of the dirt road. It was completely silent. If he strained his ears, he thought he could hear noises coming from the north, but it could have been his imagination. The beasts, it seemed, had moved on, along with the fleeing residents of Ponyville. Now all that remained was an empty town with broken buildings and rotting corpses. He tried not to look at the deceased ponies; it was too much.

A lonely wind gusted through the town, pushing some dust into the air. Rummy had no idea what to do. Or rather, he knew exactly what to do: he had the feeling that he should stay right here, in the center of the street. He just had no idea why.

Rummy lifted his eyes, and his ears perked up. Were those… hoofsteps? They were getting closer…

He nearly jumped out of his skin when from around the corner of a building a pony appeared, galloping full speed. The runner blew right past him before he got a good look, but then slowed down, and retraced his steps. Rummy turned towards him.

It was his brother, Lucky Strike.

“Rummy!” Strike yelled. Rummy was unable to respond before he was nearly tackled in a huge hug. He feebly returned the favor, avoiding contact with his injured parts, letting out the same mixture of laughter and sobbing as his brother.

“I thought you were dead!” Strike exclaimed.

“I… thought you were dead!” Rummy said back. Suddenly, he became very aware of how exhausted he was. “Where were you? What happened? Where’s mum and dad?”

Strike’s eyes shifted away, looking anywhere but him.

“They’re…” He paused. “Look brother, we need to get out of here. Something is after me. I managed to slow it down, but it’s still faster than us, but if we can…” He paused again, and looked around. “Where’s Daylight?”

Rummy’s expression darkened. His gaze fell to the ground. “At the church.”

Strike looked at the nearly collapsed stone building, still barely in sight. “That church?”

Rummy nodded.

“Is she… okay?”

“I don’t know,” he said dryly.

Strike could do nothing but shake his head. After a moment of silence, he spoke up.

“We need to leave. C’mon, Rummy, let’s go.” Strike reached for his brother’s arm, and tugged forward on it. To his surprise, he did not budge. “Hey, I said let’s go.” He tugged again, more forcefully. He only got an inch of movement, and it was not of his brother’s volition.

“Rummy? What are you doing, we need to leave!”

Rummy’s gaze rose from the ground. On his face was an oddly calm expression, completely out of place amidst the destruction around him and the blood with which it was framed.

“No,” he said casually, shaking his head. “I think I’m fine.”

Strike stuttered for a moment, unable to find the words. “What? What the hay are you talking about, we need to go! There are still-!”

A roar sounded in the distance, silencing Strike and making him look fearfully into the open air.

“…There are still monsters about!” he muttered incredulously.

“No, Strike, it’s okay. I think I get it.”

“Get what?”

“My twitches. I understand them!”

**********

Except no, I really didn’t. If you’ve ever heard me refer to my Luck as a curse rather than a gift, this is why. I think about this all the time. It made for an excellent lesson, and a horrible life experience. Perhaps the worst I have ever had the misfortune to take part in. They say the naïve young cannot sin, but I am not so sure.

When you read this, Celestia, please don’t think less of me. I was young, I was stupid, and I had little understanding of how things worked. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen, and not a day goes by in which I am not sorry for it.

Luck never lies. Tuned to a survivalist outcome, Luck was telling me that if I stood in the middle of that street, stock still, I would live to see another day.

And it was right. Gods, was it right.

**********

“Your twi- Rummy, we don’t have time for this, we need to leave. Now!”

As if on cue, at the end of the street, a manticore hobbled into view. Its leg was slashed and bleeding. It turned towards them, and even from this distance, they could see the anger in its eyes.

“Dammit!”

Rummy looked at his brother curiously. It was the first time he had ever heard him swear.

“Calm down, Strike, it’ll be okay.”

“You’re out of your mind, Rummy! It’s not gonna be okay!”

The manticore roared, and began lumbering towards them. Strike drew his sword. It was already covered in blood.

“Okay, okay… I can distract him for a bit, and… and then I’ll be right behind you!” Strike’s voice quivered with fear, another thing that Rummy was unused to hearing. “You can make it if you run, Rummy!”

“But… I don’t need to run…” he murmured.

His words fell on deaf ears. His brother had already taken off, charging towards a monster that was easily ten times his size and strength. The air rang freely with a courageous battle cry.

**********

Except it wasn’t courageous. I can look back on that event with a soldier’s perspective, and recognize the fear in that shout. The fear of an eleven-year-old colt who was about to lose his life.

**********

The gash Strike had managed to put in the manticore’s leg must have been a fluke. He knew it because the battle was over in mere seconds. As his brother approached the manticore, it raised its paw, and swung forward. The attack connected with Strike before he even had the chance to swing his sword; he was swatted to the side and sent airborne, colliding with a building and cracking the window before falling back into the street. His sword flew out of reach and clattered to the ground.

Strike, miraculously still conscious, struggled to his hooves, shaking with exertion and pain as he went. It was all for naught; the manticore dragged itself to him before he could retreat. Swinging its body around, it extended its scorpion tail and caught Lucky Strike square in the chest, the point piercing through the center of his heart.

Strike’s eyes widened. The manticore withdrew its tail. For a moment, Strike staggered about before gaining temporary balance. He stared at the hole in his chest, bringing a trembling hoof to examine the wound. Eventually, he looked back up. The last thing he saw before collapsing was the manticore approaching his brother, who was still simply standing in the middle of the street.

Rummy did not shout. He did not scream for his brother, nor did he cry tears at his demise, nor did he react in any way, except to stare with a blank, open-mouthed expression.

Everything was… supposed to be okay. Why wasn’t it okay?

The manticore drew closer and closer to him. He did not care. His brother had just been murdered right in front of his eyes. And still the feeling had not changed.

Stay there, and it will be okay.

But there seemed to be nothing in between him and his death. Was this what the gods wanted? To bother him with tics, and then direct him to kill himself?

“Hey!”

From beyond his vision, a familiar voice sounded. A burning torch was hurled out of seemingly nowhere, and hit the manticore in the arm. It was a light collision, but the beast seemed to back away with instinctive fear.

“Get back, you big stinking brute!”

Rummy looked behind him.

“Daylight!” he cried, overjoyed.

She did not seem to acknowledge him. She held a second torch in her hoof and waved it wildly back and forth, racing to his side.

“Get back! Back!”

Rummy peeked over Daylight’s side. She was wearing the carrier saddlebag. In it was her sister.

Another ten seconds passed in which Daylight, a filly smaller than he was, and who was certainly smaller than his brother, frightened the monster with a small bit of fire. Eventually, it had backed off, still obviously in view, but losing the will to come after them. Daylight began backing up. She got close to Rummy’s ear, and whispered.

“Run.”

Suddenly, Rummy felt like he should run.

And so he did.

They both did.

**********

We escaped, and traveled to Canterlot. There was a group of adults waiting to take care of us, but the journey was still long and hard, especially for a pair of young, injured ponies, one of which had been carrying her baby sister all day long. Our greater injuries were treated, but we still had a relatively long ways to travel. The night fell, and we kept on walking, scared of the beasts we thought might pursue us.

I tried to keep a close proximity to somepony who, for all I knew, was my only surviving friend. But she wasn’t my friend at all. I honestly don’t know why I expected her to be.

**********

The night had fallen. The moon was high in the sky, though most of the time they could hardly see it through the dense foliage that was the forest path to Canterlot. It was cold, it was exhausting, but mostly, they were simply grateful to be alive.

Rummy and Daylight walked with a group of grown-ups, trailing in the back of the weary procession. The leaders occasionally checked to make sure everypony was present, accounted for, and in good health, but for the most part, they walked in relative silence. Nopony wanted to talk. But after spending so long being quiet, Rummy felt like he should at least say something. He turned towards Daylight, voicing the first words he had spoken in hours.

“Thank you for saving me.”

She did not respond. She did not even look at him.

“I can carry her for a bit, if you want,” Rummy said, motioning to her sister.

Still no response. He fell silent for a while. After another minute, he spoke.

“Do you hate me?”

Daylight still did not give any indication she heard him, save for a small growl of anger.

“It’s because of my twitches, isn’t it? It’s because of my shaking.”

Suddenly, Daylight stopped. She hung her head, growled loudly, and then whirled around to face him.

“No!” she shouted. Her voice echoed throughout the forest, startling birds and disturbing the otherwise tranquil night.

Rummy stepped back. Even in the darkness of night, the total fury in her eyes was unmistakable.

“It’s because you’re a bloody coward! You left me and my sister for dead! All you had to do was help me lift the wood, but no! You ran off to save yourself! I had to cut the cloth with a broken piece of glass!” She flashed her hooves at him. They bore fresh scabs from handling sharp glass.

“You don’t care about anypony but yourself! You don’t look out for anypony but you! No conviction! No sense of loyalty! My father hated ponies like you, and I hate ponies like you too!” She marched towards him, and shouted inches away from his face. “Do you hear me, Lucky Break? I hate you!”

Her brows were furrowed and her teeth were bared in a mix of disgust and furious rage. Rummy was speechless and motionless, and he was fairly sure his heart had permanently stopped. Daylight stared into his eyes for another moment before snorting through her nostrils and turning away, trying to comfort the crying foal she had just awoken.

**********

In my defense, that was what I had meant by “my shaking”. After dealing with it so traumatically all day, I had simply assumed she would know what I meant. That said, it was no less than I deserved.

So just because I had an extraordinary instinct for survival didn’t mean I could follow it constantly. In some regards, it could “malfunction”. That was lesson number one, and it was the hardest one to learn. What would have happened if I ran when Strike told me? Would there have been a beast waiting for us down the road? Would he have survived, and I perished? Would Luck have provided a different, albeit “harder” way? I’ll never know.

To add insult to injury, I later realized I had earned my mark. The broken horeshoe. On the single worst day of my young life, I had earned my cutie mark. I decided the gods either hated me, or considered me their toy.

After all that, I made it my business to truly learn what I had. I got my tics under control, and learned how to listen to the urges. I still had no idea I could actually set goals other than “survival”, but it was a start.

In all honesty, they didn’t just annoy me now, they scared me. Reminded me of how big a failure I was, how I let my brother die. The only reason I studied my gift was to avoid it, and as the years passed, I did indeed avoid situations that would prompt the urges. No matter what, I was never going to let such things happen again.

It wasn’t until many years later that-

**********

Twilight jolted up from reading the letter as she heard the door creak open.

“Hello, Twilight. I’m sorry I’m late.”

XXI: A Reason to Fight

Twilight wheeled around, and put her back flat against the desk. “Hello, Princess!”

Celestia turned back to thank the guard outside, and then entered the room, closing the door behind her.

“It is good to see you, my student. How-”

“Yeah, me too!”

“-are you?”

Twilight shook her head. “I mean, it’s good to see you too, Princess! Er, I mean…” She shifted a little to the left as the princess approached from the same side. “I’m fine. How are you?”

Twilight’s tone of voice was odd and unnatural, with vowels drawn out and inflection all wrong. Celestia tilted her head and frowned.

“Are you well?”

Twilight chuckled nervously. “Of course! I said I’m fine, didn’t I?” She leaned back further, putting one hoof behind her head and setting another on the desk. She yelped as her hoof made contact with one of her books, putting too much pressure on it and sending it sliding off.

“Oops!”

Celestia looked towards the book. “It’s okay. I’ll get it.” She walked a short distance to where the book had landed and levitated it towards her, and then walked back. She gazed suspiciously at her student, who was still standing there, leaning against the desk.

“Twilight…” Celestia muttered.

Twilight gulped, trying to keep up a casual smile. “Yes?”

Celestia brushed past where her student was standing, getting a full view of the desk and all its contents.

“May I ask why you have this?”

Twilight’s smile instantly melted. She stepped away from the desk, looking ashamedly at the ground. “I…”

“’The Pony Sutra.” Celestia set the book back down on the desk and looked oddly at Twilight. “Seems a little off-topic, don’t you think?”

Twilight wheeled around to look at the desk. The box and letters were gone.

It had worked. The teleportation had worked.

“Yes!” she cried triumphantly, thrusting a hoof in the air and grinning.

Celestia raised an eyebrow.

Twilight recoiled. “Uh, I mean, yes. Yes it is off-topic. But… it’s an old book, right? Didn’t it come out in, er, ‘your’ time period? It’s always good to make your study comprehensive! It’s all from an objective standpoint, of course. Ha ha.”

Princess Celestia looked at Twilight, then at the book, then back again. “Of course,” she said slowly.

She walked away from her student and around the table. “I remember when that book came out,” she said, finding her seat and settling in. “Very controversial. I actually met the author, once. Strange old stallion, but likeable, gracious, and surprisingly disciplined. He was a war veteran, but told me at heart he was ‘a lover, not a fighter’…”

But Twilight was not listening. She pretended to busy herself by arranging her materials into order, looking at the nearby bookshelf all the while. Atop it sat the princess’s box, sealed and neatly square with the wall. And Twilight had thought ‘stealth object relocation’ was a useless skill.

“Twilight?”

Her head snapped forward. “Huh?”

“I said, are you ready?”

“Oh.” Twilight shook herself awake and made some last second adjustments. Soon, she set a blank piece of parchment before her, dipped her quill in ink, and held it at the ready with telekinesis. “Okay, ready.”

Celestia nodded. “Now where were we…?”

The next hour was spent recounting what happened next, which mostly involved the young, curious Celestia learning about Lucky’s foalhood, before its ruination. It was a rather brief account. Lucky was not much of a conversationalist and consistently had to be spurred on by young Celestia’s questions. He gave accounts of his family, his friends, and even a limited description of his “gift”. When it came to the destruction of Ponyville, he gave very little detail, the basic extent of it being “it happened”.

Twilight knew, though. She already knew about Lucky’s “Luck”, about his strong-willed brother, about his apparent infatuation with Daylight. She already knew the painful ending to it all, and when Ponyville’s destruction was mentioned, Twilight visibly winced. She half-wished her teacher would simply move on.

Though it was not like she could simply tell the princess what she had done, could she? That she had stolen her personal belongings, read some very personal material? Then again, Celestia’s whole story, this whole project, was exactly that: intensely personal. She doubted the princess would mind.

If the princess would not mind, then Twilight had done no harm. And if Twilight had done no harm, what was there to confess? Nothing, Twilight convinced herself. Nothing at all.

She glanced at the box warily. Her intention had been to finish reading the letters. All of them. Was it still?

Her mind reeled at the things she could learn, at the things she already had learned. She learned about old Ponyville, that it was very similar to the “new” one, albeit smaller. She learned that geographically, it was not that far away; Twilight herself had swam in that lake before. But most of all, she learned about the Commander, Lucky Break, and the beginnings of his uncanny abilities. It was interesting, to be sure, but the most interesting part was that Twilight felt like she had heard of it before. Like the notes of a long-forgotten tune, or a word on the tip of the tongue, the exact nature of remembrance eluded her. It was extraordinarily similar to... to...

Twilight’s eyes widened. Pinkie Sense.

And it was not just similar. “Luck” was Pinkie Sense, in its purest form.

Lucky had Pinkie Sense.

Twilight let out an audible gasp.

“Twilight?” the princess asked. “Are you well?”

“Uh.” She shook her head, and assumed a polite grin. “Yes! I’m still fine. Sorry. Continue!”

Celestia looked skeptical at her student’s sudden shock – it was not like she had said anything particularly revealing – but continued nonetheless.

All the while, Twilight was drastically revising her plans for once she returned home. Not only was Pinkie going to get a talking to for taking something that was not hers, she was coming in for another round of testing. Once, she had simply resolved to just live with it. This time, her curiosity would be satisfied. She did care. Pinkie-Sense, Lucky-sense, directed extrasensory guidance, Luck, whatever it was – she would see it explained!

“Twilight...?” Celestia questioned.

“Sorry, Princess. Go on.”

Twilight was gladdened when the story was finished, but disappointed to see much of their time together had elapsed. Eventually, Celestia caught up with Twilight’s knowledge of the events, and the tale continued onward.

**********

It was still nighttime. The fire in the forge burned low, and the stockpile of wood was beginning to deplete. Two ponies rested on their haunches in the decaying ruins of an old blacksmith shop, one beside and slightly behind the other, a respectful distance away. The moon had since moved on in the sky, and no longer shone through the angled holes in the roof.

“Can I ask a question?”

The crackling of the fire seemed to punctuate the silence before Lucky’s short response. “Hm?” he hummed quietly.

“What was she like?” Celestia asked, trying to stay just as quiet.

Lucky stoked the fire and waited a moment before responding. When he did, it was not in the hushed, storyteller tone that Celestia had come to expect. “It’s late. We should head back.”

Celestia blinked, unprepared for the sudden authoritative tone. After taking a second to collect herself, she responded in kind.

“Yes, sir.”

“Celestia,” he suddenly added. “Make no mistake, the 21st Division is a military outfit. We adhere to protocol, and only deviate when necessary. That said, I’m sure you are aware of the… camaraderie the Maiden’s Battalion shares.”

Celestia titled her head. “Yes, sir?” she said slowly.

“You don’t need to call me ‘sir’,” Lucky said, his voice losing a bit of its commander’s edge. “Just ‘Lucky’ is fine.” He cleared his throat. “Only when it is appropriate, of course. Outside of formal circumstance.”

Celestia was silent for a moment. “Of course.” She nearly added a ‘sir’ at the end, but instead, simply repeated herself. “Of course.”

She rose to her hooves, shivering as she stretched the kinks out of her hind legs. She stretched her wings as well, deploying them to their fullest and giving them an experimental flap before tucking them back in.

Lucky still had not moved.

“Are you coming?” Again, Celestia almost added ‘sir’ at the end.

“I’ll wait till the fire dies down. Don’t want to accidentally set fire to the place.”

Celestia looked around. It was a blacksmith shop; the floors were made of stone and the furnace was set in such a way as to avoid hitting the walls with jumping embers. The wood was probably treated to be fire resistant anyways. Nevertheless, she did not object.

“Yes, fire can be dangerous,” Celestia responded lamely, feeling an unusual need to be conversational. Lucky did not respond. She frowned, but turned away and walked towards the door. She began sliding it open, rusty wheels creaking on their track, but stopped as a particular question burned very suddenly in her mind.

She turned back towards him. Was it appropriate to ask? It was not really her business, but then again, none of this was.

“Were you…?” Lucky’s ears perked, but Celestia trailed off, rephrasing the question in her head.

“I mean, Daylight…” She shook her head. “Were you and Daylight ever…?”

Lucky sat there without response, casually staring into the fire and waiting for her to finish her question.

Celestia suddenly felt very out of place. The question stopped in her throat. “Nevermind.” She turned and exited the blacksmith, wheeling the door closed behind her.

**********

The Equestrian military was fortunate in the fact that they only fought the enemy on a single northeastern front. Celestia had been told they were gaining and losing ground all the time, but relatively speaking, the allied armies of Equestria and the hordes of Discord were locked in a stalemate.

Looking at a tactical map at camp one night, Apple Crumble had briefed Celestia on the general condition of the war. For the most part, Equestria had managed to keep its coasts. The sea was too large for the hordes to cross via flight, and while nopony was really sure, strategists guessed that the chaotic nature of the hordes made it too unwieldy to construct a navy. They could certainly do it, but the months of travel required to cross the sea to reach the Equestrian shore was sure to result in infighting, especially considering the usual claustrophobic conditions of maritime living.

Crumble had drawn a line across the northeast section of Equestria where he knew the battlegrounds to generally be. It started at a point in the Crystal Mountains, went to a fortress stationed above the Neighagra Falls, and extended through the edge of Hollows Forest all the way to the fortified frontier city of Fillydelphia. These were the last established areas, Crumble explained, and everything beyond them was either in their possession but not quite settled, no-pony’s-land, or hostile territory.

“Generally speakin’, we don’ let the beasts get past this here line,” Crumble said, motioning the territory he had marked. “Tha’ said, there are some unfortunate exceptions…”

Celestia’s eyes wandered to a dot near the front labeled “Canterbury”. It had been marked with an X symbol near the name.

“What about the Crystal Mountains?” Celestia asked, pointing to them. “Can’t they go around and come from the north?”

“Yeh’d think that, wouldn’t yeh?” Crumble asked. “It’s a known fact the beasts don’t like the cold, but they probably would anyways, were it not fer the Crystal Empire.” He took a pencil, and circled an area of the map. “They’ve got a mighty impressive defense set up. The beasts go into those mountains, an’ they never come back out.”

“Are we allied with the Crystal Empire?”

“Ehhh…” Crumble murmured. “Sorta. We’re not enemies, but they have yet to lift a hoof to actually help us. Their strength isn’t in attack, it’s in defense. They use the mountains to their extreme advantage, an’ they’ve got some sort of magic that protects huge portions of land. They’re so assured that their defense is impenetrable, they’ve elected to remain neutral.” He shrugged. “It’s cowardly, but I can’t really blame ‘em. I mean, I know what happened to the Hieyumans an’ all, but hearing the things I’ve heard, I’m almost inclined to believe they actually can jus’ sit the whole thing out.”

Celestia looked back at the map in contemplation, toying with some of the figurines that represented the position of armies.

“Still, what I wouldn’t do to get my hooves on a crystal blade…” Crumble murmured.

“What’s this thing?” she asked, poking at a small model cloud sitting just north of Hollows Forest.

“That,” he said, swatting at Celestia’s hoof and poking the piece back into place, “is the floating city of Draft, sunshine.”

Celestia withdrew her hoof and looked at him. “Why is a city represented with a figure? Shouldn’t it be drawn?”

“Nope.” Crumble shook his head. “There are several airborne cloud cities in Equestria, and they all move around, all the time. Time was, they only shifted positions if they needed to deal with weather in a certain area, but times have changed. Now, we have ‘em move all over Equestria doin’ all sorts o’ stuff, though quite slowly, mind you. At the moment, we got the weatherponies from Draft creatin’ hostile weather patterns to hinder the enemy hordes. It’s quite effective, actually. Just gotta be careful, seein’ as with the right magic, the enemy can burst the cloud formations of the city and make the construction unstable. Jus’ look at what happened to Windsoar. Fell right outta the sky. There’s no real way to fortify a place like that, all floatin’ out there in the open, ‘cept with the strength of actual soldiers. In that case, numbers really do win a battle, and that’s not a tactic Equestria can afford to use.”

Celestia went back to the map. The night went on, as Crumble continued to explain various facets about military tactics to the curious young alicorn.

**********

The Maiden’s Battalion marched for another two weeks and a half, traveling along a well-established trail that skirted just around the edge of the Foal Mountains. Their assigned airship, the Lazy Daisy, was waiting for them in Fillydelphia, leaving them with extra munitions, extra supplies, and much to Cotton’s delight, a wagonload of the mechanical parts and tools she had packed.

Fillydelphia was a grand city. It lacked the awe-inspiring verticality and brilliant sheen of Canterlot, but Celestia loved it all the same. The utilitarian red brick houses were constructed with a very different style in mind, one that was simple but interesting and pleasing to the eye. Mostly, however, she liked the feel of it; it was not quite as large as Canterlot, but its sprawling design and bustling streets seemed to sing the word “opportunity” to its residents. Though, perhaps it was simply an illusion; the economy, stimulated by war, left the city prosperous enough, but many areas were also run down and shoddy, especially compared to Canterlot, where not a single white stone was left unpolished.

However, they did not stay long enough for Celestia to get a true feel for it. They got only one day of rest, during most of which the soldiers were kept busy in gearing up for their departure. Another night spent in a less-than-comfortable bunk, surrounded by her comrades, and they were off.

The battalion marched north through the fertile, rolling hills, the coast only miles away from them. The trail they traveled was much less established, almost being in a state of disrepair. It made sense; nopony ever went this way, not anymore.

**********

“You weren’t stationed in Fillydelphia?” Twilight asked.

Princess Celestia shook her head. “Oh no,” she said, “the Maiden’s Battalion was never ‘stationed’ anywhere. All that talent going to waste guarding a city?” The princess gave a humorless chuckle. “The generals wouldn’t have it. No, my student, the 21st Mixed Unit Division was undoubtedly a force meant for attacking. Very rarely did we defend a place. We were small but effective, and thus were usually tasked with key objectives, with a larger, separate army providing numbers and backup. Retaking important routes, creating a weakness in the enemy’s defenses, spearheading major sieges… we were the tip of the dagger.”

“So what was the battalion’s objective this time?”

Celestia leaned forward and pointed to the map. “We were to retake the town of Trotterdam and establish a forward base there. Supposedly, that was the easy part. From there, we were to lead an assault on Manehattan island, and retake the city there as well.”

“Trotterdam…” Twilight thought for a moment, shuffling through a few of her old notes. “Isn’t that where…?”

“Where Commander Daylight met her demise?” Celestia finished. “Indeed it was. This was the very same objective the Maiden’s Battalion was tasked with months before, the same that led to disastrous results. Needless to say, we were all a bit nervous.”

**********

Hooves beat heavily on the ground. The occasional spot of mud was upset by his steps, splashing about and speckling his underbelly with brown spots. Not that one could tell; his coat was already a mild brown, and his mane a darker shade of the same color. He was messy and unkempt, as if he had just rolled out of bed, a sentiment complemented by the sight of him fumbling with buckles and belts, trying to hastily don a set of earth pony armor while still in motion.

The sights of the encampment zipped by him as he passed. Hundreds of tents and pavilions had been pitched, all colored in warm shades of red or yellow. Most simply served as makeshift living quarters, but some had been set up as field hospitals, cafeterias, armories, workshops-

He grunted as he accidentally nudged a table, toppling it over and splaying its metal contents to the grass. He apologized to the cyan unicorn working there, and continued without stopping. It was only a small ways now…

He burst into the tent.

“Sorry I’m late, boss!”

Four other ponies were already inside. They all looked towards him as he came in.

“Lieutenant Climber,” Lucky acknowledged, his tone impatient.

“Lieutenant, might I ask why yer late?” Crumble growled, approaching him. “Lieutenants Lightning Sky and Spell Trick arrived at the meeting a good ten minutes ago. Yeh know…” He leaned in close to the earth pony’s face. “…when it started.”

Climber backed up a step. “Sorry, boss,” he said, casually chuckling. He had a slight accent, developed in the city of Manehattan itself. “I was, ah… previously engaged in some important military… affairs…”

“’Engaged’ in some ‘affairs’, huh?” Crumble muttered. “Did’ja enjoy yerself?”

Trick and Lightning gave stifled laughs on the other side of the room. Climber cast them a dirty look, but did not respond.

“That’s enough,” Lucky interjected. Both Crumble and Climber looked towards him. “Lieutenant Climber, we’ll deal with this later. For now, let’s just get started.”

Crumble looked back towards the earth pony lieutenant and nodded with his head to the nearby table. Without a word, he walked towards it, and Crumble followed suit.

“Gentlecolts,” Lucky started, his tone terse and authoritarian, “this is the battalion’s first encounter since our rotation off of the front. You all know this. While we may be missing one of our more notable members, I want you all to bear in mind that nothing has changed. We are the same ponies we were a few months ago, and this is still the same battalion. It is still the Maiden’s Battalion. Know that, and make sure your soldiers know that. Understood?”

There was a unified chorus of, “Yes, sir.”

“Spell Trick,” Lucky said, nodding to the icy blue, tan-maned unicorn, “As always, you’re in charge of the unicorns.”

Trick pushed his spectacles further onto his nose. “Indeed.”

“Climber, you have the earth ponies.”

“Yeah, boss.” His attention was divided, as he fiddled with a leather strap on his armor.

Lucky turned to his last lieutenant. “And Lightning Sky.”

The light grey coated pegasus stood straighter as he was addressed. His golden armor was impeccably kept, his two-toned blue mane jutting neatly through his helmet.

Lucky clapped him on the shoulder. “The pegasi are yours. You were a good captain, and I know you’ll make an even better lieutenant. Don’t let me down.”

He nodded, determination in his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Lucky nodded, and drew closer to the table. “Alright, let’s go over the plans here.”

Everypony leaned in, looking at a map that sat flat on the table, detailing the geography of the area, as well as troop placement for both friendly and enemy forces.

“Trotterdam. The last enemy encampment in between us and the island of Manehattan. The idea here is to take the city and establish it as a forward base before our next assault, which will indeed be on Manehattan. It’s got a canal running through it empties into the sea, meaning we can more easily transport troops via ship if we wish to flank Manehattan from another side.”

Climber spoke up, finally having fully prepared himself. He still looked somewhat messy. “How much resistance can we expect, boss?”

“We’ve got sinisteeds and manticores. Positions and numbers are marked on the map,” Lucky said, motioning to the figurines on the table, “but overall, our scouts report minimal forces. Either they don’t expect us to attack, or they don’t consider it important.”

Spell Trick mumbled to himself, scowling at the table. “Why would they not expect us? Or else, why would they not deem the town important, as close as it is to Manehattan?”

Lucky shook his head. “We don’t know.” His lieutenants all showed varying degrees of skepticism, and he added, “Look, we all know what happened here last time, and we all know it was a fluke. Things happen and ponies die, which is why we’re going to play it safe. A larger army division is here to back us up, and if the siege takes us longer than two days, we’ve been authorized to fire on it with cannons.”

He pointed further south towards the figure of a ship. “An airship from Fillydelphia is hauling some up here, but it’s undesirable for three reasons: one, we need to save the ammunition for Manehattan, two, the more structures left standing, the better our forward base is, and three, there may still be survivors in the town. Though, seeing as how long it has been in enemy possession, this is… unlikely. We’ve not received any orders to pull our punches in the attack, or to conduct any thorough search afterwards.”

“So what is the plan of attack?” Lightning Sky asked.

“Good question. I have my orders, but the higher-ups have seen fit to give me the power to carry them out however I please. I have a plan, and I’d like all of your input.” He reached nearby on the table and withdrew a small burlap sack of figurines. He emptied it, and spread a few of them out before him. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”

**********

Celestia stood just outside of the tent by the door, idly listening in to the grand battle strategy of Commander Lucky Break. From what she understood, it seemed sound enough, but she became lost in the specifics and military jargon that her superiors spoke to each other in. In any case, barring the occasional concern, question, or comment, the lieutenants seemed to think it was good enough.

Celestia was not there to understand the strategy of the war, however. She merely wondered what her role in it all would be.

The battalion was divided several ways; in “columns and rows”, as Crumble had described. The three different races were split three ways, and were managed by their respective lieutenants. However, perhaps as yet another blessing of Harmony, it had been long since proven that ponies fought more effectively in mixed units. Therefore, any given soldier belonged simultaneously to two different groups: a Tribe, as indicated by their race, and one of three Companies, consisting of an equal number of soldiers from each race. From there, it was divided down further into Platoons, Sections, Squads, and Patrols.

Celestia belonged to none of them. Or rather, her peculiar circumstance had seen her belong all of them, at one point or another.

Over the weeks of marching, Celestia had rotated between duties in the battalion, far more wildly than another ‘normal’ soldier might. Being an alicorn, she was able to perform the tasks of all three races, and her superiors were still trying to get a feel for where and how she might be most useful.

Wearing heavy plate armor while on guard duty made her into a veritably indestructible juggernaut, just like the rest of the earth ponies she served with. It covered literally every inch of her body with thick golden metal, gleaming from her hooves to her head. She rather enjoyed the protectiveness of it, and it simply felt right beside. However, while she could indeed move about effectively in it, the weight of the armor made it almost impossible to fly, even though part of the back plates had been removed to leave room for the wings.

While on scouting missions with the pegasi, the lighter-weighted plate and chainmail gave her freedom of movement and allowed the use of her natural agility, but left her joints and limbs exposed, as well as large parts of her underbelly and, of course, her wings. This was ideal for the quick hit-and-run tactics of the pegasi, but it made Celestia’s strength-based talents much more risky to use, which was, as everypony knew, her best area.

The unicorns’ armor was either the most fitting, or the least. For obvious reasons, their helmets were the only ones she could wear, and to her disappointment, most of them lacked the protective facemasks of the earth pony helmets. The unicorns wore a slightly modified version of the earth pony plate armor; it was girded fully about their torsos, but the usual tall protective collar was downsized, so as to allow the neck freedom of movement to direct the horn. Chain was set below their armor, stopping just above the knee in a fashion similar to the pegasi, but more interestingly, every single set of unicorn armor came with a hooded, protective cloak. A pale yellow, almost cape-like covering made of a heavy, durable material was attached at the neck and draped across the armor until it almost touched the ground. Though Celestia had first thought it was for show, she had eventually been told it was actually in place to protect the unicorns from the backlash of their own spells, should a misfire occur, or should power leak from an overcharged, unfired spell.

Celestia still considered herself poor at magic, and always felt awkward when serving in a unicorn’s capacity. Levitation was easy enough, and she had even learned a defensive spell or two, but none of it was more effective than applying a few pints of sweat and the edge of a blade. She even found herself manipulating objects with her hooves and mouth, even though telekinesis would have undoubtedly been easier. The medium-style unicorn armor was the right weight, but its style and placement of protection was obviously tailored to one playing that of a support role, something she was almost sure she would not be doing.

She knew what her talents were; she would have made an excellent addition to the battalion as an earth pony. Her flight was passable for a soldier, but was not yet on par with the 21st’s pegasi. Her magic was certainly not terrible, but its contribution was minimal in comparison to the great magical shields she had seen some of the unicorns conjure, or the impressive firestorms they weaved.

Celestia was not the best soldier, but secretly, she wished they would allow her to simply stay in an earth pony patrol. Still, even she knew that was not using her talent to the fullest. But then, what was?

On the eve of the battle, she still had no designated group to speak of. This, she hoped to remedy.

Celestia’s ears perked up. It seemed as though Lucky Break and his lieutenants were finishing their discussion. She heard him give them some final instructions. Soon after, he wished them success and dismissed them. She gave a brief salute as Lieutenants Spell Trick and Climber walked out, followed by Lightning Sky, who gave her a nod and amused smile before taking flight.

Celestia returned the favor and watched him go, stalling her entry to the tent for as long as she could. Eventually, when he was out of sight, and the rest of the camp around her was minding its own business and could not serve as a distraction, she took a deep breath and entered the tent.

Lucky and Crumble were facing away from her, hunched over the strategic table in the middle of the tent and muttering to each other. They had not noticed her entry. She stomped a little louder as she stopped, and saluted.

“Sir.”

Finally noticing her presence, Crumble turned towards her. Lucky only glanced back.

“Private,” he said. “Is this important?”

Celestia gave a small nod. “Yes sir.”

Lucky let out a quiet, impatient sigh. “Alright then,” he said, turning to face her. “At ease. Go ahead.”

She let her hoof down, and slackened her stance just a bit. “It’s about my placement, sir.” She saw Crumble’s eyes flick towards Lucky and back again. “I have yet to be designated with a tribe and company, nor have I been recommended a specific capacity to serve in. With the attack planned for tomorrow morning, I feel like it would be appropriate to do so.”

Celestia nodded to herself. Yes, that had been her whole memorized speech. Now to see where they put her…

Lucky and Crumble cast a meaningful glance at each other. She tried to interpret the exchange between them, but all she understood was that Lucky was somewhat uncomfortable. He motioned towards her with his head while looking at Crumble, who only did the same thing, a bit more emphatically. Lucky opened his mouth as if to say something to his lieutenant, but only ended up closing it again, exhaling through his nostrils as he looked back to Celestia.

“Of course,” Lucky said. “For obvious reasons, your tribe is prone to change, but for now, we’ve placed you in the earth pony tribe, under the management of Lieutenant Climber. Aside from that, you are to serve in the 4th Company.”

4th Company? Celestia thought. There is no 4th Company. Unless he means…

“Until further notice, your current duty will be to act as an assistant to Engineer Cotton Cake, who will be your superior.”

Celestia blinked. “I… sir?”

“Yes?” Lucky said casually.

“I am to serve in the support group?”

“That is indeed what the 4th Company is. So yes.”

“I’m not being deployed?”

“Oh, you’re being deployed. All companies are deployed in the event of conflict.” Lucky walked turned away from her, walking to the edge of the tent to retrieve something from some other table. “Just not to the battlefield.”

She paused for a moment, thinking about what to say, and how to say it without offense. “With all due respect, sir, I feel my talents might be better suited elsewhere.”

“Very well,” he said, without looking. “Take it up with your company leader, Doctor Red Cross. I’m sure he can find another use for you.”

Doctor Cross joined the battalion? How long had he been with them? She shook her head, it did not matter.

“No, sir, I mean-”

“I know what you mean, private,” he said, cutting her off. He returned to the front of the tent wearing an extra saddlebag. “You might make a valuable asset on the field, eventually. Right now, we don’t know where you fit in. All of your armor has to be custom made, and even then, nothing seems to work quite right. I’m sure there’s a role for you to play, but we don’t know what that is, and even if we did, we don’t know how it would work with our current structure. An alicorn soldier is something entirely new to us, so until we know what we’re doing, we’re going to play it safe.”

“But Lucky!”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she grimaced.

“But Commander… perhaps we don’t know where I am most effective, but there are indeed places I can at least be effective. Why not pretend I’m an earth pony? I can do everything they can.”

Lucky closed his eyes, and grimaced. “I’m well aware of your record, but I’m not going to ‘pretend’ you are anything but what you are.” His eyes reopened. “So no.” He began to walk towards the exit.

“But-”

“Enough,” he said, stopping beside her. She cringed, her ears lying flat at the forcefulness of it.

The commanding edge of his voice softened, just a bit. “You don’t need to prove yourself to me, Celestia.”

He glanced at Crumble. “I’ll be back momentarily.” With that, he continued, pushing aside the tent flap and walking outside.

Celestia helplessly watched him leave. Her face was a mask of utter dejection. Was this not her purpose? It was the very point of her summoning, the solitary drive behind her continued existence: to exact revenge upon Discord. And how the demon so deserved it!

“Celestia.”

And yet, weeks of marching had led to this moment, in which she was outright rejected from service. The alternative was ridiculous. Helping Cotton? Helping her do what, exactly? Tinker with devices beyond her comprehension? She could picture it now; Cotton would be hunched over some unknown machine in the corner, poking at it with some unknown tool. Celestia would offer her help, to which Cotton would decline. Kindly, of course – Cotton was no less than utterly benevolent. It would only lessen the sting by a fraction.

“Celestia?”

She wanted to fight. She needed to fight, she deserved to fight! This was her conflict too, how did Lucky not see that? What, did he want all the vengeance for himself? How dare he not let her into battle!

“Oi! Sunshine!”

Celestia gave a start, fluttering her eyes and drawing a sharp breath. Her head was lowered towards the ground, she realized. She brought it back up, and brushed her pink mane out of her eyes, simultaneously wiping away some of the sweat on her brow. It was hot in here.

“Y’okay?”

She looked over at Crumble, who was casting a concerned look. His wings were deployed, though he did not seem ready to really do anything with them.

“Yeah,” Celestia responded innocently. Her tone was a little more airy and out-of-breath than she expected.

Crumble took a step closer, curiously peering into her eyes. “Hmm,” he grumbled. His wings unconsciously folded.

Celestia stepped back. “I apologize. I’ll just be going, now.”

“Wait.”

She froze in place. Crumble’s eyes still had not wandered away from her.

“Yes, sir?”

It was another moment before he responded. “So, yeh want to fight, Celestia?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and her eyes lit up. “Yes.”

Crumble drew his head back. “Well then, let me ask yeh a question. Why?”

Celestia blinked. “What?”

“Fer what reason do yeh want to fight?”

“Oh. Ummm…”

Crumble stood still, patiently waiting for an answer. She did not know what he wanted to hear. Was there a right answer? Would he put her on the battlefield if she answered correctly?

“Because I… should?” she said slowly.

Crumble seemed unimpressed. “Are yeh askin’ me, or tellin’ me?”

“Um.” She shook her head, and tried again. “Because I should.”

“An’ what does that mean?” Crumble asked, his tone not unfriendly, but certainly demanding. “You should. Why should you?”

Celestia shifted uncomfortably. “Because… other ponies expect me to. I was summoned for it. That’s what I’m here for. To fight.”

“Well.” Crumble took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “That,” he said, letting out the last of his sigh, “is a very poor reason.”

Celestia’s heart dropped again. “Don’t you think I should fight?” she said, her tone more pleading than she intended.

“Yeh want to know what I think? I think we need every soldier we can get. I think even if yeh didn’t do well in battle, at least yeh’d do.” Crumble shrugged. “But it don’t matter what I think, ‘cause it ain’t a matter of thinking, and it certainly ain’t a matter involvin’ ponies other than yerself. The battlefield is an unkind place. When you are out there, you gotta be out there for the right reason. Otherwise, yeh’ll be crushed by the stress of it all. Yeh gotta figure it out, and most importantly, you gotta be honest with yerself: Why am I fighting?”

This time, the question was hypothetical. Crumble turned away, walking back to the strategy table to idly study it. It felt horribly like a dismissal.

“So… I can’t fight?”

“That’s what the commander said, huh?” Crumble paused, and spoke after a moment of no response. “Surely yeh don’t expect me to go behind his back.”

Celestia was beginning to feel a mixture of frustration and confusion. “But- but-,” she stammered. “Why even ask me, then?”

“Because I was curious,” Crumble said without turning back, “because it’s important, and because Lucky can be persuaded. But yeh gotta persuade me first. And how in the world are yeh gonna do that if yeh don’t even know what yer doin’ it for in the first place?”

“But I should fight!” Celestia stomped a hoof on the ground, her voice bordering on anger.

“You should fight…” Crumble shook his head. Eventually, he turned back to her. “Yeh know what you sound like, Celestia? A conscript. Yeh had a choice, sunshine, yeh weren’t compelled to come here.”

“Wasn’t I?”

“Were you?” Crumble repeated. “Does it matter? Clover told me that yeh volunteered, that yeh said the words ‘I will fight’ of yer own accord. But say that’s false… it doesn’t change a thing. It doesn’t change what yeh sound like now.”

His voice softened a bit. “Yeh have passion, Celestia, I can see that. Somewhere in there, yeh have the strength of character to do what needs doin’.” He paused for a moment. “But what I’m hearin’ is somethin’ completely different. That you’ll fight because yer expected to. No matter how skilled yeh might happen to be, those are the words of a drafted soldier. The Maiden’s Battalion is made up of volunteers. So what are yeh? A conscript, or a volunteer?”

Celestia merely stood there. She did not have an answer.

“Did yeh know there are other battalions out there that are every bit as small and elite as this one? It’s true. The 7th, 13th, and 17th Mixed Unit Divisions all existed before we did, and have engaged in more operations than us. But they aren’t met with quite as much success, and not nearly the same kind of recognition. The mere mention of the name ‘the Maiden’s Battalion’ inspires hope in the hearts of ponies, which is more than the ‘Spearhead Company’ or ‘the Rainbow Warriors’ could ever hope to do. Do you know why that is, sunshine?”

She silently shook her head.

“Every single soldier in this battalion is here because they want to be. I mean really, really want to be. The Maiden would not accept anypony who was less than a fully dedicated patriot or a faithful observer of the gods. Or, if not those, then something else equally motivating. Yeh could be a full-blown heretic and join up, so long as yeh had passion. Whether yeh fight fer the safety of your kin, or because the Pantheon demands Harmony, or maybe even revenge, your zeal for your cause must be exceptional. Otherwise, you’re not one of the Maiden’s finest. Yer just another soldier.

“So, are yeh here to fight for Harmony? Or are yeh here to fight because that’s what everypony else wants?”

There was a pause. The words seemed to echo, if only in the chambers of Celestia’s head. She could not think of anything to say.

Crumble turned back to the table. “Dismissed, private.”

“Is that why Lucky won’t let me fight?” she said suddenly.

“No. Lucky’s scared yer gonna die out there. He don’t want Trotterdam to be the death of two heroes.”

Hero. She nearly scoffed at the word. “How can I be this ‘hero’ that ponies keep calling me if I don’t get out there and actually do something?”

“Dismissed, private.”

“And what about you?” Celestia pursued. “Do you feel the same as Lucky?”

He sighed. “If yeh had a reason, and if I were commander, I’d let you fight. But you don’t, and I’m not, so I won’t, and I can’t anyways. And even then, Lucky has a point. Do you realize how demoralizing it would be if you perished there?”

“But I won’t perish there!” Celestia protested.

“I agree. You won’t. Because yer not goin’.”

“But-”

“Private Celestia,” he said, turning fully towards her. “You are dismissed.”

She took an unconscious step back. The deep, commanding timbre of his order was not one that could be ignored. She gave a quick, grudging salute, and excused herself. As she stepped out, she walked past no less than a dozen ponies, all casually walking away from the sides of the tent. Celestia felt a furious blush come to her face, and she kept her eyes glued to the ground as she walked to report to her newly assigned station.

**********

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” Cotton Cake practically danced in place under the open pavilion that was her mobile workshop. The curls of her pink and purple mane bobbed up and down. “It’ll be just like the good ol’ days! ‘Member how fun that was? When you helped me make candy? Except, well… now it’s with combat machinery, and we’re on the frontlines of a war. But it’s the same basic principle!”

Celestia half-heartedly nodded. “Uh-huh.” She would have been much more glum, were it not for the young mare’s infectious optimism. Even still, her spirits were quite low at the moment.

She had joined the battalion long before Cotton did, had trained to be a fighting member of it, and had earned the respect and camaraderie of the soldiers. Denied every advantage, she had risen above it, and become a valued member of a team of ponies whom she considered her colleagues, a feeling she knew was mutual. And yet, here she was, rejected from the chance to do her duty. Worse yet, she had been made a peon to Cotton, of all ponies. Cotton, who already had the respect of everpony she met, who joined the battalion on what almost seemed like whim. Cotton, who was undoubtedly intelligent, but completely unused to the physical hardship of military life. Cotton, who seemed too silly to be commanding anypony¸ let alone Equestria’s one and only alicorn soldier.

As an “Engineer”, Cotton outranked the typical soldier, and nearly 90% of the Maiden’s Battalion.

“Aw, Celly! It’s okay!”

Celestia’s eyes widened, and she let out a surprised breath as Cotton met her in a quick embrace. “It’ll be fun, promise!” She let go before Celestia could even think about returning the favor, bouncing off to a table on the far side of the pavilion.

A weak smile came to Celestia’s face. Perhaps it was not all bad. After all, how many superior officers offered hugs to their underlings?

“Alright, Private Celestia!” Cotton boldly declared in a mock commanding voice. “Listen up!”

With that, Celestia was reminded again of her station. She did not exactly snap to attention – how could she, with Cotton giggling at herself like that? – but she was annoyed when the command-taking part of her brain told her to shape up and listen for orders. Thankfully, Cotton reverted to her normal voice.

“Heh heh heh… okay, okay,” she said, recovering from a bout of stifled giggles. “Let me show you the ropes here.”

**********

Working with Cotton had not been as bad as Celestia had predicted, but neither did she feel particularly fulfilled by it. Cotton had found a multitude of meaningful chores for Celestia to attend to, though anypony with two hooves and a brain could have done them. In that regard, it was indeed like Celestia’s time helping out with Cotton’s Candy.

The sun fell mercifully quickly that night. In the morning, when the trumpet sounded and the camp was roused, the sun was still down. The rally point where the attack would be initiated was a few miles north, and the 21st was to attack at first light.

The 4th Company, however, was not required to rise until after the soldiers had already left, being required to remain a safe distance away from the action.

Cotton was still asleep in her tent. Her blanket had been thrown to the side, and she lay flat on her back with all four hooves in the air, mouth wide open. Occasionally, one of her legs twitched, and she mumbled a few dreamy, unintelligible words.

She had been awakened by the horn an hour earlier, but was coaxed back to sleep by Celestia in the cot next to her. It was for the other three companies, she had said. Celestia was curiously lucid, especially considering her previous track record with getting up on time, but Cotton had paid it no mind. After blearily glancing around the tent to see that most of the support staff was indeed still sleeping, she lay her head down, and again drifted off.

Eventually, a second trumpet sounded – this time, it was for them. Cotton snorted and jumped in her cot, coming to a sudden awareness of self.

She rolled to her side, raised her head, and gave a great, wide-mouthed yawn. “Ahhhwww…” She smacked her lips. “Mornin’ everypony,” she called softly to the rest of the tent. Some of her fellow comrades, most of whom were also rising, bid her a good morning. To her left, Celestia’s cot remained motionless.

“C’mon Celly…” Cotton rolled out of her cot, letting all four hooves hit the ground. She put her front hooves forward and leaned her body back with her hindquarters in the air, shivering as she stretched. Soon, after Celestia still seemed to be asleep, she walked over to her side.

“The sun only comes out once a…” She pulled the sheets back. “…day.”

Nopony was there. Cotton looked left and right. She looked at the ceiling to see if Celestia was there to pounce her. Of course, it was only a tent’s ceiling; there was nothing to grab hold of.

“Celestia?”

Cotton trotted outside, and looked around. The last of the soldiers were just barely leaving, all heading in a northerly direction. The support company ponies, doctors and smiths and the like, were all just barely getting up, while the ones who had spent the night helping the soldiers prepare were just heading back for a well-deserved break. There was no alicorn among them.

Cotton frowned with concern. Maybe she was at the workshop pavilion? She trotted off in that direction. When she got there, only the tools and metal were there to greet her.

“Celly?” There was no response.

Something else caught her eye. A small piece of parchment was tacked to a table with a nail, obviously placed to be visible. Cotton magically twisted the nail out of place and picked up the note, casually reading it. Then, she stopped, looked up and around, and back down to read the note a second time, and then a third. Her expression changed from confusion, to worry, to horrible panic.

There was no doubt where Celestia was. Cotton flung the note into the wind, and galloped north as fast as her legs would carry her.

XXII: Soldier's Mettle

“Halt!”

A sudden burst of Voice echoed over the field, stopping all who heard it in their tracks.

Trotterdam was just north of them, its boundaries beginning at the bottom of the gently sloping hill atop which they stood. The first, crumbling building was set a little over a mile away. They had a perfect view of the layout of the town, and of the filth that was stirring within.

It was not much bigger than Ponyville, Lucky noted. Nor did it look terribly different, both in construction and current state of being. Trotterdam lacked the sophistication of its cousins to the north and south; thatched roofs and wooden walls were the norm. It was also utterly devastated, its damaged and destroyed structures serving as clear markers of conflicts past.

“What do you think, Lieutenant?” Lucky said, not taking his eyes off the scene before him.

“Mmm…” Apple Crumble tugged at his beard, eyes squinting at the landscape. He grumbled under his breath, reciting facts, figures, and attack strategies, mentally organizing himself. Eventually, he moved his hoof away from his beard, and gave a deep hum.

“It’s a beautiful day fer a battle.”

Lucky looked to the sky. It really was. The sky was a dark, cloudless blue, and the morning air was crisp and clear. The fair weather was courtesy of the weatherponies of Draft, who would ensure it stayed that way. The same pegasi were responsible for the utterly contrasting weather to the northwest of them; mountainous black storm clouds hung over the distant tip of Hollows Forest, driving rain and fierce lightning trapping the timberwolves sheltered within. The 21st would be safe as far as that direction was concerned.

The sun had yet to rise over the horizon, but some of its light skimmed across the atmosphere, letting them know that it was indeed almost morning. In about fifteen minutes, Clover the Clever, along with many other unicorns all across the continent, would raise the sun. At the first glimpse of yellow, horns would sound, and their attack would commence.

“It is,” Lucky responded simply. He could not take his eyes off of the town. “Any last minute suggestions? Changes of plan? Radical ideas?”

“Last minute changes of plan?” Crumble snorted. “Those aren’t my domain, commander. What do you think?”

Lucky saw a blur of black move between the distant streets of Trotterdam. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I already told yeh, I think the battle plan is sound,” Crumble said. “Nothin’ special, sure, but not everythin’s gotta be a maneuver fer the history books. Sometimes, straightforward is the best way to do things.”

“I know that,” Lucky muttered. “I feel like the battle plan is fine. The battalion will make it through this, no problem.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated. He paused in thought. “Something else.”

**********

“Halt!”

Every soldier, in both divisions, stopped at the sound of the Voice. To Celestia, its tone and grit were very familiar.

The 14th Mixed Unit Division stood closely behind the 21st, ready to participate in the oncoming battle if need be. They were nearly triple the size, and boasted about half the effectiveness. While the ranks of their soldiers stood in close proximity to the 21st, there was absolutely no confusion as to who belonged where. In appearance, the soldiers of the Maiden’s Battalion were drastically distinguished from their regular army counterparts.

The build of their armor was of uncommon efficiency and exceptional quality; the earth ponies had sliding plate to cover the vulnerabilities of moving limbs, the unicorns had their cloaks to protect from spells, and the pegasi’s armor was cleverly designed to maximize protection and minimize weight. They were all costly and rare, not something a more “normal” division might have.

However, what truly drew them apart was not the quality of their armor, but rather its style. Every single set was colored in gleaming gold of unmistakable brightness and origin. The plate was inlaid with intricate, flowing patterns, accented by the scars of past battles. When grouped together, the collective gleam of their armor was beautiful, inspiring, and very intimidating.

There was no other force with armor quite so “bright”. Normal divisions of Equestria’s military were issued the standard, straightforward steel. Even the Royal Guard of Canterlot and Equestria’s other large cities generally wore only a grey steel armor trimmed with royal purple. Not so with the 21st. Upon the insistence of its former commander, they became something else.

Soldiers of the Maiden stood out amongst their fellow ponies, each seeming to serve as an individual beacon of sunlight amongst the grey of the battlefield. The gold could be spotted from afar, and when fighting joint battles with Equestrian regulars, soldiers seemed to gravitate towards them amidst the chaos. Even the lowest of the Maiden’s soldiers could serve as a figure of leadership, and oftentimes did.

As such, traveling with the Maiden’s Battalion while simultaneously remaining incognito was, as Celestia quickly discovered, a surprisingly difficult task.

“Oi, watch it.”

“Sorry.”

Celestia kept her head low and shuffled over, making way for a unicorn traveling through the ranks.

It would have been impossible to try and hide herself within the ranks of the 21st. Everypony knew practically everypony else, and everypony especially knew her. She would be recognized in an instant. Plus, every one of the Maiden’s soldiers knew exactly where they were supposed to be, and what they were supposed to do; any addition to a given formation was sure to be quickly noticed.

The same could not be said for the 14th. They were not unprofessional, but they certainly did not have the same impeccable training and organization. She could easily hide in their ranks, so long as nopony saw her wings, and her black, stitched up cloak remained draped over her distinctive armor.

Celestia would be joining this battle, no matter how she did it, or who she had to do it with.

**********

The sun peaked over the east, and the first trumpet sounded. Instantly, the ranks became alive with nervous motion and chatter.

“Yeh ready?”

“Yes.”

“Gonna give ‘em some words of encouragement?”

Lucky Break shook his head. “They know why they’re here. Have the lieutenants rally their companies, make ready for the charge.”

Crumble looked skeptical, but merely nodded. “Yes, sir.” He trotted off, shouting above the noise, bringing the troops to attention and relaying the last of the orders to their respective superior officers.

Lucky waited for him, anxiously peering down upon the town. It was not long before they appeared.

Sinisteeds, black as pitch and grotesque as he remembered, began pouring out of the town. From crevices of rubble and decaying structures they emerged, massing together and pushing towards the front of the town like a great, dark wave. There were at least a few thousand. The occasional orange blot broke up the mass; manticores, he knew.

The enemy took up positions near the front of the town, with manticores readying to counter-charge. Behind them were lines of sinisteeds, forming a stationary pike wall. Most, however, elected to stay in the town, and take cover inside the ruined buildings. They knew it was a battle they could not win, and that meeting the ponies head-on was a sure death. They only wished to cause as much damage as possible. The only other option was to retreat – but then, Discord did not allow his hordes to retreat.

Eventually, Crumble returned. “The lieutenants are awaiting yer command.”

Lucky nodded, slowly and to himself. “Good.” He looked at Crumble. “Take your place, prepare to charge.”

“You stayin’ at the front?”

“As is tradition.”

Crumble was silent for a moment. Eventually, he nodded, and clasped Lucky on the shoulder. “Victory in battle.”

“And Harmony after. Good luck, Lieutenant.”

“And to you. But we won’t need it, eh?”

“That’s right.”

Crumble gave him one last rueful look before lowering his hoof back to the ground. He looked back, made a signal with his hoof, and then took to the sky, flying to his place in formation. A second trumpet blasted, loud and clear. The soldiers of the 21st settled into ranks, and awaited command.

Lucky took a deep sigh. He still had that feeling, like something was wrong. He did a quick mental check, to see if all his priorities were right.

Win this war.

Survive.

Protect Celestia, and be… and nothing else.

Protect Crumble.

Win this battle.

Protect my lieutenants.

Protect my soldiers, minimize casualties.

Protect the other division.

Everything was in order. His muscles were loose and ready – his mind was as sharp as his weapons. So why was he so uneasy?

He growled to himself. Now was not the time for some deep, personal examination. There were things that needed doing. An army awaited his command. He turned towards them, taking in the sight of the gleaming golden armor of the front line. All of them were earth ponies, fully armored and geared. Rows of side-mounted lances pointed towards the heavens, swords hung at sides, and some had switchblades built into the armor of their forearms.

None were more armored than the commander himself. Curiously enough, Lucky Break had a slightly lighter version of the full armor than most of his soldiers, but his total loadout was far heavier. His form practically bristled with weapons. In his own words, it was to give him “options.” A lance was carried at his right side, a precious shortsword hung at his left, two switchblades were equipped to his front hooves, and a claymore was strapped across his back. A belt of knives hung snugly near his chest, next to which was the newest addition to his collection, Cotton’s hookshot, primed and ready to be used.

He shifted about in his gear. It was now or never. He exhaled, and then inhaled deeply through his nostrils, gathering power and volume in his lungs.

“21st! Forward march!” he called to his army. They responded, and on practiced cue, followed their commander’s measured hoofsteps. The great golden wave began to move forward at a moderate, purposeful pace.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. Their hoofsteps beat the grassy ground in perfect four-four time.

The distance was half-closed.

“Make ready!”

Without breaking pace, a cacophony of metallic bumps, scrapes, and bangs sounded as the earth ponies slid the armored masks of their helmets down. In the rear of the formation, the pegasi spread out, giving each other room for takeoff.

A quarter of the distance remained.

“Pegasi! Ascend and decelerate!”

All at once, the pegasi took to the air and slowed their momentum, falling slightly behind the rest of the group. Crumble was with them, most of his red fur covered by gold armor.

An eighth of the distance remained.

“Lances down! Shields up!”

The row of earth pony lances went down, gleaming as they pointed forward towards their targets. Simultaneously, the unicorns’ horns glowed a multitude of colors. Executing a maneuver that had taken years to perfect, a great, jointly created translucent wall of energy appeared in front of the battalion, extending across their entire front and curving up and over their front half. Its surface was like slightly frosted glass, diffusing clear light and creating a warped image of the enemy battle lines. The wall itself stretched many yards into the open air and was oddly prismatic, sporting an ever shifting array of colors that stemmed from the many unicorns contributing.

Two hundred yards remained.

“Forward trot!”

The Maiden’s Battalion broke out into a brisk trot. They could see the sinisteeds clearly now. As the battalion drew near, some of them took to the air, suspended on insect-like wings and preparing to counter-charge.

“Forward canter!”

They began moving even faster. Their steps were no longer in time as they ran forward in a moderately fast canter. Still, they stayed in formation.

The hovering sinisteeds charged. From a sky littered with black dots, a veritable wall of enemies dove towards the golden mass that was the battalion. The sinisteeds gained speed and enveloped themselves in magic; and like a field of supernatural comets, the black turned a signature neon-green as they attacked horn first with a mass “suicide dive” – so named by the ponies of Equestria for it’s infrequent tendency to break the neck of the sinisteed that missed its attack. A successful attack, however, was usually met with explosive effectiveness, making it a maneuver to be feared and avoided at all costs.

Regardless, even as the field of streaking emerald comets came shrieking towards them, the 21st did not fear. The unicorns’ magical shield flashed, blinked, and even cracked in places as it was met with missile after living missile. Even so, it held, stopping all the sinisteeds in place and sometimes even killing them for virtue of being immovable. Often, a sinisteed’s horn would snap upon impact – a gruesome, cringe-worthy fate, pitiable by even the unicorns who indirectly caused it. No sinisteed would dare go over the wall, for fear of being swarmed by the pegasi on the other side. Not a single pony of the 21st was injured.

After a first failed attempt, they regrouped and tried again, this time with a lower number. They achieved the same result. A third volley came, and then a fourth, with no change.

In between each counter-charge, while their own aerial force was regrouping, sinisteeds equipped with crossbows fired on the advancing soldiers. From buildings and streets and hovering foes, a barrage of arrows was loosed, whistling as they sailed towards the battalion. The unicorns' shield stopped them all in place, breaking tips and bending shafts, protecting the earth ponies on the other side. The few that went over the shield carried too large of arcs to actually hit, or were blocked by a few agile unicorns who had remained free and ready for them.

One hundred and fifty yards remained.

A line of manticores made its way towards the front of the grounded enemy sinisteeds. While the airborne “divers” were in retreat, they collectively roared, and began to charge, quickly closing the distance between the armies. No doubt they hoped to break the battalion’s formation before they reached the town.

“Pegasi, charge!”

The airborne pegasi, who had been lagging behind to avoid the arrows, suddenly rushed forward with a fantastic burst of speed, quickly overtaking all lost ground. They flew low to the ground, breaking off into groups and arranging themselves into spearhead formations. They passed through the shield wall and broke off to engage the charging beasts, hooves stretched forward with deployed switchblades.

Another volley of arrows was loosed, and Lucky cursed. The manticores were sure to be hit by friendly fire; the sinisteeds were only using them to draw the pegasi out. They had expected it, but wished it would not happen. The pegasi were not protected – not completely, anyways. He saw an arrow pierce one’s wing; another was grazed across the face, and fell from the sky. He could not tell if she was dead or not.

Lucky grit his teeth as he watched the pegasi and manticores clash. The numbers and skill of their flying cavalry made them more than a match for the great, lumbering beasts, and they performed their duty with perfect efficiency. There were still some casualties.

Still, he had to be patient. He had to trust his feelings. And right now, he felt like waiting.

One hundred yards remained. He counted ten seconds under his breath, and then yelled.

“Charge!”

All at once, the shield wall disappeared, and the battalion broke out into a full-speed gallop. The earth ponies charged forward with lances down, closely followed by the unicorns, who preemptively fired arcing spells over the heads of their comrades and into the enemy position, softening their target before actually meeting them.

Fire splashed, lightning crackled, balls of force exploded, and the earth ponies roared a ferocious battle cry as they neared their enemy.

Seventy-five yards, and the pegasi were finishing up with the manticores, and beginning to rejoin their brethren.

Fifty yards, the enemy pike wall was beginning to collapse under the pressure of the barrage of spells.

Twenty-five yards, most of the sinisteeds were abandoning their posts at the sight of the soldiers, clad in shining gold and possessed of righteous fury. The Maiden’s Battalion was famous to more than just its allies. They were left with a completely clear path.

Ten yards, Lucky knew before they even met the enemy that their plan, which had only been a standard procedure with a few minor tweaks, was a complete success. It would be a massacre.

Five yards, Lucky wondered if it was how Daylight would have done it.

And then, they collided.

**********

Celestia seemed to hear it before she saw it – and the things she could not hear, her mind easily imagined. The clanging of steel against steel. The snapping and breaking of bones and buildings. The twisting of pierced flesh. Cries of anguish. Shouts of triumph. All of it happened within the first two seconds of battle. It sent sickly chills through her body, starting at her hooves, shaking through her torso, and ending in an uncomfortable tingle at the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes and shook her head; and yet, she wanted no less to be a part of it.

The 14th battalion had been following behind, and now stood at a moderate distance from the town, just out of bow range. Not that the enemy could afford to pay them any attention. The 21st battalion had plowed into the sinisteed formation with startling ease, like a spearhead of sunlight piercing an abyss of black night. Celestia almost felt sorry for the horde. They had superior numbers, but that did not seem to count for much. They had massive beasts, but they seemed to be ineffective. They had the defensive position and with it, technically, the upper hoof, but that had fallen apart within moments. The sinisteeds could hover and fly, and the manticores could at least glide, but there was no escape from the lightning-fast pegasi that pursued them.

The soldiers around her murmured as they watched the Maiden’s Battalion at work. Celestia herself was transfixed, despite having already trained with them for no small amount of time. Already, they had almost completely disappeared into the town, leaving no survivors in their wake.

A long hour passed.

Celestia tapped the metal of her forearm armor against the ground. What was the 14th waiting for? When were they too going to charge? She looked for the commander of the unit and found him standing at the front, impassively watching the scene unfold.

She wondered what they would do if she just galloped towards it by herself. A soldier abandoning her post, but only to rejoin and help her comrades on the battlefield… she quite liked the idea.

Celestia donned her helmet, carefully sliding her horn through the hole she had crafted herself. It was nothing more than a modified earth pony helmet, though she could not lift the mask separately with her horn in the way.

She drew some strange looks. It must have been the gold.

It was no matter. She certainly was not unfamiliar with strange looks. And she would draw some stranger ones yet.

“Pardon me. Excuse me. I’m sorry, pardon me…”

She pushed her way forward through the ranks, eventually coming out in front of the whole 14th.

“Hey.”

She heard the voice of a captain, and paid it no mind.
“Hey! Soldier!”

Her eyes squinted through the narrow slit of her helmet. It was a straight shot.
“You! The unicorn! Get back in line!”

She quickly took inventory of herself. A longsword hung at her side beneath her black cloak. As far as weapons went, that was it. It was all she needed.

“Hey!” Celestia felt a hoof land on her shoulder, pushing down on it hard. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

She turned and saw a tan-coated earth pony captain standing next to her, looking very displeased. His hoof was still on her shoulder. She experimentally shook herself, and it did not come free. He seemed to take it as an even deeper insult, and pressed even harder. The plate armor did not cover the joint; but even though there was merely chain and padding between her skin and his hoof, she could barely feel it at all.

“What is your name?”

She blinked. “Uh…”

“’Uh’? Do they teach the fillies how to show proper respect where you come from, Uh?”

“Uhhh…”

“They do where I come from. And this is how they teach it!”

The captain raised his hoof off of her shoulder and sent a backhanded swing towards her cheek. Celestia reacted instantly and instinctively. She raised her own hoof and deftly blocked the blow, metal clanging as their bracers met. Before he could recover, she followed up with a low sweep with her other hoof and a forceful push with her shoulder. The earth pony was thrown off balance and shoved back. He stumbled, tripped, and hit the ground with a forceful thud.

The soldiers nearby stepped back in shock. The captain simply lay there, dazed, unable to make sense of what had just happened. After a moment, he came to his senses, and rose to his hooves, absolutely red in the face.

“Just who do you think you-”

He stopped, and realized the unicorn that tripped him was nowhere near. He heard the murmuring of the soldiers, and followed their pointing hooves downrange to see a soldier clad in gold armor galloping at full speed towards the town, black cloak fluttering wildly behind her.

They all watched her go. What was a soldier of the Maiden’s Battalion doing here, in their ranks? And why did she beat up a captain?

“What are you looking at?” the captain called, realizing some of their curious eyes had fallen upon him.

**********

Dodge left. Block right. Elbow. Slice at throat. Next.

Parry. Riposte. Thrust. Swing out. Swing down. Next.

Throw knife. Next.

Swing left. Block – let go of the sword. Rush, tackle, pin. Deploy switchblade. Thrust.

Lucky’s mind was a machine. He felt very distant from it all, which was exactly how it was supposed to be. Emotion had its place on the battlefield, especially anger – but not for him. Remain detached, retain control. That’s what Clover had said, so long ago, and she was right. Losing control of his emotions meant losing sight of his priorities, and that made him vulnerable.

His body was a puppet, and his mind was the puppeteer. He had once considered himself unflappable, the perfect picture of poise. The past few months had proved him wrong, of course, had taught him that everypony had a tender spot. And if it was jabbed hard enough…

So, he fought mechanically. He yelled when he needed to yell, grunted with effort when he needed to grunt with effort, shouted in pain when he needed to shout in pain. His face lit up with hard expressions of exertion and malice; but underneath it all, he tried his best to remain impassive.

He’s not dead yet. Aim for the throat. Thrust again.

Lucky punched at the neck of a sinisteed struggling below him. It snarled and snapped at his face with long white fangs before its head suddenly whipped back. Its growl diminished into a wet gurgle, and it fruitlessly clutched at its neck. Lucky withdrew his hoof, wiping clean a bloodied switchblade on the defeated form of his opponent. He rose to his full height and stepped off, not bothering to watch the sinisteed finish dying.

Next.

A shout came from across the square. “Clear!”

Lucky turned to see his lieutenants Climber and Lightning Sky approach him. They lifted their helmet masks, as did he. They both seemed to be in good health, dirt and blood stains notwithstanding. Lucky moved to retrieve his dropped shortsword; no way was he leaving it. He cleaned the blade as best he could, and then turned to address them.

“Report.”

Climber answered quickly. “The square’s secure, and the church is nearin’ completion!”

“And city hall?”

“Already done, boss!”

“Any other pockets of resistance?”

Lightning Sky spoke up. “None that we can see, Commander.”

“Where’s the line?”

Climber wiped a bit of blood away from his brow. It was not his own. “Towards the northeast corner of town. Spell Trick and his boys in 1st Company are pushin’ ‘em that way. They’ve already lost, they just don’t know it.”

“Don’t they?” Lightning remarked. Climber chuckled, and they bumped hooves.

Lucky took a brief moment to contemplate. “Climber, take your forces and move them that direction. Help the 1st Company. I also want the 14th Division to sweep along the east side. We can’t have the enemy retreating in that direction. Have a pegasus send word.”

He nodded, saluted, and galloped off, shouting to his troops scattered behind him. “Alright, ladies and gentlecolts! Quit suckin’ your hooves and form up! 2nd Company, move out!” His Manehattan accent bellowed throughout the square. His troops rallied to him and he took them north, galloping and flying in a mostly unified formation.

“Lightning, send two of your platoons up with him, and grab a few squads of pegasi to scout the remainder of the town. I want you personally to fly with them. Trotterdam is to have zero trace of the enemy by the time the full force is routed. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He saluted, deployed his wings, and gave a powerful flap, thrusting off of the ground and leaving behind a cloud of dust. He called to his troops a series of more complicated orders, sending most of them to the front in the command of his second, Lance Corporal Allez, and drawing up a group of pegasi to help him scour the town for pockets of resistance.

Lucky was impressed. The new lieutenant was doing well. He would have to compliment his expertise when this was all over.

He looked around himself. All of the troops had been given their orders, and had left with their respective leaders – Lucky himself did not have a personal guard. He was alone in the center of the town square which, once, had probably been the nicest part of Trotterdam. The streets here were actually paved with stone, and the buildings became taller, wider, and of higher quality. A decorative statue stood in the center.

Of course, that statue had long since been smashed into pieces. The buildings were in a state of decay. The cobblestone streets were cracked. And of course, it all reeked of war. The corpses of sinisteeds and manticores and gods knew what else lay scattered everywhere. He saw no casualties from his own battalion, but there was the occasional form of a pony, long deceased from the initial attacks on this place.

He cast a glance near the shattered statue. A vivid memory struck his mind, still very fresh, still very bitter. It was right there that she…

Lucky looked away. Remain detached, retain control.

He had places to be, troops to command. He found the street that led north, and began galloping in that direction.

Bmmm.

A sudden tremor shook the ground. He stopped just as quickly as he started.

Bmmm.

His ears perked up and twitched, and he listened closely.

Bmmm, bmmm, bmmm, bmmm!

Lucky sighed. He knew exactly what it was. He took off, sprinting in the opposite direction.

Bmmm, bmmm, bmmm, bmmm!

A moment later, the tremblings stopped, and the world seemed to become silent. Lucky grunted and thrust off of the ground, diving forward as far as he could.

In the next instant, the structure nearest to him was completely destroyed. A deadly barrage of debris was flung into the street. Lucky was clipped by the very edge of the blast and sent tumbling to his side, his forward momentum carrying him through into the edge of the square.

Without missing a beat, while still scraping along the stone in his thick armor, he righted himself and flipped back to his hooves. He exhaled and looked up. A copper-green hydra stood before him, completely filling the width of the northern street. All eight eyes of all four heads were looking straight at him.

How did something like this escape the notice of their scouts?

Jump back.

He did, rolling backwards to avoid a gnashing hydra head. It slammed into the pavement where he was only a second ago, cracking the stone and leaving a small crater.

Draw claymore. Retreat further into the square.

He simultaneously did both of those things, putting one hoof on the hilt of his heavy sword and backing up into the open square of Trotterdam.

“C’mon, then!” he growled through his teeth at the monster of a lizard before him. It obliged, roaring back at him with quadruple the volume and advancing on its two enormous legs.

Slowly, back up. Draw it into open ground for greater maneuverability and less collateral damage. Wait for it. Wait for it.

He took measured steps backwards, keeping his head craned upwards at the behemoth before him. Without allowing his gaze to wander, he set the handle of his claymore gently between his teeth. The hilt of most swords were designed to be easy on the teeth, but even still, it took enormous jaw and neck strength to wield the claymore as such, a weapon primarily designed to be swung with the hooves. It was strength he possessed.

The hydra carried itself with a lumbering, almost slothenly pace, leaving a thin trail of swampy slime in its wake. Even so, its giant steps brought it ever closer to him. He kept his own strides even and measured, retreating further and further into the square, until…

Roll forward. Cut above.

He immediately stopped, dug his hooves into the ground and leapt forward. A second later, the shadow of four enormously thick necks came upon him as four gnashing maws full of yellow teeth swooped overhead. Tucked into himself, Lucky could not see it, but he did feel it – and it felt close. The wind, the snarl, and the stench of rancid, reptilian breath originated only inches from him.

As soon as he could, he burst out of his coil and sprang upwards, throwing his body into an aerial windmill while swinging with jaw clenched, slashing above himself. He felt resistance as heavy steel met scaly flesh. He pushed as hard as he could.

Lucky landed on his shoulder and quickly got back up. The right half of his helmet was spattered with a fresh coat of dark red. The heads of the hydra quickly withdrew themselves. One writhed in the air with particular intensity, sporting a newly formed gash across its neck. It was relatively small, almost not seeming worth the tremendous effort and supernatural reflex it had taken; but it was only a start, and better than nothing.

Keep moving.

The hydra did not relent. An attack came from the right. He took a short hop right. Almost immediately, another came from the left. He flipped the hilt in his mouth and shifted left again, holding the claymore in its path. The head rammed itself into the blade. Lucky was thrown back upon impact, and forced to let go of the hilt. Not even his grip was that strong. Yet, as he landed on his hooves several yards further into the square, he looked up and saw his two-hoofed sword protruding from the hydra’s second head, just above where he knew a vital spot to be.

It had been a good try. The beast paused, glaring at him with renewed bloodlust. Lucky returned the favor. He clicked his hooves against each other. The switchblades on them slid forward.

The hydra loosed another series of attacks, alternating strikes with its heads, allowing the earth pony before it very little time to recover and counter. Lucky dodged from side to side, rolling, jumping, and simply sprinting out of the way. He attacked very infrequently, but made contact every time he did.

Soon, the hyrda was covered in a great many cuts, ranging from tiny nicks to large gashes on its skin. Several throwing knives protruded from its hide; he had even managed to land a hit directly in an eye. Lucky knew it was not enough. He had seen beasts carry on for days with life-threatening injuries; the false dragon before him was only just getting started. He, on the other hoof, was beginning to tire out. Sweat soaked his matted fur underneath his armor. Blood ran under leather straps and made them chafe at his skin. He had long since been panting with an open mouth; and still, his half-helmet somewhat stifled his breathing, trapping an uncomfortable amount of heat beneath it.

It did not matter, though. He felt that soon, somehow, the beast would be dead, and he would be fi-

The hydra made another lunge. He dove to the side. It was not enough. Its gaping, snapping jaw did not hit him entirely, but the edge of its arc clipped him. He was sent sprawling back into the square, landing on his side, metal scraping against the stone. A thousand thin scratches were left in the side of his gold armor.

He did not recover immediately. Slowly, he raised himself to his hooves and ripped off his helmet; it was much too hot. His orange mane remained stuck to his neck, flattened by the helmet and sticky with sweat. Looking back at his foe, his eyes widened, and he instantly wished he had been quicker about it. Rather than lunging with its heads, the hydra was charging him head on, intent on simply crushing him beneath its huge body. Its huge feet slammed against the pavement, shaking everything from pebbles on the ground to entire buildings at the edge of the square.

Bmmm, bmmm, bmmm, bmmm!

More alarming still was what he felt like doing next.

Stay put.

Bmmm, bmmm, bmmm, bmmm!

Luck was never wrong. Never. He had set his goals prior to the battle; the only thing he could do was to have faith that he had set them right. Somehow, staying put was necessary to either: winning this war, surviving, protecting Celestia, and… and nothing else! Protecting Crumble, winning this battle, protecting the lieutenants, protecting the soldiers, minimizing casualties, or protecting the other division.

Bmmm, bmmm, bmmm, bmmm!

Luck was never wrong.

But sometimes, it was terrifying.

“Hey!”

The hydra did not seem to hear, but Lucky certainly did. He looked up. What he saw made his heart sing with relief.

The air itself seemed to shake as a dozen pegasi struck a trail across the sky, fast enough to appear as a tight grouping of mere golden blurs to the unexpecting eye. They broke formation moments before making contact with the hydra; who, finally, had noticed them, startled by the fact it had nearly been impacted by a dozen golden meteors.

Startle aside, it did not relent from its charge. They were only blurs after all, barely tangible to begin with. Not like the earth pony in front of it.

Then, they struck.

The hydra roared in furious pain as, all at once, the whole of its back, from the napes its necks to the base of its tail, was punctured by many blades. That stopped its charge; it arched its four necks backwards, screaming at the sky, then turning itself in circles and biting at its back with the two heads that could reach it. The pain, which was deepening by the second, did not stop.

As the hydra turned itself, wobbling as it made the effort to stop its own charge, Lucky could not help but smile when he saw its back. The pegasi had made a mass dive towards it, switchblades out and forward. It’s whole back now almost seemed like one collectively massive wound, with blood pouring from twenty or more fresh wounds. A few pegasi were still even hanging on, digging their blades as deep as they dared. Lightning Sky was one of them.

Eventually, not knowing what else to do, the hydra flailed wildly about like a child throwing a tantrum. The shaking was enough to throw the pegasi off and make them cautions – but they were far from done.

“Stay low! Get the legs! Avoid the heads!” Lightning Sky shouted, hovering out of range. “On me, on me!”

It took only seconds for the soldiers to return to formation, and they dove again. This time the hydra was aware, but not truly ready. The Lieutenant led his pegasi in a staggered line of two-by-two, coming around on the hydra’s left side and circling around it in a whirlwind of flashing steel.

The hydra did not know how to react. Like giant whips, its long necks swung around in the open air with reckless abandon, hoping to make contact with something, anything. It was met with limited success; it buffeted one or two of the pegasi away, but they would only rejoin the fray as quickly as they could.

Finally, Lightning shouted something – Lucky could not hear what it was – and all the pegasi flew higher, seeming to contradict his orders from before. The hydra ceased its tantrum and began snapping at the pegasi in the air, who hovered just barely out of reach. They did not take any real offensive action, seemingly serving only to distract, some even having the audacity to jeer and mock the beast. As they flew in relatively lazy circles, lightly sparring with the heads, Lucky counted them. They were all there, except...

A faint shrieking could be heard in the distance behind him, high-pitched and airy, as if the wind itself was in pain. Lucky looked just in time to see Lightning Sky streaking their direction, switchblades out, paritally enveloped in a cone of what Lucky could only describe as pure speed. He was forced to shut his eyes as the Lieutenant sped over him, the trail of wind nearly knocking him over; and in the brief time his eyes were shut, Lucky heard many things. An enormous impact, the rending of flesh, and a furious roar.

Lucky opened his eyes and looked towards the hydra. Lightning was already past it, spinning madly out of his dive and tumbling hard across the concrete square. His maneuver was not met without success, however; the hydra’s right leg had two brand new gashes running horizontal and parallel to each other, deep as could possibly be. Lucky was surprised the leg itself did not simply fall off.

The hydra seemed to make an expression of utter shock on all four of its heads. It tried to lick at the wound, wobbled unsteadily, and then fell, crashing to the ground with a huge cacophony of shattering stone. The dust cloud it left was immense.

Lucky was impressed.

“Sir!” Lieutenant Sky landed next to him, withdrawing his own switchblades, which by now were stained a deep crimson. He lifted his helmet mask. “Are you hurt, commander?”

His other fighters landed nearby as well, congratulating each other on a job well done. They especially regarded their lieutenant with admiration. Distracted as he was, Lightning could not help but hear their enthusiasm and smile.

“No, I’m fine,” Lucky said quickly. He pointed towards the fallen hydra. “How did this thing escape our sight? Your sight, lieutenant?”

Lightning shook his head, looking more confused than apologetic. “I don’t know. One minute, all was clear, and the next we hear this-”

He was cut off by a low rumble. It was quiet, but terribly unwelcome.

The pegasi’s chatter immediately ceased, and they all turned towards it. Lightning Sky’s smile faded. “You have got to be kidding me.”

A roar, muffled but enraged, sounded from behind them. Lightning turned, and Lucky looked over his shoulder. The hydra was struggling back to its feet.

“Damn.”

Lightning gave a breathy, tired laugh that could have been mistaken for a sigh. “It was a good try though, wasn’t it Commander?”

“Not good enough, apparently.”

The Lieutenant shrugged, jumped off the ground, and deployed his weapons. “Well, you know what they say about trying again.”

Lightning slammed his mask back down and called to his group of pegasi, who quickly followed suit. Lucky had already closed half the distance, shortsword in mouth.

Strike forward.

It was a much fairer fight this time around; the hydra was forced to multitask, with three heads focused on the dozen pegasi flying above, and one on Lucky below. Still, it was not falling. Usually, this was the kind conflict was reserved for cannon artillery or precision weather lightning strikes. If regular troops were involved, they preferably fought with long range spells, or even barrages of arrows. A group of pegasi and a single earth pony, all close range fighters, should not have been doing it themselves.

“How do you stop this thing?” Lightning Sky yelled, recovering from a failed swooping attack.

“Hit it till it falls over!” Lucky shouted back.

“That didn’t work last time!”

“Keep trying!”

The pegasi were beginning to break off, becoming exhausted from the prolonged assault. Some of their number had been knocked from the sky, and one had even been mauled by a set of the beast’s jaws until one of his comrades had pried him free. The hydra was bleeding from wounds nearly all over its body, but not once did it show signs of exhaustion.

“We’re not making any progress, sir!” the lieutenant remarked as he and Lucky happened to be near each other.

They were making progress. Just not enough. “Did you send for reinforcements?”

“Before I even got here! The unicorns should be on their way!”

“Then where in the-!”

They split apart as an enormous tail came crashing towards them, completely crushing the building that stood behind them. Lightning took off. Instead of dashing away, Lucky picked a spot, and waited there with his hooves over his unprotected head.

There was a great crash all around him. Bricks and mortar fell in great heaps left and right, cracking against the pavement and each other. The debris tumbled violently for a few seconds, though it seemed like much longer. Eventually, the crash came to a point of stability, falling into relative silence, save for the tumbling of a few solitary bricks. Lucky opened his eyes. He coughed and waved at the dusty air about him. Looking down at himself, he thanked the gods; the rubble from the building had fallen nearly everywhere except where he was standing. Save for a few pieces of debris, which were quickly brushed off or nudged away, he was completely uncovered.

He climbed out of the mess and onto the mountain that had been spontaneously created around him. The hydra had moved a short ways away, distracted by the few pegasi that had any fight left in them.

Lucky was ready to charge off and aid them when he heard something. His ear twitched. He looked southward. He squinted, rubbed his eyes, and squinted again. Through the dust he saw a figure, somepony galloping their direction. A glint of gold reflected through the brown, musky, dust-filled air. When the figure had come to about twenty yards away, he saw it clearer; a unicorn from the Maiden’s Battalion, armored up and wearing a tattered black cloak instead of the normal yellow.

The unicorn galloped past him, probably without seeing he was there. He stopped at the beginning of the square, eyeing the rampaging colossus; and though he was armored, and his face hidden, Lucky had enough experience reading soldier’s emotions to see the shock and fear underneath the metal.

Soon enough, though, he eschewed his fear, and prepared for battle. Not surprising, thought Lucky – such were the Maiden’s soldiers. What did surprise him was the fact that instead of firing any spells, the unicorn drew a sword, dragged a hoof along the ground, and then charged, heading straight towards the hydra.

The unicorn’s armor was one class too heavy. Offhand, Lucky could only think of one or two unicorns in the 21st that preferred it that way – though, Lightsong liked her helmet to be open, and Rivet was always wearing that red scarf of his. And what was this unicorn doing alone? And why was he coming from the south? And that low, crouching stance was peculiar...

Nearby, Lucky heard Lightning Sky groan.

“Lieutenant,” Lucky said without moving his gaze, “you… ordered more than one unicorn back here, right?”

He was met with no response.

“Lieutenant?”

Down the slope of debris and to the left, the rubble shifted just a bit. The voice that called to him was weak. “Commander…”

Lucky’s heart skipped a beat. “Lightning!”

He slid down off the wreckage and located the source of the voice. It was not difficult; Lightning Sky lie on his back near the very edge of the rubble, some of his left side covered by a shallow pile of stones. He looked absolutely battered, with scrapes and scratches everywhere on the plate of his armor. His chainmail was lazily splayed out underneath him. The top part of his helmet had been dented in, and seemed to be the source of a thin trail of blood, steadily dripping off of his chin. Worse yet, his left wing was pinned underneath a massive conglomeration of solidified concrete.

“I’m alright, Commander…”

Lucky drew close, hovering over the pegasus.

“’Course you are,” he murmured. He tugged at smaller bits of debris while still gauging the situation. “Of course you’re alright. You think you can just go and die on your first mission in command?” He wiped at a splotch of blood slowly pooling around Lightning’s chest. It mixed with the rubble as Lucky tried to rub it clear. “Think again, you lazy bastard.”

Lightning forced a painful smile. “S-sorry, sir…”

“Shut up.”

Lucky began to work on the large brick-and-mortar boulder that was pinning Lightning’s wing. Though it was twice his size and many times his weight, Lucky knew he had the strength to move it. His shoulder and the side of his neck to the rough stone, he began to push, and soon, he felt it begin to give way. Only a few more seconds, and…

Move away. Set stance.

Lucky immediately sprang away from the body of his lieutenant and whirled around. The fight had gravitated back their direction, and with it, the hydra’s partial attention on him. Without questioning it, he reared himself to his hind legs, and set his forearms in a square defensive position in front of him.

He received his answer a moment later. The hydra lashed out with one of its heads, striking like a snake. This time, it caught him. Snatched up in the jaw of the beast, Lucky felt himself be lifted off the ground and high, high into the air; higher than he knew was safe. Three rows of dagger-like teeth grinded against his armor; only by virtue of its protection, as well as his braced stance, was he able to avoid being turned to mincemeat. He kept his exposed head low and his limbs spread wide, doing the best he could to keep the hydra from clamping its jaws shut.

Its other heads were occupied elsewhere, but this one focused all of its efforts on killing him. It growled deep in its throat, and pressed harder and harder. Lucky could smell the putrid air coming up from its lungs, mixing with the stench of the foul saliva in its mouth; it made him gag. Its tongue was pinned beneath his rear hooves, but below the harsh pressure of his metal horseshoes, he could feel it squirming and writhing in place.

Eyes closed thus far, he risked taking a single peek and experienced a moment of vertigo. He was held at the monster’s full height. A fall from here would injure him if he landed perfectly correct – it would kill him if his landing was anything but.

Deploy switchblade. Thrust.

Risking a moment of instability, Lucky withdrew one hoof from the roof of the hydra’s mouth and deployed his switchblade. Then, he put it back.

The hydra roared. Still trapped in its mouth, Lucky was treated to the full intensity of the sound. The vibrations shook his bones, and the immense volume made his ears scream in protest until he could hear literally nothing else. Immediately, he felt intense gravitational pressure coming in from all directions. The hydra was wildly flailing its head about. Trying to eat him, it decided, was not a good idea. He happily agreed.

Let go… now.

Lucky tucked himself into a ball and released his hold on the hydra’s mouth. Much to his relief and simultaneous panic, he was flung away from the putrid cavity. He heard the noise of shattering glass and splintering wood, and he sailed through the air for a full three seconds before-

Thud!

He came to a violent stop.

His head was spinning, and his entire dizzy conscious felt utterly removed from his physical body… it felt like a concussion. He knew he should have kept the helmet on. Without waiting for the sensation to subside, he straightened his legs and raised himself to his hooves. Except he was lying on his back. Growling in frustration, he rolled to his side, and tried again.

He got up, tripped, and got up again, steadying himself on a nearby wall. Grey, twinkling stars invaded his eyes and completely overtook his vision for a few moments. He craned his neck, closed his eyes, and clutched at his aching skull while waiting for his vision to clear. Eventually, it did, and although he was still in a degree of pain, he felt aware enough to move and act.

Lucky looked around. He was… inside? Sure enough, surrounding him were four wooden walls and a window, recently shattered. There was furniture around, as well. A dresser, a mirror, a small bookcase… and beneath his hooves, a mattress, messily strewn with pillows and blankets.

He jumped off the bed, and trotted over to the window. The fight with the hydra was still going on; it took only a moment to see the remaining pegasi breaking off, no longer trying to kill it, only distract it until reinforcements arrived. Though, the anonymous unicorn seemed to be on the attack, and doing alright besides.

He retracted his thought when he saw the soldier slammed into by the hydra’s tail and thrown a far distance across the square. Even still, he got back up. Impressive.

Despite it all, it was another moment before he realized: he was three stories up.

So, he had been nearly swallowed by a hydra, flung fifty yards through the air – or so was his estimate – crashed through a window, broke the backboard of a bedframe, and landed safely on a mattress.

After considering it all, he gave a brief prayer of thanks for his fortune, and readied himself to rejoin his comrades.

Take care of yourself, first.

His neck itched. Idly, he reached back to scratch it, and then hissed in pain as he tried. Something was there, he felt it. He trotted over to the nearby mirror, and viewed himself. A large shard of glass protruded from the top of his neck, jutting out through the matted orange – now slightly red – of his mane. He sighed and, still watching himself in the mirror, gingerly nudged the shard with a hoof.

He shuddered. “Mm-hmm. That hurts.”

Daring not to think about it for too long, he set his teeth and ripped it out. A small arc of blood trailed through the air. It made a painful but clean exit.

Lucky brought the shard to eye-level for a moment, viewing the now rosy glass with morbid curiosity. As odd as it was, he used to keep souvenirs of things like this. Had he continued the habit, he would have ended up with a trunkful of wood, metal, glass, and even claws and teeth.

Lucky tossed it away – it clattered to the floor next to many more just like it. He turned towards the window.

Use the hookshot.

A sudden hiss of air could be heard from the third floor of a residential building. Seconds later, Lucky leapt out of the window headfirst. At half the distance to the ground, he made a motion with his right hoof, nudging the curious device equipped around it. A metal chain became suddenly taut, stretching from his hoof all the way to the wooden wall of the room above.

His descent was stopped, his body flipped, and he was sent swinging towards the house, landing with his back legs forward to absorb the blow. Another few jumps, and he had rappelled down the entirety of the wall. Giving one final strong yank on the chain, the spearhead on the third floor came free and retracted itself into the device.

Lucky looked at the device, raised his eyebrows, and nodded approvingly.

A great boom sounded far behind him. He looked to see the hydra with all four heads extended, all having attacked at the same time. On the receiving end, having galloped out of the way for dear life, was the unicorn.

Save her!

Lucky blinked and furrowed his brows. What a funny feeling. He galloped towards the commotion.

“Oi!”

A knife sailed through the air, catching the still recovering hydra in the lip of one of its mouths. It raised its heads to full height and turned towards him.

“Have another go, if you think you’re fast enou- Crap!”

Lucky got out of the way as the hydra made a sluggish charge towards him, running into and destroying the building he had just been in. The beast was finally on its last legs, he could tell. It was no less dangerous for it.

He wheeled around. The hydra was buried beneath the rubble it had just created, stirring beneath wood and stone. It groaned and tried shifting its body around to face the square. It managed a small rotation, but its movement only served to bury it further.

Now’s your chance. Enlist her aid.

Lucky looked back. “Soldier! Assist!”

The unicorn was already on his way.

Lucky started out before the unicorn overtook him. He closed the distance to the rubble, and began to climb it. Only one of the four heads was free. It craned its neck towards him, made a lunge, and missed. It withdrew and made another strike, aiming behind him at the unicorn who was, by now, trailing close behind. He was not able to see if the soldier had survived, but the distraction was all he needed. The hydra’s withdrawal was slow enough for him to leap off of a piece of rock, and land onto the back of its scaly neck.

He deployed his switchblades in mid-jump and thrust them down upon landing, securing himself onto the hydra’s flesh. It whipped back and writhed powerfully, and would have thrown him off had it continued to do so, but something made it lunge forward again. He used the opportunity to withdraw his blades, climb a short ways to its head, and stab down with all his might.

A low, airy groan sounded from the hydra’s throats, and a fountain of dark blood issued forth from the creature’s head. Nearby, another head had managed to free itself from the debris, and made a frantic lunge towards him. It missed, and Lucky was able to strike with another killing blow. In the throes of death, it writhed in pain and knocked him off of the mountain of rubble and back down to the square below. One of his switchblades had snapped off, still embedded in the monster’s head.

It was like tumbling down a great, uneven stone staircase. His ears rang and body shook every time he took another hit against the debris. His unprotected head took a particularly nasty blow, and he felt the minor concussion of before come back in far greater force.

Eventually, when he anticipated hitting the ground, his body was jolted with an unexpected blow; though oddly enough, he seemed to be in better condition for it.

Did somepony catch him?

“Hey!”

Lucky’s ear twitched. That voice…

“Are you okay?”

He strained to open his eyes. A pony was indeed hovering over him; in fact, he was propped against the ground and held in that pony’s arms. He could not quite make out who it was, though. Something hot and wet was trickling over his eyes, making them bleary and forcing him to constantly blink.

“Just stay here, Commander.”

That voice…

At some point, the pony released him. He was not sure how long it had been, but what he felt like doing next, he felt very strongly.

Save her!

Lucky stood up. His whole world was blurry, unfocused, half-lidded, and tinted in red. His legs were wobbling in place, a sensation that was not helped by the infrequent earthquakes that took to the ground beneath him.

He lifted his head. The hydra had unburied itself. Two of its four heads were lying limp on the ground. A third had been completely cut off. The fourth, however, still fought with the tenacity of a dying animal. There were no pegasi left to engage it – and its singular target fought bravely in the very center of the square.

His eyes widened.

Save her!!

Half-fainting, nearly bled out, and with little plan of action, Lucky charged. He had to. There was no other choice.

The dying hydra lunged.

Lucky cried out.

“No…!!”

But his voice fell into a noiseless void. He charged but was going nowhere. His body felt numb. One eye perceived reality, and the other was filled with memory – and they both saw the same thing.

She stood next to the statue with a longsword drawn. Her stance was low, all four legs bent at the knee and spread wide across the ground. She carried the tension of a coiled spring, but not to get out of the way; no, she would meet this head on. He was running towards her, but she was so far away, and she was alone. The morning sun broke over the eastern wreckage, and its light shone on nothing but her. In those moments, Lucky could not be sure if it was really the sun’s doing. Maybe she was the one shining, and the sun reflected her brilliance.

Illumination caught his eyes, and he had to squint. She was alone. He should be there, but she was alone. She would be alright, the goddess told him.

In one eye, he saw himself simply standing there, all calm and collected. In the other, he knew better.

The illumination became unbearable, but half of his body moved forward anyways. His mouth was still open, he felt the cry still moving through them, and reality came rushing back.

Save her. Save her. He would save her!

“…No!!”

He threw his shoulder forward, and connected with the hydra’s head a moment before it met its target. He felt teeth shatter and blood vessels break against the metal of his armor, and the hydra’s head was shoved so far sideways as to force it to readjust and steady its entire body.

“Commander!”

The hookshot found its way to Lucky’s hoof once more, and before the hydra could even shake its head to recover, he fired a precisely aimed shot. The spearhead sailed towards open air until the hydra unknowingly moved its head into its path. The point connected with the underside of the hydra’s chin, tore through a weak spot in the scales, and stuck there.

“Lucky Break!”

He almost could not respond to the voice; but his gift told him he should. “The claymore!”

Lucky looked up to make sure; sure enough, his claymore still protruded from the crown of the remaining head.

The soldier wildly shook her head. “How-?!”

Calling upon the strength of his tribe, Lucky grasped the hookshot chain in both hooves, shouted, and gave a mighty tug. The stunned, weakened hydra was unprepared for the sudden, massive force, and its head was brought low to the ground.

Lucky could only assume she understood him, because in the next instant, the soldier was charging towards the lowered head. Her cloak fluttered unobtrusively behind her. Two feathery patches of bloodied white could be seen on either side of her. She deployed her wings, pushed them downwards, and jumped, sailing as far and high as was possible in such heavy armor.

Then, the soldier extended her hooves forward, grasped the embedded claymore, and shifted it forwards and deeper until it was buried nearly to the hilt.

The hydra’s last pair of open eyes widened. It screeched, higher pitched and louder than Lucky would have thought possible. And then, it started to sway.

Without having actually landed on the head, the soldier hung off to the side and swung forward and back with her hooves still on the handle. Soon, she let go and tumbled to the ground below. She scrambled to her hooves and sprinted away from the beast.

With one last heave of effort, the hookshot was yanked free. Messy with bits of bone and flesh, chain would not coil in all the way. It sputtered and whirred as it tried. Lucky dropped the device, and watched the hydra warily.

Like standing upon a great ship, the hydra swayed forward and back, left and right, rocked by the pushing of unseen waves. Blood dripped from its last head, which it had raised up to full height again. It especially wobbled like a weight on an unstable spring.

Lucky stood still. He knew it would not fall on him. And the soldier had been saved. Speaking of which…

“Help!”

He looked left. The soldier was alarmingly close to the teetering hydra, and digging at a spot of rubble on the ground.

“Commander! Help me!

“What the hell are you doing? Get out of there!” he yelled, motioning towards himself.

“The lieutenant!”

The soldier shifted, and he saw what she was pawing at: Lieutenant Lightning Sky, whose wing was still pinned beneath a piece of debris. The hydra was beginning to lean their direction. It became apparent it would fall that way; whoever was in its path at the time would be crushed.

“Help me!”

Lucky simply stood there. He knew there was nothing he could do. Or rather, he could do something – but it would mean his own life. He felt like the soldier would be fine. Maybe she would get out of the way. But to save Lightning Sky meant sacrificing himself.

It was one or the other. There was no in between, his gift told him so.

“Lucky!” the soldier cried, eyes wide with terror. “Please!”

Lucky felt like he should take a few steps back.

And so he did.

He flinched, briefly closing his eyes, his face contorted into a mask of deep pain. Never turns out well for your friends, does it?

One last cry reached his ears as he saw the hydra fall towards them.

“Lucky!”

The ground was taken with a brief but powerful trembling as the hydra fell from its full height all the way to the earth. Dust was thrown up into the air, creating a thick brown screen that filled the air immediately surrounding it.

A piece of debris flipped his direction, and would have stubbed his hoof had he still be standing a few paces forward.

He coughed and waved the dust away from his face, but other than that, he remained completely still, waiting for the cloud to settle. Thirty seconds went by, and he heard a stampede from the north. The unicorn reinforcements had finally showed up. Lucky rolled his eyes, but continued waiting. They seemed content to do the same, eyeing the scene with awe.

Eventually, the dust fell into the breeze, and the full wreckage was revealed. They hydra was undoubtedly dead. Blood oozed from wounds all over, and bile dripped from its last remaining mouth. A claymore, his claymore, still protruded from the hydra’s fourth head. The place where Lieutenant Sky had been lying was completely crushed by the neck. An extra splatter of blood coated the area.

Lucky took a deep breath, and braced himself. He felt so unexpectedly angry. At the hydra, at himself, at the soldier... for what? Asking him to do something he knew he could not? The hydra was not his fault. Lightning Sky was not his fault.

Without a word to his reinforcements, he walked towards the hydra head.

Approaching it, he heard a scuffle on the other side. He wondered if the soldier had broken any bones.

Lucky reached the hydra, and, using a rock as makeshift scaffolding, jumped up onto the nape of the monster’s neck. He peered onto the other side, and sighed.

The soldier was there, lying in the ruins with both wings outstretched. The dust had yet to settle around her. Lucky scowled, and peered closer. Wings, and a horn. Oddly, he did not feel very surprised.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him there, and spoke.

“Oh…” she panted. “So… now you want to help?”

“Hardly,” Lucky said. “I came to get my claymore.”

He balanced along the hydra’s neck and walked to the crown of its head, where his sword was still stuck deep into its skull. It was still buried to the hilt, which itself was covered in blood. He grimaced, cleaned off the handle as best he could, and set his teeth around it to rip it out. It took a good three tugs before it came free.

He tossed his sword onto the rubble below – he would properly clean it later – and jumped off the hydra’s neck, walking towards the soldier.

Suddenly, he stopped.

The soldier had gotten up. Beneath her, previously covered and protected by her wings, was the unconscious form of Lightning Sky.

By now, a few curious unicorns and pegasi had rounded the beast to gauge the situation for themselves. Lucky wasted little time in calling out for a physician and tending to some of the more minor wounds himself. Soon, the lieutenant was covered in ponies more qualified to help than him, and both he and the soldier backed off. A pair of pegasi brought a stretcher to carry him away.

As they left, Lucky saw Lightning’s eyes flutter open. They looked at him, then they looked at the soldier beside him. His lips barely parted, but his slurred whisper was not complicated.

“Thank you…”

**********

Lucky obtained a status report from Lieutenant Spell Trick, who returned with the reinforcements, and found that the battle had gone in their favor. They had just pushed the enemy out when reinforcements were called for.

“It would seem you did not need them, Commander,” Spell Trick observed with a smile.

Lucky was not so amused. “Thank you, Trick. Dismissed.” He walked away before the lieutenant did, looking around the scene. He did not have to look far to find the pony he was looking for.

“Private! Here, now!”

The soldier, helmet still on and armor absolutely filthy, perked up and trotted towards him, standing front and center.

Lucky just stared at her for a long time. Through the narrow slit of her full helmet, he could see the anonymous pony staring back with scowling reddish-pink eyes. Except, she was not anonymous at all; he was not sure when he had figured it out, but her identity was obvious.

He drew closer, and slowly raised a hoof to the edge of her helmet. Grabbing it, he ripped it off her head and tossed it to the side, where it clattered noisily on the pavement. She blinked, and then shook her head and neck, getting her mane to flow a little bit freer. Her eyes moved to catch his gaze with their own, and he nearly flinched at the sight of its intensity. His stomach tied into a knot, and a strange feeling of deja vu took hold of him.

“I hate you.”

Without taking his eyes of her, Lucky shook his head and growled. The foolish mare had no idea. Absolutely no idea. And here she was, accusing him. Anger boiled up inside of him, and his scowl deepened, a vicious line carving its way between his brows. How dare she speak to him like that! What did she know? Nothing! Not until he had summoned a barrage of biting reprimands to stand ready on his tongue and drawn a deep breath to propel them forward did he realize – she had not actually spoken at all.

It all came out in a breathy huff.

“Idiot.”

Celestia’s eyes flicked away, but only for a bit. She stared for another moment, struggling to remain composed. Her eyes narrowed further as a number of responses came to her mind. Her face was a playground of conflicting directives, hovering somewhere in between showing him the scorn he deserved and the respect that military succession demanded. But after that, what respect could he possibly be due? She bared her teeth, and opened her mouth to speak-

“Lucky-yyyyyyyy!”

She produced only a puff of air. They both turned to see somepony galloping at full speed up the main southern road.

“Lucky-yyyyyyy! Luck-”

Cotton stopped, lowering her head and taking a moment to breath. Her curly hair bobbed up and down with her panting.

“Lucky… Luck… Lu… phew!” She raised her head and wiped the sweat off her brow. She let one last whoosh of air out, gasped another one in, and resumed running.

“Lucky-yyyyyyy!” She finally reached the main square, having drawn the eyes of everypony in it. “Lucky!” she cried. “Celly ran off without telling me and left a note and at first I thought she was in bed but she wasn’t in bed and then I thought she was on the ceiling hiding but she wasn’t on the ceiling hiding and thenIthoughtshewasalreadyawakewhichIsupposeiscorrectbutshewasn’tatcamp!”

She drew a deep, gasping breath. “Becausesheranofftogoandfightandweneedtofindher, right, now!”

Celestia stepped forward from behind Lucky and a few other onlookers. “Uh, Cotton?”

Cotton blinked, frowned, and looked towards her. “Oh.”

The air was silent as Cotton pondered. She leaned in, tilted her head, wrinkled her nose, and squinted. After a moment, she stood taller and shrugged.

“Well, I tried.”

XXIII: The Worth of Souls

It was amazing, the amount of sound a grandfather clock could make.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Celestia supposed she should have been more amazed by the fact that a grandfather clock was even here, in the wreckage of Trotterdam. Everypony else certainly was. Such things were rare to begin with; to see a pony-made device of such intricacy in a small town like this was even rarer. And yet, there they found it, standing proudly unscathed in the two-story building they just so happened to establish as their temporary headquarters. This particular building, which might have once been the home of a relatively wealthy pony, had been mostly exempt from the chaos of battles past, but even it bore some residual damage. It was surprising, then, that this tall, lean, easily toppled clock, with an exterior of strong oak but an interior of delicate gears and metalwork, was still tick-tocking away when the battalion scouts had discovered it.

To some, it had been a minor symbol of hope – nothing major, but as a “hey, did you hear?” type of story, it was perfect.

At the moment, Celestia almost wished it had been destroyed.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Lucky Break rested on his haunches opposite of Celestia. Between them was a desk. Both had long since divested themselves of their armor – Lucky was now wearing his red commander’s jacket – and both were relatively clean. Celestia felt a strand of pink hair drift away from her mane and fall in front of her eye. In the smallest motion she could manage, she brought her hoof up and brushed it aside, and did no more than that. Standing at attention, she dared not move more than was necessary.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Beside and a small ways behind Celestia stood Cotton, almost mirroring the position of Crumble, who stood at Lucky’s side. In the context of this meeting, however, they were only watching from the sidelines, and they knew it. Between the icy blue eyes of their commander and the bright pink of the recruit, there was a mutual stare that was palpably intense. Celestia could only look into that familiar hard scowl and put up her best apathetic defense, which was failing by the second. Sure, it might have been familiar; but this particular expression had a sort of edge to it that was… disappointed, Celestia decided. The fact that it made her feel inexplicably guilty was even more disconcerting. The presence of an enemy sinisteed lurking in the corner might not have been more uncomfortable.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Cotton sneezed – it was delicate, as usual, but it nearly made Celestia jump out of her skin. In the corner of her eye, she saw Cotton look around, wait for someone to pardon her, and then frown when nopony did.

“You fool.” Lucky Break finally said. It was almost as soft as Cotton’s sneeze, but Celestia jumped just the same. “You damned fool.”

“Bless me,” Cotton whispered. Everypony ignored her.

“Do you realize what you just did?”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Celestia was not sure if she was supposed to say anything. After a long moment of silence, she decided she should.

“I… killed a hydra?” she softly spoke. After a moment of thought, she added, “Sir?”

The grimace on Lucky’s face seemed to become more of a snarl, and his eyes lit up with anger.

“Celestia!” It was not a shout, but it did not have to be. “You nearly died! You impersonated a member of a battalion to which you did not belong, you disobeyed a direct order, assaulted a higher-ranking officer, and you nearly died!”

Celestia cringed at the tone and volume of his voice. Suddenly, the annoying persistence of the grandfather clock did not seem so bad.

“But I didn’t,” Celestia heard herself murmur. She instantly regretted it.

“Oh?” Lucky sat up a little straighter. “Well maybe you should have, and rid us of your stupidity. The Maiden’s Soldiers are many things, Celestia, and disobedient is not one of them. Neither is unintelligent, I might add.”

A spark of indignation lit in Celestia’s eyes, and she leaned in a little further.

“But I’m fine!”

“You’re fine?” Lucky rolled his head away and back, incredulously searching for the words. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t care if you’re fine. I care about what might have happened! Me, and everypony else. What if you had gotten hurt? What if you had died? What then?”

He paused, but not for long. “I’ll tell you what then. Equestria’s just lost yet another one of our already few advantages. Our secret weapon, gone in an instant!” He stomped his hoof down onto the floor. The contents of the table rattled in place. “Just like that! Because as it turns out, our ‘secret weapon’ has the romantic notions of a child. Not to mention the mind of one.”

“I’m not a-”

“I know you’re new to this, Celestia. Everypony starts green and that’s okay. But for goodness sake, show some respect. Going and risking your life for, what... the glory of it? You might as well spit on the graves of the dead, and in the faces of the living.”

“I don’t-”

“Equestria has come too far and fought too hard to be taking chances; chances, especially, that we cannot afford. If you feel like you have to sacrifice yourself, Celestia, then you-”

Lucky stopped, sounding as though something had caught in his throat. He looked down briefly, coughed, and looked back up. When he spoke again, his voice was just a little quieter, though no less impassioned.

“Then I would thank you to make sure it’s worth it.”

The room fell silent once more. Celestia tried to think of all the arguments she could, something to defend her actions, and though more than one came to mind, none of them seemed appropriate at the moment.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“And you. Cotton Cake.”

Cotton, distractedly watching the swinging pendulum of the grandfather clock, looked back at the mention of her name.

“Me?”

“You were supposed to prevent this exact thing from happening. I told you to watch her.”

“I tried! Celly’s just too sneaky!” She let out a small whimper. “Ohhh, I trained her too well…”

Lucky rolled his eyes. He happened to know Celestia was anything but ‘sneaky’. Skilled, maybe, and smart for all her foolishness – but stealthy? No.

“You told her to ‘watch’ me?” Celestia suddenly said, having finally drawn up not only a semblance of greater composure, but a disregard for Commander Break’s position. “What am I, a foal?”

“Apparently,” Lucky said with contempt. “You ran off anyways, didn’t you?”

Celestia ignored it. “Everypony knows about your gift. You told me about it yourself. You must have known I was going to survive.”

Lucky’s eyes rekindled with sudden anger, and his expression of scorn became a fierce grimace. He leaned forward. “No, I didn’t know. And I don’t know if its arrogance or idiocy that makes you think you can just assume that.”

He leaned back. “I might have thought you would survive – and even then, it was only because I was there. And sometimes, I make mistakes. Sometimes, I-” He paused, gave a quick, frustrated sigh, and shook his head. “I can’t always do everything perfect. Even if I could, there was no way you could have known. Regardless of the outcome, what you did was stupid, Celestia.”

Celestia broke her gaze on Lucky, looking back and forth in distress. “But- but I…” She looked back at him. “If I hadn’t been there, Lightning Sky would have died!”

“Don’t change the subject. This discussion is about nothing but your disobedience.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Celestia protested, her tone a curious mix between anger and what almost sounded like pleading. “Who are you to value my life above his?”

Lucky suddenly stood up, drawing himself to his full height. “That was never in question! When you came rushing to the battle, did you say to yourself, ‘I need to save somepony’s life!’ No, of course you didn’t! You had no idea!”

Celestia took a step back, the least bit intimidated. “I just wanted to help my friends,” she said defensively. “And I did.”

“You speak about the value of life like you know what it means. You don’t. You can’t. Not until you’ve been forced to evaluate a pony’s true worth. Come back after you’ve experienced a lifetime of war. Come back after you’ve had two casualties lying before you, and you can only save one; and after you’ve looked into both of their eyes, realized they both have hopes, fears, dreams, lives, souls… and then realized that none of that matters in the end, simply because its prudent take the one with a higher chance of survival. Do all that, do it a hundred-thousand times, and then come back, and we can discuss the value of life.”

“What about your own life?” Celestia countered. “Do you place it above another’s? You know so much above value, then what about Lightning? Or Crumble? Or Cotton? Or me? Or the ponies back home, your loved ones? Who has the most ‘worth’, huh?”

The room went quiet, and Celestia immediately knew that she had said something wrong. She looked around. Crumble’s bushy brows were suddenly raised in concern, and his lips beneath his beard were pursed. Cotton, who was still staring at the grandfather clock, bit the edge of her lip and gazed just a little farther away.

She looked back to Lucky. He had sat down again, and was looking at the desk in front of him.

“Yes,” he said. After a long pause, he looked back up and continued. “Yes, I do place my own life above Lieutenant Sky’s, and many more besides. And do you know what I place even higher? Victory. The winning of this war and the harmony of our nation.”

“So you would let him die.”

“Yes!” Lucky said firmly. “Yes, I would let him die. War is not easy, and neither is it painless. Lightning Sky has long since come to terms with the notion and meaning of ‘sacrifice’. I suggest you do the same.”

Celestia looked down and away. “I’m not the only one,” she murmured under her breath.

Lucky scowled. He heard that. “Who is more capable, hm? Me, or him? Who is more important to the war effort? I have nearly a decade of leadership experience. In combat, no singular pony can best me, in this battalion or otherwise. Lightning is a capable and passionate soldier – if he weren’t, he wouldn’t be in the 21st at all. But between us, I am the more vital. I don’t pretend to like it. A commander makes choices, and sometimes, you have to choose between the lesser of two evils. That’s how war works, that’s how the world works, and I would thank you not to label me as evil simply because I understand it. If I felt it was for the good of Equestria, I would let you die too.”

Celestia was not sure if she was shocked or not. Her body, which had been going numb by degrees during the entirety of this conversation, told her she was – but her mind simply acknowledged the fact with a large degree of cynicism.

“You wouldn’t know the meaning of sacrifice if it came up and bit you on the flank, Private.” Lucky sat up and straightened his red commander’s jacket. “Next time, consider the fact that there might be ponies who are wiser than you, and that maybe their decisions were for a reason. The disparity between my experience and yours is considerably large. For the sake of Equestria and its citizens, I would ask you respect that.”

Lucky sighed. It seemed to be a breath of release, as though he had just expended the last of his emotional energy and could put up no more argument. Not that Celestia saw it as an opportunity to fight back, as it were – at this point, Lucky would simply dismiss her and probably punish her as well, considering the extreme disrespect she had been showing. Besides, she was tired as well, and more unexpectedly, she found herself grudgingly agreeing with him.

Celestia was reasonable. Months of being on the bad end of scorn had made her that way. She could put herself in another’s horseshoes, capable of thinking about why they said what they said. In another’s perspective, the things they spoke usually made sense; and often, they were true. In this case, she simply did not want it to be true.

After a period of silence in which a mental war raged in Celestia’s head, Lucky again spoke. His words, she was not prepared for.

“Which company would you like to join?”

Celestia blinked, coming back to reality. She scowled. Did she hear him right? Was this some kind of trick?

“Sir?”

His voice had taken on an almost mechanical quality, with very little emotion attached to what he was saying.

“Regardless of your severe disobedience, you performed... admirably. Your punishment – which will be severe – must still be served. But, after counseling with…” He paused, and cleared his throat. “After counseling with some others, it occurs to me that the best and fastest way for you to grow is through experience. For now, I will allow you to fight.”

“I… thank you, sir.” It was almost phrased as a question. She still felt oddly suspicious.

He merely nodded. “Normally, we simply assign ponies a company, platoon, and section, but seeing as these are unique circumstances, I’ve decided to let you choose where you think you’ll best fit. So, which shall it be?”

After Celestia overcame her suspicion, and after some thought, she chose her own placement. 3rd Company, 3rd Platoon, 6th Section, under the greater command of Lieutenant Lightning Sky, and the direct command of Lance Corporal Allez.

Cotton looked none too pleased about it all.

**********

Side by side, Crumble led Celestia through the war-torn city of Trotterdam, which was now swarming with battalion ponies who were all working to set up their encampment. The place was alive with activity and buzzing with the noises of industry.

“Is Lucky a better fighter than you, Crumble?”

It was only fifteen minutes later from Celestia’s chat with Lucky, and she was still trying to process it all. She did not know why this particular question came to her mind, only that somehow, it was relevant. So she asked, even though she already suspected what the answer would be.

Crumble guffawed, startling some of the nearby ponies into dropping a wooden pole vital to the pavilion they had been trying to set up. The whole thing collapsed on top of them.

“Aye, sunshine,” he said, still in the midst of a mighty chuckle. “That he is.”

Celestia frowned. Lucky’s audacious claim of literally being the best seemed less and less like a boast the more she saw him in action. Crumble’s reaction only served it further.

“Is he… a better commander?”

Crumble’s laughter was still dying down. “Heh, eh-heh… yeh mean a better leader? I’m not a commander.”

Celestia nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Crumble let his smile fade and considered it for a moment. “Maybe,” he said, his hoof tapping at his beard. “But not by leaps an’ bounds. In any case, he might lack the flair of the old Commander Daylight, but he’s more than qualified fer the job. He knows what he’s doin’.” A small grin appeared on his face. “Now name-callin’, that’s his true talent.”

Celestia grumbled. That was not what she wanted to hear.

“Oh, quit yer moanin’ and groanin’, sunshine,” Crumble chided. “He does what he does, an’ there ain’t a whole lot yeh can do about that. ‘Sides, you’ll be needin’ that frustration in just a few minutes now.”

“Is he better at-”

“What?” Crumble interrupted. “Knitting? Poetry? Bein’ better at war don’t make him a better pony, Celestia. Ain’t yeh ever heard the unification story of the tribes? Our differences make us strong. If it’s buggin’ yeh so much, quit thinkin’ about it.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground. It was not bugging her, per se, she just hated the way he was so… so sure about it. So detached. She would not want to be squadmates with him at all, the good of Equestria aside.

She sighed. “How did we miss an entire hydra anyways?” she said with some frustration. “I know nopony was warned or prepared for it. Who the hay ran reconnaissance? Because they sure need to get some-”

“I did.”

Celestia blinked. She looked at Crumble, who impassively stared ahead.

“You did... what?” Celestia asked.

“I ran recon over Trotterdam,” Crumble said simply. He looked at her. “Yeh got somethin’ to say?”

His tone was not threatening, nor was his intention or meaning, but Celestia suddenly felt very small.

“Uh, no...?” she muttered, shrinking away from his gaze.

“Yeh look surprised,” he said gruffly.

“Do I?” Celestia looked all around, at anywhere but him. “I guess I just... I didn’t expect... I mean, you don’t...” She looked him over. His bulky frame and muscle-bound limbs seemed bigger and more intimidating than ever. She would have expected a faster, younger, more agile pegasus would be leading reconnaissance, not the old and grey Apple Crumble, strong as he appeared to be.

You don’t look the type. At all. “I just didn’t expect you would be doing it. What with you being Lieutenant-Commander and all. Aren’t there ponies to do that for you?” Wouldn’t your shiny red coat be spotted the moment you took off?

“I know I don’t look the type,” Crumble said, reading Celestia’s mind. She blushed. “Don’t you worry ‘bout it, sunshine. Me an’ Lucky have already discussed the hydra situation.” He added after a moment, “And I’m better at it than yeh might think.”

Celestia timidly nodded, and let the matter drop. They continued walking through the city for another minute, the activity around them dimming as they moved further away from the center.

“Ah!” Crumble suddenly said, thrusting his left wing out in front of Celestia to stop her. “Here we are.”

Celestia looked up. They had arrived on the eastern edge of town. Before them was nothing but an empty field of grass. Celestia raised an eyebrow.

“As punishment fer yer disobedience,” Crumble said, adding a small bit of royal flair to his tone, “yeh’ve been hereby assigned with latrine duty.”

Celestia tilted her head, her pink mane falling to one side. “Latrine duty?”

Crumble nodded. “Yeh look confused. Yeh know what a latrine is, right? The bathroom. The restroom. The washroom. The lavatory, the litter box, the potty, the pot, the john, the loo, the porcelain throne-”

“I know what a latrine is!” Celestia exclaimed. “There’s nothing here.”

Crumble chuckled deep in his throat. “Heheh. Not yet, sunshine.”

Celestia looked down as a shovel was thrust against her chest and into her arms. She swallowed, and looked helplessly back at Crumble.

“Don’ worry,” he said. “I’m sure yeh’ll get plenty good at it over the next couple o’ months.”

**********

Somepony had finally found a stool for him to use at his desk. Lucky lazily rested his cheek on one hoof. With the other hoof, he tapped on his desk with the dry point of a quill, keeping in time with the grandfather clock. He was amazed at how loud it could be.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“I disapprove.”

Lucky shrugged. “I know.”

Clover the Clever kept still, standing with the graceful poise that only an aged pony could. Her expression, though, belied emotions far more concerned.

“I saw her eyes after the battle.”

“I saw them too.”

“And you’re still going to let her fight?”

He paused for a moment. “This isn’t the first time it's happened.”

“That is a poor reason.”

Lucky stopped tapping the quill and raised his head. “Do I have a choice? This is coming from the hierarchy itself. I can’t just disobey them.”

Clover tilted her head. “Not even for her sake? You’re no subordinate, Lucky Break. You’ve disobeyed orders for others’ sakes before.”

He scowled, but otherwise did not react. “She’ll be fine. Besides, it’s what she wants.”

“An invalid point. Of course it is what she wants, Lucky Break. What a pony wants and what is best for her is not always the same thing.”

“Says the pony that talked her into this?”

“I did not ‘talk her into this’. She chose.”

“Ah ah ah,” Lucky chided, shaking his head. “That’s an invalid point, isn’t it? I know what happened.”

Clover frowned. “It was unintentional. This, however, is quite the opposite.”

Lucky shrugged, sighed, and went back to tapping at his desk. “Well, what do you want me to do? Somehow, word reached the royals about our little ‘incident’, and now they want more of the same. They want results. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t as well.”

“You know the risks?”

“Yes.”

Clover stood there for a long time. “Then godspeed, Lucky Break, and may the Pantheon watch over you. And you yourself keep a watchful eye. She will need it for the days ahead.”

There was a tiny snap. The tip of the quill in Lucky’s hoof broke. He looked at it, shrugged, and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket.

“I ask you do the same, Master Clover. You are the expert after all.”

Clover took a few steps back, a sad smile on her face.

“Hardly.”

With a light snap and a flash of purple sparks that made the papers on Lucky’s desk flutter away, she vanished.

XXIV: Plans and Premonitions

The room rang loud with the cheers and jeers of a gathered crowd.

“C’mon Celestia!”

“Put him down!”

“Show ‘er what for, Crumble!”

Sweat beaded generously on both their brows. Their arms and hooves trembled with a show of utmost exertion. Celestia had her eyes squinted nearly to a close, and her whole face was scrunched tight, as if her features were gravitating towards one central point. Apple Crumble was the opposite – his eyes were wide open, and his cheeks were puffed out as though he were about to burst.

“C’mon, Crumble!” Lieutenant Climber said, leaning in close. “I got five whole bits ridin’ on ya!”

“Blow off,” Crumble growled as forcefully as he could.

It had begun as a harmless thing. It was lunchtime for the 21st, and many friends had sat on their haunches around a set of long tables, talking and joking and eating their less-than-delicious meals. Many compliments had been sent Celestia’s way regarding her actions in Trotterdam only a week ago, especially when it came to her rescue of Lieutenant Sky. When they asked her to retell the story, she did, but with a healthy measure of humility. The last thing she wanted to do was boast.

But the listeners always wanted more than that, and so they filled in, embellished, exaggerated, until the makeshift cafeteria building had become more of a story hall. The hydra was larger than life itself, and breathed fire to boot. Celestia, and of course, their brilliant Commander Break, had beat it with no help whatsoever. The boulder that pinned Lightning’s wing had been a veritable mountain.

Upon hearing a wilder version of the tale, Apple Crumble had scoffed. “It wasn’t that big.”

“Oh?” Proudsong, a greyish pegasus with long ears and narrow eyes, had playfully punched at his superior’s shoulder. “Sounds like somepony’s jealous.”

Of course, Crumble had rebuffed him, protesting that it was a simple observation – a statement Celestia had guessed was probably true – but one thing led to another, and at the lighthearted teasing of others, the ordeal had been forcibly turned into a matter of honor. Now, here they were, Crumble and Celestia, hoof wrestling of all things.

“C’mon, Celly!” Cotton cheered beside Celestia. “Kick his flank!”

Celestia could barely hear her. All of her attention, energy, and willpower were focused into the muscles of her right arm. Through a curtain of eyelashes, she saw only blurry shapes; the white of her hoof wrapped around the red of his, and the ponies cheering around them. However, she felt it all, and really, all there was to feel was the strain. The push that went on without end, which end would only come if she pushed even harder.

So she did.

The crowd gave a collective “Ohhh!” as the equilibrium of their hooves was finally broken. To everypony’s surprise, including her own, it was in her favor. The cheering grew even louder, in both hopeful shouts and despairing pleas.

“No, no, no, no! C’mon, buddy! You gonna lose to a girl?” Climber said.

“Shut…” Crumble took a panting breath. “…up.”

Most of the room cheered for Celestia for two reasons: she was the “new favorite”, and she was the underdog. They wanted her to win because they did not expect her to.

“Ohhhh!” went the crowd as Crumble’s hoof was pushed even lower, hovering only inches above the table.

Of course, now that she was, they were all the more elated.

“One more push, Celly!” Cotton cried, her young, enthusiastic voice sounding pointedly out of place among the more mature-sounding voices of her comrades. “Use that earth pony strength!”

Earth pony strength, Celestia thought. The ability to occasionally perform feats of strength above one’s usual capacity. There was no way of really knowing if that was in her repertoire of yet to be fully discovered skills, but ponies always told her she possessed it. Still, she had always been uncertain about it, but now...

One look at Crumble’s massive arm being nearly pinned by her own, which seemed as thin as a stick in comparison, cast away any doubt she or anypony else might have possessed. Celestia was far from weak; her frame was lithe and slender, but athletic. Crumble, on the other hoof, was a veritable giant.

But even now, she was only inches away from winning. Just one… last… push…

“Go Celestia!”

“C’mon, you got it! You got it!”

“Just a little further!”

“Mail’s here!”

Celestia’s squinting eyes flicked towards the entrance of the makeshift cafeteria, briefly eying a confused mailpony laden with saddlebags, wandering towards the commotion. She said something to somepony below the noise, presumably asking what was going on.

She looked back. Crumble’s eyes were returning from the unexpected disturbance as well. His scowl deepened.

Celestia managed a thin, straining smile. Only seconds now…

“Ohhh!”

“Celestia, no!”

“Focus!”

Her smile vanished and eyes widened as she watched her hoof being pushed back into the air. She looked at Crumble, whose teeth were bared and grit, shining beneath his beard. Hooves quivering with effort, she intermittently grunted and groaned, while Crumble seemed to be in the midst of one prolonged growl. He steadily pushed her back, slowly but surely. Her hoof was tilted on the losing side, now.

“Push back!” somepony shouted.

She tried. That familiar earthen strength coursed inexplicably through her arms, her legs, her entire being, filling her veins and giving her new life, making each breath one of icy cold renewal and red-hot vitality. She pushed back-

“Awww!”

Crumble gave one last loud growl of extreme effort and slammed Celestia’s hoof on the lunch table beneath them. Trays and silverware clattered about from the force of it, and he released her immediately afterward.

“Awww…” the crowd groaned again, all the more let down once they knew it was finally over. They began conversing with one another as they returned to their tables, sharing comments and exchanging money. Despite their disappointment, it was all in good humor.

“Good try, Celestia!”

“Yeah, good try.”

“Sorry I ever doubted you, Lieutenant!”

"You owe me five bits, Celestia.”

Celestia chuckled. “I’ll be sure and remember that, North Star,” she said over her shoulder at one of the unicorns walking away. She turned back. “Good match, Crum…ble.”

He was already standing and walking away. Hearing her voice, he briefly turned back. “Oh, uh, you too, sunshine.”

Celestia tilted her head, and her brows slightly furrowed. He looked as fresh as springtime grass – not at all like he had just come out of a grueling battle of strength. By all rights, he should have been hobbling on his right leg. Celestia knew she would be for the next day or two.

“We’ll talk later, eh?” he said. With that, he walked away, addressing the mailpony before trotting out of the room, a newly obtained envelope in mouth.

Celestia cast him an odd look, and slowly turned back to the table. She looked at Cotton, who was still sitting beside her.

Slowly, Cotton met her gaze. “What?”

“What was that?” Celestia asked.

“Nothing.” Cotton’s face visibly scrunched, and her eyes flicked side to side. “Okay, so I took his sweet roll, big deal. It’s his fault he just left it on his plate there!”

“No, I mean what was… that?” She vaguely gestured to the direction Crumble had departed in. “How did he…? I really thought I was going to win.”

Cotton shrugged and picked up her sweet roll, dusting something off the top of it. “I guess he really likes his mail.” Cotton nibbled at the pastry in her hoof, lightly smacked her tongue while seeming to ponder something. Then she nodded, and took a huge bite.

Celestia smiled at Cotton, whose lips and chin were now covered in frosting. “I guess so,” she chuckled. “Who does Crumble get mail from?”

Cotton took another huge bite. “Hish wife, I tink,” she said, her mouth full of food.

“Huh,” Celestia said, nodding. After a moment, she asked, “Does Crumble have any children?”

Cotton shook her head. “Nope, an’ I-” She paused, swallowed, then continued. “Nope, and I’ve never met his family either. Cherry Tart has some family in Manehattan, I know... but I guess they’re refugees now.”

Or dead, Celestia glumly thought. She shook the feeling away, and they returned to their lunch.

The ponies of the 21st had to eat their meals in three different shifts, as the silverware was too scarce and the staff of the support company too small to accommodate everypony at once. Celestia always ate in the third hour, as she was usually preoccupied with what Cotton whimsically referred to as “poo patrol”, much to Celestia’s chagrin. Nevertheless, Cotton always made sure a bath was ready for her when she was done, and she always waited for Celestia before going to eat.

The cafeteria crowd was beginning to thin out, and with no hungry ponies to replace them, it was quickly becoming an empty room. The raucous chatter of only a few minutes ago became a dull, pleasant mumble, as pairs and trios of ponies remained about the room, spending the last moments of their free time speaking freely with their friends.

The ponies around Celestia herself had all filed out of the room in groups, until only she and Cotton remained. It usually happened this way. Cotton was a picky eater when it came to anything that was not to her level of preferred sweetness – which, as it stood, was anything not covered in powdered sugar, drizzled sugar, granulated sugar, or chocolate. How the young mare managed to remain healthy and robust, Celestia would never know.

“Would it kill you to eat something green?” Celestia asked, watching Cotton poke her spoon at a goopy mess of something on her plate.

“It would if it were poisoned,” Cotton replied in all seriousness. She took hold of her spoon with her magic, naturally stirring the slop until it was curled into swirly green mountain.

Celestia sighed, though she could not help but smile. In her defense, the food did not look very appetizing, though she had been told it was very nutritious. And easy to make.

“It’ll keep you strong!” Celestia encouraged. “All the soldiers eat it. See?” She pointed to her plate, which had been scraped clean. “I feel ready to take on another hydra!”

She straightened her back and flexed her arms, putting on her most heroic face. The effect was ruined when her right arm fell unceremoniously limp, still weak from wrestling with Crumble.

Rather than becoming excited with her, as Celestia expected her to, Cotton was now focusing on her meal more than ever. She rested her head on one hoof against the table, scrunching her cheek against her face. She scowled as she shaped her meal, swirling, molding, and poking at it until it seemed to take the shape of a miniature playground; but not once did she take a bite.

“You’re part of the 4th Company,” Celestia offered, returning to her normal sitting position. “Maybe the cook would be willing to accept some help?”

“I already tried,” she murmured. “She doesn’t think my cooking would make for a ‘balanced meal’.”

Cotton tore off a bit of Crumble’s sweet roll, ground it up into crumbs, and sprinkled it all over her green… soup, Celestia finally decided it was. Very thick soup. Eying her new creation for a moment, Cotton finally took a bite of it, and grimaced.

Celestia’s first reaction was to ask what exactly disqualified Cotton’s cooking, but she stopped herself. Something was off. Cotton looked to be in a normal mood – ‘normal’ being relative. If she were anypony else, Celestia would have let it go, but the days that Cotton looked anything but happy, or at least content, must have been dark days indeed, even if Celestia did not know why.

“Hey,” Celestia said, setting her elbows on the table and leaning towards Cotton. Her voice laced with curiosity and concern. “Are you okay?”

Cotton took a bite of soup, chewed it around in her mouth for a bit, and then swallowed. Her eyes wandered down to below the table.

“I’m a little scared,” she said. It was almost whisper.

“Scared?” Celestia repeated. “Is that all? There’s no need to be scared, you’re safe here. The Maiden’s Battalion is the best there is.” She nudged Cotton with her elbow, who made no reaction, except to limply sway with the motion. “Besides, I’m here! It’s like you said before we left, you’ll always have me to protect-”

“No.”

Celestia stopped her nudging, and leaned back. “Huh?”

Cotton looked up at her. “No. Celly. I’m scared for you.”

“Scared for…” Celestia gave a helpless grin. “Don’t worry about me, Cotton. I’m strong enough to take care of myself! C’mon, you saw me arm wrestle Crumble, right?”

Cotton looked back down at her tray. “You lost…”

“But I almost won!” Celestia exclaimed, holding herself with bravado and flashing a sappy grin.

Cotton was not convinced. She did not respond, and had resumed lifelessly poking at her food.

Celestia’s grin faded as soon as she saw her, and she suddenly felt very stupid for doing so.

“Hey,” she said to Cotton in a near-whisper, again leaning towards her. “Hey. Look at me.” Cotton looked even further downward. “No, look at me.” Celestia reached for her chin and pulled it to face her, meeting only token resistance.

Their eyes met, and Celestia saw something in Cotton’s gaze that was very peculiar. It was sadness. Cotton was sad. It was subtle, but certainly there. Her brows were raised inward, her frown was just slightly too deep, and her eyes seemed to reflect it. Celestia had seen it once before, and she had never wanted to see it again.

“Listen,” Celestia said, using her other hoof to grab Cotton’s shoulder. “I’ll be okay. I will be o-kay.” She enunciated every word, quietly but firmly, wanting more than anything to make her believe it. Cotton tried to look down and away, but Celestia would not let her.

“Okay?”

There was a pause. The rest of the lunchroom clattered pleasantly on, oblivious to them.

Cotton’s gaze flickered about, back and forth, as if she were in deep thought about something. After a while, her despondent eyes turned upwards at Celestia, hovering there for a few tense seconds before seeming to brighten, if only by degrees.

“Okay,” she mumbled.

Celestia gave a small smile. “Yeah?”

And Cotton merely nodded her head. A moment later, they met in a quick hug, Cotton hanging her chin over Celestia’s shoulder. She heard Cotton sniffle, and squeezed tighter. She was not even entirely sure why Cotton was so upset.

Now I’m the one comforting Cotton, Celestia whimsically thought. Who would have guessed?

Eventually, they broke apart and, at Cotton’s prompting, shared a genial smile.

“Now, would you eat your soup?” Celestia playfully demanded.

“Soup? It’s not soup, it’s mush.”

They laughed, and resumed chatting while Cotton went on not eating her food, the air about them significantly lightened. The cafeteria was very nearly empty when a certain earth pony approached them. Celestia immediately stiffened.

“Commander,” Celestia quietly addressed, nodding.

“Hi, Lucky!” Cotton waved.

Lucky seemed significantly less excited to see them. “Hello,” he muttered. He threw a small bag onto the table in front of Cotton. It jingled as it hit. “Here’s your bits, Cotton.”

“Thank you, Lucky!” Cotton said with a smile, grabbing the bag and weighing it in her hoof.

The Commander gave a noncommittal grunt. He gave one last look at Celestia, seeming, for some reason, very annoyed. Shortly, he turned and walked away.

Celestia sighed and relaxed herself. “What was that about?” Celestia asked, eying the bag with curiosity.

Cotton stowed it in one of her nearby saddlebags, and shrugged. “Oh nothing. I guess I won a bet.”

“Oh.”

Celestia fell silent. Cotton, for no reason at all, was smiling to herself, flashing a sly grin that she seemed to have trouble hiding.

“I think I’m finished,” Cotton said through poorly stifled giggles. “I’ll meet you at our tent later.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. “Okay.”

They both got up from the table, deposited their plates to be cleaned, and walked outside, saying their goodbyes as they parted ways to their respective duties.

Minutes later, Celestia’s eyes widened.

“Hey!”

**********

Cotton was very clever.

Her mind worked extraordinarily quickly, reflecting a level of intelligence that ponies had only just begun to suspect and appreciate. “Engineer Cake” had quite the ring to it, in her opinion. But that was only one side of it.

Cotton saw things that nopony else saw. Social and intellectual intelligence were two separate things, but together, they made for a wonderfully fresh view of the world. Sometimes, however, that view was painful. Honest perspective never changed the world. It only allowed her to see things as they were. To see the truth. And sometimes, the truth was uncomfortable.

Cotton turned in her bed. The night was dark, and she was far from home; yet, as poor as circumstances were, she did not pine for her beloved house or workshop. What she missed was simplicity.

“The truth shall set you free.” That’s how the saying went. Well, what was so great about the truth, anyways? Or being free, for that matter? She imagined herself in a cage, with the door wide open. Out that door could have been anything. Who would want to be set free into, say, a monster-infested forest? Or a lake swimming with sharks? In her restless, half-conscious thoughts, she felt some scorn for the idea.

Celestia stirred in the bunk adjacent. It was a peaceful sound, like a sigh and a grumble mixed with the gentle rustling of blankets. It was nice.

Cotton felt herself falling asleep. Her mind, however, was wide awake, an inconvenience that she knew would carry over into her dreams.

She could remember charging off to Trotterdam, alone, her saddlebags full of metal knickknacks banging against her ribs, and not a single one of them a weapon. Some things had fallen out by accident; she still could not find her quarter-inch torque wrench. She had been so worried. So, so worried. Of course, when she had finally arrived, out of breath and close to collapsing, Celestia had been fine.

Cotton had wondered at her. Perfectly fine. Sporting some new cuts and bruises, sure, and covered in blood that was not her own, but Celestia was perfectly fine.

But she was not, somehow, and Cotton knew it.

Her breathing – too excited. Her stance – too poised. Her mannerisms after it was all said and done – so very slightly abrasive. And worst of all, those faint, rosy eyes that were so foreign, they could not have belonged to the mare Cotton knew.

They were small tells, to be sure, and most ponies would easily miss them. Even to the pony that did see and acknowledge them, they probably meant nothing, or else, it simply appeared to be the temperament of a soldier after battle. It was certainly nothing that a logical pony like Clover would take her word for.

But Cotton was very clever, and in more ways than one.

In some ways, maybe even smarter than Clover herself.

And for all her intelligence, she was scared.

Scared of the truth that lay just beyond the door.

Cotton fell into dreams, swallowed whole by the color red.

**********

“Alright, alright. Quiet down and listen up.”

The room was small and crowded. Likely, it had once been a small diplomatic meeting place, set below the ground floor of Trotterdam’s town hall as it was. Now, it was their war room. The seats were multi-tiered and arranged in a semicircle, almost like a miniature stadium. It reminded some of the classrooms of the Canterlot Academy, which it had likely been modeled after. Celestia thought it looked terribly like the Canterlot courthouse.

Dozens of pegasi, a few unicorns, one earth pony, and one alicorn very nearly filled the room to its intended capacity. Celestia found herself with room enough to comfortably shift about, and not much else.

“Hey. Hey! You in the back. Whisper Sun. Shut it.”

Finally, the room fell acceptably silent, and Lucky Break cleared his throat.

“Alright, soldiers, pay attention. What you are about to hear is of extreme importance.”

Celestia noticed that everypony seemed to straighten up a little more, herself included. She especially was anxious to hear what came next. To think that Lieutenant Sky had hoof-picked her for some special, pegasus-only mission… it set her heart racing with excitement. Finally, she would be able to be of some use!

Sitting on their haunches at the front of the room, Lieutenants Apple Crumble, Lightning Sky, Spell Trick, and Climber all sat next to each other, listening to Lucky’s words just as readily as anypony else. All of them, including Lucky himself, were dressed in their red jackets, though they wore them loosely and informally. Lucky sported a few open buttons near the collar, Crumble’s cuffs were rolled up to his elbows, Trick’s jacket was just messy and wrinkled, and Climber had not bothered to button up at all. Only Lightning seemed to sport an immaculate appearance.

“As I’m sure you all know,” Lucky continued, “the Middle Antlertic coastal region is our current major area of interest. More specifically, our next target is the island city of Manehatten.”

Behind him, Crumble finished unrolling a giant map and pinned it to the wall for everypony to see. On it was a close-up, detailed depiction of the large city of Manehatten, along with some of the surrounding area.

“The city has been under enemy control for nearly five months now. As such, much of it is destroyed, corrupted, or has otherwise been rendered useless. Reconnaissance indicates these sections…” He pointed to a few shaded regions of the map. “…are no longer serviceable or feasible for short-term repair. Still, Manehatten stands as one of the last major footholds on the coastal front. It also still has potential as a trading port with the griffons, when the waters become safe. In any case, I doubt I need to remind you how important retaking it is.”

There were a few nods of assent around the room. When Celestia muttered a question to the pegasus on her left, a friendly, bushy-maned mare named Pastel, she responded by telling her that Manehatten had been established as a trading town to begin with. Many of the goods that originated from the griffon nation of Aquileos ended up passing through Manehatten, the closest and most convenient port city to their own shores. The frequent commerce had seen the city grow until it was the biggest in the entire Equestrian nation, in both size and population. Its size was peculiar for an eastern “frontier” settlement, though some took it as a favorable sign of Equestria’s industry and power.

“Of course, that’s all in the past, now,” Pastel remarked sadly. “Manehatten has been out of our possession for months now, and the griffons aren’t exactly in a position to trade. Even then, the waters aren’t exactly safe right now. Sea serpents, and all.”

Celestia frowned and nodded knowingly, turning back to Lucky Break as he resumed speaking.

“However, there’s something else.”

Lucky retreated the short distance back to the map, grabbing a charcoal pencil off a nearby table. Carefully, he drew a shape onto the map, tracing the square edges of some of the buildings until a small geometric area near the far corner of Manehatten had been outlined. Gently, he set the pencil back down, and looked at the room of pegasi before him. He seemed to hesitate before speaking.

“They have hostages.”

There was a silence, followed by a sudden ripple of murmurs went throughout the assembly. Discord had left ponies alive? On purpose? It was unheard of. Celestia was shocked, her immediate reaction being to doubt the idea. She knew she was not the only one. Somepony finally spoke up.

“Hostages, sir?” a stallion voiced from the opposite side of the room. “Pardon me for asking, sir, but is this information reliable?”

Lucky looked his way, and gravely nodded. “Quite reliable. We have yet to make it general knowledge to the Equestrian public, but there’s an entire section of the city that’s simply been quarantined by the enemy.” He pointed to the outlined area of the map. “This series of buildings right here in the northern port district, along with the perimeter the drawn line encompasses, is filled with civilians.”

“How many?” somepony else asked.

Lucky looked towards Apple Crumble, and nodded. The red pegasus smoothed his blonde beard, raised himself to his hooves, and stepped forward.

“We estimate a rough one-thousand,” he said, his gravelly voice not softening for sake of bluntness.

Another wave of chatter, slightly louder than the first, echoed through the group.

Lucky stepped back, sweeping his arm forward and motioning for Crumble to officially take the floor. He did, and the Commander took a seat in the corner of the room, his eyes scanning the assembly of pegasi, and Celestia.

“As we’ve said before,” Crumble began, pacing back and forth, “the city’s been under hostile control fer nearly five months. That means these hostages have been livin’ fer five long, miserable months under capture. An’ those livin’ conditions are not good. Any who have tried to escape have been, as far as we know, killed in the process.”

Crumble stopped, and pointed to the map. “The hostages are, in every sense o’ the word, quarantined. They can move along these borders and no further, meanin’ they’ve been cut off from supply for a good long while. The sinisteeds don’t provide for ‘em, neither. They’ve been allowin’ us to airdrop supplies to that section of the city, with the understandin’ that it feeds their hostages with no effort on their part, and is a drain on our own resources. That said,” he grumbled, “they don’t always reach their intended destination.”

Somepony a few rows away from Celestia mildly raised their hoof. Crumble nodded towards them.

“The hordes have never done this before,” a male voice asked. “What reason would they have for keeping hostages?”

Crumble resumed his pacing, occasionally stroking at his beard. “We assume it’s supposed to be a deterrent. The battle of Manehatten will be hard-fought no matter which way yeh paint it. We’ve been massing troops to this location for some time now, and so have they – when the time comes, both sides are expected to take heavy losses. They don’t want us to attack, and they think the threat of civilian bloodshed will be enough to keep us away.”

And they’re right, Celestia thought. She gazed around the room, gauging ponies reactions. For the most part, they were professional and mature, the occasional surprised reaction aside. Her eyes wandered over towards Lucky, who she found was already looking back at her. Both of their gazes immediately shifted away.

The same pegasus spoke up again. “I guess I know why,” he said, “I just wonder why they haven’t done this before.”

“Couldn’t tell yeh, Proudsong,” Crumble gruffly replied. “Yeh can ask ‘em yerself when yeh get there.”

There were a few snickers around the room before Crumble resumed.

“Now, we’ve had other angles of attack in the past, but we’ve never gone through with it, solely because we’ve dared not to. Not with that many innocent lives at risk. Five months ago, Manehattan was one of the single worst losses in Equestrian history... and one of the single biggest massacres of innocent civilians. The hierarchy wouldn’t stand fer any more bloodshed in that city, and neither would the public, if they knew. And neither would any of us, I wager.”

A small grin appeared beneath his bushy beard. “But now, the conditions are as good as they’re gonna get, and you pegasi are gonna be the ones to secure their freedom.”

Celestia suddenly felt strangely out of place. Technically, she was not a pegasus. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucky’s gaze having come to rest upon her again. Even when she deliberately looked away, she seemed to feel the pressure of it.

“Conditions are good, sir?” somepony asked.

“Aye, that they are,” Crumble nodded. “Who can tell me why?”

The room was silent as Crumble gazed from left to right, watching as some of his soldiers puzzled over the wall-mounted map, while others simply sat back and waited for the answer.

A muted mumble could be heard.

“What was that, Celestia?”

Celestia casually looked away, feeling a blush come to her face. She had not meant to say it that loud. She answered again before too many eyes could fall upon her.

“Draft?” she voiced.

Crumble raised his eyebrows and hummed in approval. “If you mean to say the cloud city of Draft has finally been able to maneuver within operational range, then yes, yeh are correct.”

A few other pegasi nodded their approval while Celestia kept her gaze elsewhere.

Crumble pulled another map, larger and zoomed-out, over the tactical map of Manehatten. “These past few months, Draft has been unable to get close enough to create hostile weather patterns over Manehatten, but now that we’ve taken Trotterdam, the enemy forces are thin enough to ensure its relative safety. As we speak, Manehatten is beset by a furious, driving thunderstorm. Extremely disruptive, but non-lethal. The weatherponies have enough material to make it last for another three days.”

“So we’re attacking under cover of stormclouds, then,” a mare called Cloudsinger stated.

“In a manner o’ speakin’.” Crumble nodded, retrieved the pencil, and made a series of X’s on the regional map. “The 7th , 13th, and 21st divisions will be spearheading the assault on three fronts approaching the city, backed by a massive force of regulars. After the initial blow, which will be attempted in stealth, the full scale assault can begin.”

Crumble paused. “There’s more to it than that.” He turned around and slowly set the pencil down before looking back up to address them. “And that’s where you lot come in.”

The assembled pegasi exchanged some meaningful glances, Celestia included. And yet, even as she shared in the anxiety, camaraderie, and even enthusiasm of her company, she again felt that inexplicable pressure coming from the edge of her vision. She looked to see Lucky, again looking at her – and this time, neither pony looked away.

He did not seem to be looking at her, but rather… at her. Like an object. His gaze did not seem hateful, or spiteful – only searching, as though he were examining a new weapon with morbid curiosity. Like he was interested to see what she was capable of.

A weapon, Celestia thought, shaking her head and retracting her own mental comparison. He said I was just a weapon. Well I sure showed him, didn’t I?

Until the brief moment had passed and Crumble began presenting his plan, they both just stared, searching, quite certain the other pony possessed the answers they wanted – and frustrated they would not give them up.

XXV: Drop Shock

Celestia planted her hooves on a wooden railing, and leaned forward to look over the edge.

That’s a long way to fall.

Not that she could truly tell. Her whole sense of elevation had long since been skewed with the loss of an earthly horizon. Far below her, stretching in all directions for miles and miles upon end was an endless blanket of light grey clouds. The earth as a whole was completely obscured; the storm became her new reality.

And what a storm it was!

The airship they rode upon was huge enough to carry nearly one-hundred pegasi, plus ten unicorns and ten earth ponies – approximately one hundred and twenty passengers and crew in total, and even then, it was not quite at its complete carrying capacity. Its hull, crafted from a seamless blend of wood and metal, and lined with an abundance of lighter-than-air cloudstuff, formed into a shape that reminded Celestia of a boat; that was, if boats could fly, and were triple the standard size. The amount of cloth used in its sails and the balloon that held it aloft could have been made into hundreds of blankets. In honor of its gargantuan proportions, the transport-class airship had been aptly named “The Colossus”.

Yet, for its grand size and masterwork construction, the airship was nothing, nothing compared to the storm that it sailed above. Celestia had, of course, known that clouds were big. More than once, she had been required to fly among them during training, learning to manipulate them with her hooves. Even still, she had never seen them as anything more than that; simple objects in the sky, never really seeing and comprehending them on a truly accurate scale. Trees and buildings were, in her mind, bigger, even though she knew it was not so. Perhaps it was because she was not a “true” pegasus, but the cloud layer never appeared to be anything more than a deity’s painting on the ceiling of the earth.

But never before had Celestia been at such an extreme altitude. Looking down upon the clouds as she was, she saw them from a drastically different perspective – and it was like watching mountains drift by.

It was the first “attack storm” Celestia had ever seen up close, but her veteran squadmates told her it was the greatest they themselves had ever laid eyes on. Celestia would never have expected to see such savage beauty in something pony-made. The cloud blanket far bigger than the floating city itself, and was laced with cracking flashes of blue lightning that would shake the airship whenever they appeared – the frequency of which was practically every second. If heaven existed, and if heaven had an ocean, it would almost certainly look like the thundering blue-grey sea beneath them; perhaps Tempesta, the Goddess of Storms, made her home in someplace similar.

“Celestia.”

She almost jumped as she felt a hoof clap her on the shoulder. She turned to see Lieutenant Lightning Sky standing close by her. She pushed off the railing and planted all four hooves on the deck of the ship.

“Hello, sir,” she said mildly, a hint of excited chatter on the edge of her voice.

He set his hoof down. “How’re you feeling, soldier?”

“Not bad,” Celestia said. “Maybe a little nervous.”

He smiled. “Don’t be.”

Celestia smiled back, watching the lieutenant casually set his hooves on the railing next to her. Beside him, she merely peered over.

“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” he said, looking out over the storm.

Celestia nodded. “It is.”

“Yeah…” Lightning said in a half-sigh, still staring dreamily into the crackling clouds. “I never get tired of it.”

A moment of silence passed between them. They were on the bow of the ship looking forward, watching as they sliced through some of the higher free-floating clouds. Behind them, the rest of the crew was alive with activity. Some shouted orders, some worked the sails, another worked the steering, but most of the sound came from the pegasi of the Maiden’s Battalion, donning their armor, readying their weapons, and rallying with the unicorn to which they had been each assigned. They were nearing their destination, after all. Only ten minutes till.

“How’s your family?” Celestia asked. “Cream Sky and… Amber Sky?”

“Cream, my daughter, and Amber, my wife. That’s right.” He eyed her with approval. “I’m surprised you remember.”

Celestia looked off, the twinkle of a small but pleasant memory in her eye. “I couldn’t forget Cream.”

Lightning had a nearly identical expression. “Yeah, she’s something… and she hasn’t forgotten you either. Amber’s always worried for me, but Cream is just pleased as pie that you’re in my unit. I think.” He shrugged. “Her hoofwriting is still a little sloppy.”

Celestia smiled. “Can she fly, yet?”

He shook his head. “No, not yet.” He paused. “To be honest, I’m not sure if she ever will.”

Celestia looked at him, frowning and tilting her head. “Huh? Really?” she asked. “What makes you say that? Did she have an accident?”

Lightning laughed. “An accident? Oh, no. That filly is more reckless than I was as a kid. No doubt she’s gotten into a dozen accidents in my absence, and she’ll get into a dozen more before I’m home. I would feel more sorry for her mother than I do for her.”

Celestia gave him a curious look. In the time she had known him, the Lieutenant had never been anything but sober, responsible, and orthodox to military procedure. She found it impossible to imagine him as a reckless youth.

He smiled a while longer before letting it die down. “No, it’s just the way she was born. She’s got these tiny little wings that I doubt will ever really cut it, even when she grows up. She’s a… a ‘flutterer’, I guess is what it’s called.”

Celestia’s gaze fell. “Oh… I’m sorry.”

Lightning shook his head. “It’s really a shame. She’s got twice the heart of anypony else her age. In a different world, she could be a member of this battalion, no problem. But you know something?” He looked back out into the clouds, pausing at the sight of a particularly large lightning strike. “There’s a reason she’s got so much heart. It’s because of her wings. Her tiny little wings have given her a reason to try – and try she has. Her disability has made her stronger than she ever would have been otherwise. Do you know why I write to her about this?” He swept his arms forward at the awe-inspiring, yet oddly tranquil world of clouds before him. “And not the chaos below? She asks me about my job – I think – and that is, realistically, what my job entails. Chaos. Killing. But these are the things I send home. So why write about this?”

Celestia merely shook her head.

“Hope. She loves reading about it. She loves reading about you, incidentally. And she knows if she is ever going to experience it firsthoof, she will need to learn how to fly.”

“Oh,” Celestia simply said. It sounded a bit cruel to her.

Lightning seemed to sense her thoughts. “Some fillies might take it bitterly… but not Cream. She lets herself be motivated by it. It provokes her to try. It gives her hope. And if she’s ever going to have a chance at flying, she needs all the hope she can get.” A sad half-smile appeared on his face. “The hardest trials make the greatest people.”

They stood there for another moment. Celestia wondered if she should speak, but before she could try, Lighting Sky pushed off of the railing and backed up a few steps.

“So we’re approaching the drop zone soon. Are you completely geared?”

Celestia blinked, and then briefly looked down at herself, running her hooves all over her gear. She was wearing the traditional pegasi armor – light plate complemented with chain – and her front hooves were both encased in the cylindrical gauntlet of a switchblade. It all felt very familiar, even if she usually preferred the heavier earth pony variant. However, she found that high altitude missions demanded some interesting additions. Over their armor, everypony aboard the airship sported a thick, light-tan coat of rough material with a high collar or wrapped scarf protecting their neck. As Celestia discovered, passing through the high atmosphere could be cold, and passing through stormclouds, even colder. Additionally, she wore a set of flight goggles that currently dangled around her neck, to be worn in conjunction with a maskless helmet. A pegasus was naturally rugged when it came to weather, no matter the form, whether it be defense against lightning, resistance to cold, or being able to see through the rushing wind at high speeds. For this mission, however, they would need everything they had been issued.

She looked back up after quickly patting herself down. Everything was accounted for. “Yes, sir.”

He gave a short nod. “Good. We’re in the same group. Follow me, and let’s go get you enchanted.”

“Yes, sir.”

He started off, and Celestia followed close behind.

The squads were broken into groups of six or seven pegasi, plus one unicorn. Their particular group was meeting at the stern of the ship. The walk there was no small thing, considering all the ponies scrambling about on the deck and the length of the ship to begin with. She considered flying there, but Lightning had already instructed her not to. It was too easy to get caught up in the wind currents around the vehicle and fall overboard. In normal conditions, a pegasus could easily catch up to the airship, but the massive storm below them changed things. It may have been pony-made, but it was still a force of nature.

So, she kept her hooves on the ground, dodging past other soldiers while following the Lieutenant. They descended a set of wooden stairs to the main deck, and Celestia idly viewed the other groups as she sauntered towards her own. Already the enchantings were taking place. The deck was crowded with tired unicorns and faintly glowing pegasi.

“So are you ready for this?” Lightning asked, speaking loudly over the bustle of the crew.

“Not really,” Celestia called back. “I don’t suppose I’ll get the chance to reconsider?”

Lightning laughed. “I hope you don’t mean that! Cream would be heartbroken if you didn’t come along!”

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to!”

Lightning slid around an earth pony moving a huge cannon to the side of the ship. Celestia recognized her as Lance Corporal Allez – the twin sister of the mild-mannered swords instructor, Captain Garde. They shared a friendly hello as she passed, but Celestia felt like it was marred by the somewhat sickly look on her face. Earth ponies were not meant to fly, or so it was said, and looking back on it, Celestia could not think of a single one who appeared to be enjoying themselves. After the drop, the Colossus would be brought around to the port side of the city and used as way to transport all the civilians to safety. If the earth-tribe soldiers were not absolutely necessary in helping to keep the ship secure, none of them would voluntarily be aboard.

“Oh- Hold up, Celestia.”

Celestia bumped into Lightning’s outstretched arm and stopped in place. Blocking their path was a pegasus and unicorn, engaged in the middle of an enchanting. She watched in fascination as the mage held his illuminated horn near the chest of the pegasus that stood before him, almost close enough to jab him. Soon, the whole pegasus was enveloped in a deep, pulsating blue that seemed to resonate with the glow of the horn. The effect reminded Celestia of telekinesis in the way that the energy enveloped the subject; and yet, this spell simply looked and moved different in a way she could not describe.

“C’mon.”

Celestia snapped out of her gaze and looked past the group, where Lightning Sky stood at the base of another set of stairs that led to the stern. Celestia carefully walked around the group in front of her, and followed him.

They stepped up onto the elevated stern of the ship. Waiting for them was a group of five pegasi, plus one very tired looking unicorn.

“Oh good… you’re here.” A pink-maned, green-coated unicorn greeted Celestia as she approached her group on the stern of the ship. What was her name, again? Misty? No, Minty. Minty’s posture seemed to sag, and her chest heaved in heavy motions. Dark creases formed underneath a pair of sunken eyes. The pegasi behind her radiated with a faint blue.

“Let’s get you enchanted…” she sighed following an outward breath. “Come over here… and stand… yes, just like that. Now stay still, please.”

Celestia watched Minty’s horn glow a light pink, and closed her eyes as the unicorn pointed her horn her direction. For a few moments, Celestia felt nothing, and then almost yelped as a sudden sensation took root at the hooves of her hind legs. The feeling was oddly effervescent, as if a thousand bubbles brushed past her skin, slowly working its way up from her hooves to the back of her legs. She squirmed as she felt it slide across her flank.

“Don’t move,” Minty demanded in a strained voice, sounding as if she were having trouble breathing. Celestia did her best to accommodate the request.

After another fifteen seconds, although it felt much longer, her entire body was enveloped by the bubbling, tickling sensation, having finally come to a completion on her snout. Her lips were pursed and her nose wrinkled, and the tingling persisted. Finally, she heard the unicorn in front of her sigh, and felt a certain release about her own body. She opened her eyes to see Minty holding her head low to the ground and breathing heavily.

Celestia brought her hooves up to her eyes. They were radiating a faint blue, similar to all the other pegasi aboard. To her discomfort, the sensation had receded, but did not completely fade. She looked back and deployed her wings, giving them a few experimental flaps. A faint blue trail of magical particles was left hovering in their wake, floating like motes of dust in the sunlight before quickly disappearing. If she moved her wings fast enough, those particles would crackle and pop.

She folded her wings in again. “Thanks,” Celestia said, nodding to her enchantress. She merely nodded back, and then was escorted by somepony to the lower decks and into the bowels of the ship, where presumably, she would get some rest before the battle.

“Enchanting is hard work,” Lightning Sky remarked, standing beside Celestia. “Or so they say.”

She idly hummed her agreement, playing with her limbs and fidgeting in place, still unused to the feeling. “So how does this work again?”

Lightning turned to her. “How does what work?”

“Storm… something. What was it?”

“’Storm dropping’?” Lightning offered.

“Yeah. The plan is to drop behind lines, surprise the enemies guarding the quarantine, secure the hostages, and bring them to the Colossus and the other airships waiting to the east while the enemy is distracted by the frontal assault… er, right?” Celestia looked to him for confirmation, which he gave by nodding. She continued. “So I know that, but in that meeting they mentioned a ‘storm drop’. I… don’t actually know what that is.”

“You don’t?” She shook her head, and he shrugged. “Well, I couldn’t tell you about the magic of it. I just know the practice.”

“What’s wrong with normal dropping?” Celestia asked.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong with normal dropping. This just works much better.”

Celestia’s assigned group of pegasi had gravitated over to the railing of the ship – a structure they soon knew they would be vaulting. After that, it was a long, long fall to the city below. If Celestia understood correctly, that distance would be crossed and that fall completed in almost no time at all.

“High altitude drops have always been used by the pegasi as a form of strategy,” Lightning continued, “even before the tribes united. What we are about to do is simply the next level of that. What makes storm dropping special is the speed.”

She could have imagined it, but Celestia thought she saw a giddy smile tug on the corners of the Lieutenants lips.

“That enchantment everypony just received is a package deal, so to speak. A full suit of boons, buffers, and protections designed to do one thing, and one thing only; to get you from here…”

He tapped on the deck of the ship.

“…to wa-aaaay down there…”

He pointed over the side of the ship, supposedly through the clouds and at the unseen ground below them.

“…in the blink of an eye. Falling at terminal velocity, even through cloud cover, the sinisteeds have some way of knowing about our approach once we get close enough. They can sense it, somehow. With what you’ve got now, however, as soon as you hit the cloud layer- bang! You’re gone with the lightning.”

There was no suppressing it; the smile had spread across his lips in full view. Lightning Sky looked so pleased with his explanation, so content to have said it, Celestia almost smiled back in amusement. It was like hearing a colt excitedly explain his favorite hobby to a friend.

“I understand all that,” Celestia said, “I just… how does it work? Why do you go so fast?”

Again, he shrugged. “Like I said, I only know how to do it, but… well, in laypony’s terms, you ride a bolt of lightning.”

Celestia blinked. “You… what?”

He smiled. “Sounds mythical, I know. With this enchantment, you fall at normal speed until you hit the cloud layer. Then, a bunch of different things happen. The magic attracts lightning towards you, makes you a living conductor. A bolt must be naturally occurring nearby, but in storms like these, that generally doesn’t take long. Once a bolt happens to strike near you, it is attracted directly towards you, and at that moment, the enchantment acts as sort of a shield. In addition to protecting you from the shock, it… I guess, ‘pushes’ you along the tip of the bolt until it reaches end, upon which you are ejected towards the ground unimaginably quickly. If you’ve ever seen lightning travel… well, you’ve never seen it travel. It’s practically instantaneous, and really, when successfully performed, a storm drop is supposed to look and feel more like teleportation than anything else.”

Celestia’s brows rose, her expression slightly awed. “And because of the speed, even if they do detect us…”

“They aren’t given the time to react,” Lightning Sky finished, giving a satisfied nod.

“What about the landing?” Celestia asked. “I don’t know if I’m a good enough flier to handle that.”

“Don’t worry. Agility is good, but the most important thing for this maneuver is actually strength and stamina, both of which I am told you have. As long as your body can take the rough treatment – and it is rough – the enchantment helps to displace the force of landing. It ends up looking a bit like the sinisteeds’ suicide dive, crater and all. Of course, it helps if you land on your hooves.”

Celestia nodded her head, thoroughly impressed. After talking for another small while, reviewing tips and techniques, Lightning Sky excused himself to go and make final preparations for the drop. Celestia joined the rest of her squad, making sure she was familiar with them all. There was Rainy Day, a gloomy looking pegasus with a grey coat and flat white mane, and Sunny Skies, who, in Celestia’s opinion, looked extraordinarily similar to herself. Proudsong, the pegasus who had perpetuated the hoof wrestle between her and Crumble was in her group. Cloudscape, an orange pegasus with a mane like fire, was the newest recruit in the Maiden’s Battalion. Green, a large, aptly named pegasus who reminded her oddly of Apple Crumble, was one of the oldest.

Eventually, the Lieutenant returned. When Celestia saw him, she was immediately puzzled. Something was not right, something was missing. Eventually, she realized what it was.

“Uh, sir?” she voiced, catching his attention. “Are you dropping with us?”

“Of course I am,” the lieutenant said. “Why?”

Celestia extended her wings and flapped them twice, creating blue sparks in the air. “You don’t have your enchantment.”

He blinked and stared at her for a moment before flashing a sly, mysterious smile.

“I won’t be needing it.”

Celestia lightly scowled, wondering if it was a joke or a trick answer. “But sir…”

“Did I ever tell you how I got my cutie mark, Celestia?”

She looked to the corner of her eyes, trying to recall what his mark even was; a black cloud with a bolt of blue lightning, if she remembered correctly. Looking back at him, she slowly shook her head. Except for the new recruit, the pegasi in her group shared some meaningful glances.

“No? Do you want to hear it?”

She nodded.

Lightning cleared his throat. “When I was nine years old, we lived in Cloudsdale, and I got into some trouble with my parents, and ran from them by hiding in our neighbor’s weather balloon. Don’t ask me to remember what the trouble even was, but I remember it was bad enough to make me hide so long that I fell asleep in that basket. Somehow, while I was sleeping, it got untied from its post and drifted away. The wind currents weren’t strong that day, but the balloon just floated up and up and up…”

He chuckled and looked away towards the open air, as if he would see the same thing happening to another colt just like him. “When I woke up, it had been hovering in place for a few hours, and a storm cloud had formed underneath it. I looked over the edge and was instantly terrified. I wanted to go home! So, I remembered everything I had ever learned about flying through storms… and then ignored all of it, choosing instead to jump out of the side of that basket and right headfirst through the storm. Of course, I was eventually struck by lightning, and what happened next was… well, a clumsy predecessor to storm dropping, but storm dropping nonetheless.”

“But if there were no unicorns…”

“Didn’t need them. Still don’t. They developed the enchantment after studying me.”

Celestia stood in bewilderment. Is everypony in the Maiden’s Battalion some sort of legend? she thought. The sentiment was followed soon with, Reckless youth indeed.

**********

The tent was dim, the only illumination coming from a nearby magelight hovering near the ceiling. Rain pounded on the roof in a never ending stream of white noise, steadily dripping through in certain spots and spattering heavily to the grassy floor below. Even under the protection of the tent, not much time would pass before the grass was completely waterlogged.

“I highly disapprove.”

Lucky grunted. “Is there any pleasing you?”

Clover shot him an impatient look, but moved on.

“I simply fail to see how sending Celestia on a specialized mission, performing a maneuver she has never tried, freefalling from miles up, propelled on a literal bolt of lightning into the center of the strongest enemy position in the entire Middle Antlertic theater, all on the eve of what is predicted to be the bloodiest battle in years, with the understanding that Celestia has never actually participated in a proper battle… I simply fail to see how that is safe.”

“It’s not safe,” Lucky said, his expression and tone impassive.

“No,” Clover said. “It is foolish. Is this how you intend to spend the life of our alicorn? A suicide mission?”

Lucky turned and scowled at her. “It’s not a suicide mission,” he said harshly. “If I thought it was, I wouldn’t have sent a hundred soldiers, highly capable and very valuable, to do the job, and I wouldn’t have based the rest of my strategy in the assumption of its success.”

“Hmph. You mean ninety-nine capable soldiers and a single unpredictable mare.” Clover held an elderly scowl. Accentuated and framed by her natural wrinkles, the creases on her face were deep and disappointed. “I cannot believe you did not tell me about this beforehand. I may have disapproved, but at least you had my support in sending her to battle. This, however… I cannot condone it.”

“Well, regardless of what you condone, she’s already up there.”

“I know.”

Lucky had no response. He tugged idly at a string around his neck, checking for the tenth time to make sure his cloak was on tight.

“On that note,” Clover continued, “you very well know what would please me, and that opportunity was robbed of me several months ago.”

Lucky sighed, and turned to face her.

“Listen, I-” He paused, let his gaze stray for a thoughtful moment, and then started again. “I’m not against her. I don’t want her to fail. I don’t want her to die. And maybe I don’t show it, but I do care about what happens to her. Celestia is…”

He trailed off, and cleared his throat. “She’s important. Obviously, she represents a costly investment… for all of us.”

Clover raised an eyebrow. “So why deploy her like this? And please, child, do not tell me it was because the hierarchy told you to.”

He bobbed his head noncommittally. “Well, that’s one reason. But it’s not what you think,” he added quickly, seeing Clover’s scowl deepen by degrees. “She simply needs to participate in some form, and believe it or not, this is safer.”

Clover raised an eyebrow, and shifted her weight away from him. “Do tell.”

“A storm drop is visually impressive, but is not actually too hard with the help of a good unicorn operator, or so I’m told.”

“Do not try and soften the blow,” Clover interrupted. “I have worked that magic before, Lucky Break. I helped perfect it with Lieutenant Sky. I know how dangerous it is.”

Lucky drew his shoulders up and inhaled, his whole body tensing before he released it with a breath. “Regardless, the pegasi aren’t dropping into the middle of a hot zone. They’ll arrive at a lightly guarded area of the city, whose forces will be even thinner with our distraction on the frontlines. Their orders are to get in and get out as quickly as possible – meaning they’ll secure the hostages and escape the city before meeting any large resistance. I know how it sounds, but trust me, this is safer. In the coming battle, there is no position that will be meeting less resistance than this.”

He paused, listening to a particularly loud crack of thunder. “Besides, if it weren’t for this mission, the hierarchy would likely demand I put her on the frontlines. I do not want to do that.”

Clover watched him closely, her eyes narrowing as she scanned for any trace of dishonesty. “Are you sure you have thought this through?”

He nodded. “I have.”

“It sounds like an excess of conjecture to me.”

“Well, we all know how good I am at that.”

Clover hummed. Lucky was becoming all too familiar with that wrinkled scowl of hers. He saw it exceptionally often these days, and almost all of the time, it was directed at him.

“Do you regret siding against me, Lucky Break?” Clover suddenly said in a low murmur.

“What?”

“In that first meeting, all those months ago, when Celestia’s fate was being decided. I felt it would be best for her well-being to study and train in a controlled environment, back in the safety of Canterlot. You thought she should be out here, fighting. Obviously, the council sided with you.” She stepped closer, and her voice became slightly more impassioned, even beseeching. “In these past few months, seeing all you have seen, knowing all that you know, watching Celestia grow and listening what she had to say… Do you regret your decision?”

Lucky was silent for a long while. When he spoke up, it was quiet, as if he did not want Clover to hear it in the first place. “Perhaps.”

Clover tilted her head, and frowned. Her expression, in that moment, was oddly melancholy, almost as if she pitied him. Lucky hated it. “Then I hope, for all our sakes, that your confidence in her abilities is not misplaced.”

“It is not her abilities I doubt,” Lucky disdainfully muttered. “Just her wisdom. And isn’t that your department, Master-Adept?”

Clover turned away from him. “Hmph,” she said in an uncharacteristic growl. “I am too old for the struggle of war, Lucky Break, but if something happens to her, I will march right through Manehattan and the gates of hell itself to find you.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

With one last scathing look, she vanished, the tent flap fluttering with the sudden burst of air. Amid all the lightning strikes, the solitary pop of Clover’s spell went almost unnoticed.

Lucky sighed. Remain detached, retain control.

He did not feel very detached at the moment. In fact, he felt quite the opposite.

The Commander exited his hastily erected tent and into the driving rain of what was soon to be the Manehattan battlefront. It was only a few miles away. There were a few outlying structures on the mainland, then one of three enormous suspension bridges leading to the island, and then the city itself. Through the dark grey gloom of the gathered clouds and the torrential downpour of the attack storm, all he could see from this distance was the famous Manehattan skyline. It was scattered with the silhouettes of inelegant square buildings, and though the structures were not nearly as refined, their size was enough to rival the soaring towers of Canterlot itself.

Closer to him, his gaze shifted upon the nine hundred soldiers that were under his command. They looked up at him awaiting command, all garbed under dark-shaded cloaks intended for stealth.

Such a large city, Lucky thought. Such a small force.

Additional reserves, easily ten times their own size, were sitting behind them… just like they always were. The Maiden’s Battalion was the spearhead of the attack… just like it always was. Lucky’s spirits seemed to chill faster than the rest of his body.

He took a deep breath and went unto his comrades, ready to lead at least some of them to their deaths.

**********

“We are two minutes from the drop zone!” the Lieutenant called, his voice booming over the crew of the ship. The noise would not ruin their surprise; they were far too high above the city, and the thunder would have drowned it out regardless. “Check your gear, and verify with your enchanter that the magic is in proper order!”

Despite her many previous assurances, Celestia made a final check of her gear. Thirty seconds later, she had verified all of her equipment to be present, and thirty seconds more, one of the unicorns with enough energy to still be standing gave her enchantment the all-clear. Her heart was racing. She was ready.

“Group one, status!” the Lieutenant called.

There was a pause. A distant shout came from the other side of the ship. “Yours to command!”

“Group two, status!”

The reply was the same. “Yours to command!”

One minute later, Lieutenant Sky had cycled through all thirteen groups until all of them had declared their readiness.

“We are one minute out! Groups will drop in five second intervals, to be notified on my mark! Remember, we are all to regroup in the lower market, center of the quarantine area! Victory in battle, and Harmony after!”

“Victory!” the crew repeated in unison.

“All squads, stand by!”

And then, after the last of his voice had echoed out into the wide open sky, there was silence. The wind whipped by them, as loud as it had ever been, and the ever present storm beneath them ceaselessly raged on. The thunder continued to shake their ship with powerful, bass tremors and, for the first time, Celestia could actually hear the rain below, the sound of it floating up at them from all directions, quiet and even gentle, but so obviously massive, like rushing air at the bottom of an abyss.

“Thirty seconds!”

Celestia could only stare at the mountainous grey of the storm below. Very soon, she would be part of it.

Behind her, Celesia heard the soft hoofsteps of somepony approaching them. She looked back to see the helmspony muttering into the Lieutenant’s ear. They both looked up in the same direction, and he pointed towards just beyond the front of the ship at what seemed to be a relatively small, high-flying storm cloud, broken off from the attack storm below.

“It’s just deterioration,” Celestia heard Lightning mutter back. “Not likely dangerous. Keep her steady through it, you can divert once we’ve dropped.”

The helmspony nodded, and returned his post, righting the dual shafts that controlled the direction of the ship.

“Fifteen seconds!”

Celestia’s heartbeat quickened further as she and her squad pressed themselves close to the railing of the ship, all in a line and facing the same forward direction. She lifted her goggles onto her eyes, adjusting them to fit securely as possible. It was obvious they had been used before. Dozens of tiny scratches were visible on the transparent lenses, though none of them were too obscuring. In fact, Celestia thought it gave them character.

The Lieutenant began counting down.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!”

“Wait! Stop the ship!”

“Six! Five! Four!”

“Stop the ship!!”

“Three, two…” Lightning trailed off, and the whole crew looked around, A small voice had sounded relatively quietly under the booming volume of the countdown, yet despite it being overpowered, it was the only other noise, and instantly drew everypony’s attention.

The voice sounded again, apparently coming from the bow. A blue pegasus bent over the forwardmost part of the ship, wildly pointing at… Celestia could see nothing apparent.

“Contact, twelve o’ clock!” the pegasus cried. “Divert course!”

There was a silence. “It’s just a storm cloud, Snowy!” the Lieutenant called to him across the ship, eliciting some chuckles from the crew members.

“No, it’s-!”

A sudden massive tremor shook the ship, interrupting the response. If anypony was still amused, their smile instantly vanished.

“Lieutenant…?” Celestia murmured. He put his hoof up, silencing her, and craned his head forward, perking one ear forward to the sky.

“Did the ship get struck by lightning?” Celestia heard one of her squadmates quietly ask.

“That’s not lightning…” the Lieutenant murmured. Suddenly, he moved over to the side of the ship, peering with squinting eyes over the railing. The rest of his squad followed suit, Celestia included.

The ship was peacefully cutting through the seemingly random, out-of-place storm cloud that had floated to their elevation. It was certainly uncommon, but not abnormal… but therein was the problem; even Celestia knew this cloud was peculiar. It stirred and shifted beneath them, as if it were alive. Its color was abnormally black, except for a sudden flash of green, streaking across it like a comet-

The ship was suddenly shaken again, and this time Celestia heard the splintering of wood, as well as an odd, distant buzzing noise. Her eyes widened. Somepony else shouted it.

“Sinisteeds!”

The crew suddenly burst into a frenzy of activity as heavy flight jackets were shed and switchblades were deployed.

The Lieutenant took huge strides, standing at the front of the elevated stern and shouting orders to his crew, all while removing the last of his unnecessary gear. “All hooves on deck! All squads, ascend and engage! Protect the ship! Protect the balloon!”

Celestia immediately scrambled away from the railing, trembling hooves fiddling with the buttons that held her jacket on. One by one, her squadmates, and indeed most of the crew, finished before her and dove off the side of the ship and into the storm cloud they sailed through. Only she and Cloudscape, the new recruit, remained.

“Hurry it up!” Lightning called to them.

“I- I’m trying!” Her hooves only trembled with greater force. One of the clasps near her neck was stuck, thoroughly intertwined with her scarf. Below them, she could hear shouts and the clashing of steel, interspersed by more thundering crashes that were no doubt the result of diving sinisteeds breaking into the hull of the ship. The buzzing noise was getting louder and louder.

A flight jacket went fluttering past her.

“Got it!” the recruit cried. He took a moment to plant a longsword in his mouth before charging towards the edge of the ship, where he was immediately stopped. Instead of hearing the whoosh of air like Celestia expected to, there was a sudden thud, followed by the scrambling of more than one set of hooves.

She looked over. A sinisteed had landed right in front of him. And then another to his left.

Celestia had never seen one up close before. Their skin, for they had no fur, was black as pitch, and seemed to be in a natural state of decay, even to becoming porous in their extremities. Their armor was a simple matte grey steel, nowhere near the quality or protectiveness of her own. Pairs of fangs glistened wetly in the sunlight, impressing the appearance of a natural predator, and their beady blue eyes seemed to reflect her fear back at her. They had insectoid wings that hummed when in use, and sported a single, twisted horn. Wings and a horn – just like her.

The recruit reacted surprisingly fast for such a sudden surprise. His wings deployed in reflex, and he swung his longsword while simultaneously jumping and spinning backwards in half-flight, regaining his poise as he landed. The attack actually caught the first sinisteed across the neck, immediately dropping him.

The other dove forward to attack him, brandishing what looked to be the sinisteed version of the switchblade, a hoof-mounted blade that jut out to the side and curved forward, looking very much like a modified scythe.

Celestia still struggled with her jacket. Without freeing herself of it, she could not deploy her switchblades or move very quickly at all, for that matter. A frustrated whimper escaped her lips as she tugged more forcefully on her scarf. Still, it did not come free.

Another sinisteed landed near the recruit, then another, and another. Soon, it was all he could do to constantly backpedal, as he was left with no opening to attack.

A thud sounded behind her. Celestia froze, and slowly turned. A pair of beady eyes and a sharp snarl were there to greet her.

Celestia cried out and jumped back as a flash of matte steel came her way. She dodged again and again, locked in a hopeless duel in which she had no weapon. She could not keep this up, not dressed as she was. Her stiff dodges were not enough. With each attack, the blades came closer and closer-

Edge forward, just a little.

Celestia’s eyes widened as she did not quite make her dodge, and the sinisteed’s hoof-mounted scythe came into contact with her chest. It cut swiftly through her scarf and coat and scraped along her chestplate underneath. In a panic, Celestia’s horn glowed, and she pushed the sinisteed away with a sudden burst of force.

She danced backwards, feeling inexplicably more flexible. She looked down. The final clasp had been cut free, and her jacket was falling off her shoulders. Her gaze wandered back up to the sinisteed.

They looked at each other with wide eyes, and were motionless, each waiting for the other to make their move. Celestia’s eyes flicked down, then back, then down again– and she began to frantically rip the jacket off her shoulders. The sinisteed saw the cue and charged.

She freed her back hooves first, then another one of her front hooves – and then yelped as the sinisteed was suddenly in front of her. Her jacket still dangled off of one hoof, and as she tried to back away, she tripped over the cloth that rested upon the ground and fell to her side.

Celestia thrashed around until she was able to see the sinisteed. It was reared on its hind legs, both hooves and blades in the air, ready to crash down upon her.

Well, don’t just lie there.

Celestia did the first thing that came to mind and rolled, throwing her caught hoof towards where she presumed her attacker to be. The maneuver worked; the jacket tangled around the sinisteed’s head as it attacked, blinding it and forcing it to miss.

It snarled as viciously as any animal as it thrashed about with the improvised blindfold around its eyes. Celestia could smell its rancid breath, even from a distance. She got up and, before the sinisteed had any time to recover, charged and buffeted it with her chest, sending it spiraling down the nearby stairs to the main deck.

“Stay down!” she shouted, huffing with satisfaction. She straightened her chainmail, which had fallen loose during the scuffle, and stood a little taller, a feeling of triumph growing in her chest.

That feeling instantly vanished as she looked over the deck, and saw the state of the ship.

Sinisteeds covered the Colossus like a plague from bow to stern. There were a hundred or more, easily enough to outnumber the crew. Every crew member fought for survival, the makeshift battlefield having broken out into many unfair duels. Aerial dogfights between pegasi and sinisteeds zipped over the ship and sometimes even through it, speeding through the massive holes gaping in the sides of the hull.

“Arrgh!”

Celestia whipped around to see the recruit still dueling the same four sinsiteeds that he had been previously.

She armed her switchblades, extended her wings, and dove forward.

The first sinisteed she downed with no struggle, wrapping her hooves around his neck and drawing back with blades forward. It let out a throaty gurgle before it fell to the ground, a deep red puddle quickly pooling quickly by its head.

The second turned to face her and made an effort to dodge, but Celestia was already upon it. Her first attack was met with a grazing blow, and her second, a full on thrust into the ribs. It fell, fruitlessly thrashing towards her, snapping its jaws and waving its porous hooves, but its injuries were simply too much.

In the corner of her eye, Celestia saw the two other sinisteeds were still pursuing Cloudscape. It became too much for him, and he eventually broke off from the fight, dropping his longsword and leaping off the railing of the ship, extending his wings and deploying his switchblades. The sinisteeds followed him.

Celestia did as well.

She experienced a moment of vertigo before extending her wings and chasing after them. She was not the most accomplished flier, but she would not be outmaneuvered by a pair of pony-sized bugs.

Celestia pursued them to the top of the balloon that held the airship aloft, and realized she had entered a whole new battlefield. Pegasi and sinisteeds were everywhere in the sky, pursuing and being pursued in such a frenzy it reminded Celestia of a hornets’ nest.

The pegasi were faster, but the sinisteeds were more maneuverable. Celestia was able to catch up with the sinisteeds she pursued, but as she made a dive towards one, it dropped and she missed, wobbling midair as she struggled to regain control.

Its friend was ready to attack her for her vulnerability when it was caught by a sudden force from the completely opposite direction. Another pony had dived into it, resulting in a fantastic crash that would have left any but the toughest seeing stars. She turned to see who it was, but of course, only saw the chaotic battle around her. She offered a silent thank you to the gods, and hoped they would convey her gratitude.

Celestia looked ahead towards her remaining target. Beneath her goggles, she squinted. It was gone.

She let out a huge wheezing breath as, without warning, a huge force hit her from above, crumpling her wings into her body and sending her spinning into a wild freefall. She lost all sense of direction and control, with the blue sky above and the grey clouds below blending to be one sickening mess of colors.

Eventually, she evened out – and through no fault of her own. A pair of sinisteed arms wrapped tightly around her own, preventing her from moving or deploying her wings. She struggled against them, becoming more frantic as she realized where they were headed. Celestia screamed as she dropped head first towards the balloon of the airship. She did not realize she had gained that much elevation-

Wham!

Celestia’s jaw collided first with the hard canvas, the rest of her body following suit.

**********

“Stay quiet.”

Lucky stood at the head of a raft large enough to hold him plus twenty other soldiers, with dozens of other rafts advancing in a staggered formation alongside him. His hood was drawn over his head, as was the hood of every single soldier in his company, their cloaks obscuring the shine of their armor.

They did not need to paddle, as the current took them to their destination: the shores of Manehattan. The storm they sailed through was designed as such, with a furious wind blowing them this direction. However, the journey was not effortless. The transports they rode upon had flat bottoms and doors that dropped at the front, making them excellent for landing, but horrible for deep, tumultuous water, of which they undoubtedly crossed. The hull did not break through waves, but rather rode over the top of them, making the occupants experience every little rocking motion the Manehattan Channel had to offer. More than one pony had been made seasick because of it.

The gap between the island and the mainland was father than he remembered – a little under a mile, if he had to guess. He looked up at the structure hovering ominously above them. The bridge really was a marvel of engineering. Soon, it would be theirs again.

The entire Maiden’s Battalion, save for those that were airborne, was traveling in stealth upon the waters. They crossed directly under the eastern bridge; two separate elite battalions came from the southeast and the north. A friendly force, much larger than their own, blockaded the entrances to all three bridges, and made no attempt to hide themselves. So long as they did not attack, the hostages would be left alone, and they would be an ample distraction to cover for their surprise assault. The battalions infiltrating would flank the forces on the other side of the bridge while the main force advanced, all while the storm droppers rescued the hostages. It was perfect.

The shore was closing in, and fast. Under the cover of his hood, Lucky smiled. There was no opposition to be seen. Their success was all but assured.

“Draw swords.”

The ring of metal could be heard throughout the bay, though to Lucky’s pleasure, it was no louder than it absolutely had to be. The driving rain and frequent thunder effectively masked the sound of their movements, so that they were no more than ghosts upon the water.

The shore was upon them.

Dozens of rafts hit the shallow land, each being towed a small ways in by a team of pegasi. Soon after, the doors on their front dropped to form a small walkway, and the team aboard the raft piled out onto the land.

Lucky remained at the head, ushering his group of twenty out of the raft. Unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies alike rushed passed him. After they had all gone past, he followed suit.

His hooves hit the sand.

“Halt!” he frantically whispered. “I said halt!”

His group had been trotting forward but still technically waiting for him to lead; now, they all were stopped, looking back and giving him an odd look.

“Sir?” somepony whispered.

“Shh!” Lucky put his hoof up to quiet him, and slowly crept forward to the front of his group. Putting his helmet up, he scanned the scene before him. The concrete began not far from the shore, and the buildings not much farther than that. Besides their planned objective, there was not much to see.

His soldiers shifted uncomfortably behind him. They were not to attack until he ordered them to, presumably by charging himself; and the other groups were not to attack until they did. The other battalions were to attack at approximately the same time they were. If their Commander had a problem, there was no way to signal even a temporary hold, and anything but a simultaneous attack would be a sure loss of effectiveness. And yet, the entire Maiden’s Battalion, in formation, weapons drawn, completely ready for battle, stood idly on a hundred yard stretch on the bank of Manhattan.

Lucky knew it, and did not care. Something was wrong…

He heard soft wingbeats end in a landing beside him.

“Lucky!” said the whispering voice of Apple Crumble. “What the hay are yeh-?”

“Move!”

Without warning, Lucky wrapped his arms around Crumble and tackled him, taking them both to the ground. A furious whistle sounded just above his head, followed by a dull thunk. Lucky and Crumble raised themselves to their hooves and looked back. The soldier behind them had been hit with an arrow, and lay dead on the ground.

The edge of the city was suddenly very alive with activity. Hundreds of pairs of beady blue dots found their way to the edge of their visibility, and the one, solitary arrow was joined by thousands more just like it.

“Ambush!”

**********

Celestia instinctively righted herself, rolling to her hooves and deploying her wings, ready to again take off. The sinisteed who had grabbed her had released her upon impact, and stood a small distance away. She could not be sure, but if sinisteeds could feel emotion, and if they displayed it through expression, then she would have to guess that this particular one was feeling severely confused. It tilted its head and looked at her with wide, wondering eyes, a string of bug-like clicks escaping its mouth that Celestia could have sworn were bewildered in tone.

She rolled her head, shrugged her shoulders, and flexed her jaw as though she were ridding her mouth of a bitter taste. Her neck felt especially sore, but it was far from being broken as it likely should have been. She was still alive, and that was good enough for her.

Celestia took a moment to gauge the situation. The aerial skirmish was still raging, but to Celestia’s pleasure, they were winning. The sinisteeds were not as numerous as the once were, and she could see them dropping out of the sky all the time, very much like flies.

The sinisteed before her took a few wary steps back, its confidence seeming severely shaken. Before Celestia could think about counterattacking, it deployed its buzzing wings and jumped off the side of the balloon in a single motion, disappearing from sight into the raging battle around them.

Emboldened by their success, Celestia took to the air, switchblades singing as she closed in on another enemy.

If anything was her specialty, air-to-air combat was not it. She was decent in practice, but there was no preparing for the frenzy of it all, and the simple violence required when closing in on an opponent.

Her mind was considering just that when she closed in on the fleeing sinisteed, arms raised forward and blades deployed. Together they zoomed under the balloon and over the deck of the ship, where she caught it, missing with her blades but crashing into it with the rest of her body. They fell onto the deck of the ship and slid along it, her weight pinning the sinisteed on the bottom and grinding it into the rough wood. Eventually, they hit the railing.

A moment later, she punched, aiming for the ribs. In the next instant, it was dead.

She had not had time to think, or consider; she just acted. That was something she had not trained for. Supposedly, it was the type of trait that could only be bred into a veteran soldier, and that trait was, specifically, the ability to kill. Not simply to fight, but to mortally wound. Ponies did not have that natural trait, many of her trainers had explained. Only predators and monsters were born with the instinct.

And there she was, feeling all the more triumphant as she kicked the body over the edge of the airship, watching it tumble to the stormy abyss below.

The skirmish was nearing its end. Celestia forgot herself as she heard a sudden noise at the stern of the ship. She looked back to see the pegasus from before, Cloudscape, atop it, fighting a sinisteed. Covered in cuts, bruises, and having seemingly lost his helmet in the chaos, he did not seem to be winning.

Celestia, standing on the other end of the ship, took off towards them.

It happened too quickly for her to comprehend. Cloudscape, already fighting a losing battle, let his guard down for the smallest instant. The sinisteed took the advantage. She saw an unmistakable gleam in its eye as it pushed his hooves away and struck forward like a snake, sinking its long white fangs into the recruit’s neck. The pegasus was only able to struggle for a moment before his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell limp. His longsword fell clattering to the floor below, and the sinisteed pushed his unmoving body overboard.

Another life, taken...

The dull clatter of the sword echoed like a gong in her head, and something cold washed over her. The world seemed to slow to a standstill around her, the surrounding sounds of battle becoming oddly distorted and distant.

Gone, forever...

And in place of that same cold appeared an odd warmth, at first rising in her chest and then spreading throughout her body.

Her eyes rose from the recruit's weapon and fixed on the sinisteed, which still had its back towards her.

One life for another!

Finally, Cloudscape’s murderer turned around to her, and upon noticing her, gave a serpentine hiss.

Hatred.

Celestia gave a savage shout the moment before she connected with the killer. Her switchblades were purposefully retracted. The heat inside her rose, ignited like a spark, and turned into a raging fire which wanted nothing more but to consume.

She grabbed the sinisteed by the neck, pinned it against the railing of the ship.

Through the red haze of her narrowed vision she could see her first hoofstrike meet the sinisteed's face. She barely heard the crunch of bone.

An eye for an eye.

The beating of her heart, her heavy wheezed breathing, the pool of red starting to spread beneath her - all of these things were pushed away to the back of her mind. There was only her target and her hoof, descending upon it, again...

A tooth for a tooth.

And again...

“…Celestia…?”

And again... but it was not enough, it would never be enough. The fire inside her yearned for more. And, like a machine, her body kept pounding at the still figure in front of her.

“Celestia!”

Eventually, there was a great crash, and the thick railing broke. Without letting go, she used her telekinesis to bring the nearby longsword to her hoof.

“Stop it, soldier, that’s an order!”

She ran the sword through the black and red husk of something that had been so mangled, it was hard to envision it having been alive at any point in its existence. With one final grunt, she reared back on her hind legs and, using a combination of earth tribe strength and telekinesis, threw the remains as far away from the ship as possible. They flew for a while before finally arcing completely downwards. She watched as they dropped, blown about by the strong wind of the storm, disappearing in the distance.

“Hey!”

Celestia felt a hoof come to rest on her shoulder. Her head snapped around, her face still contorted into a vicious snarl, her body tensing to fight.

Lightning Sky retracted his hoof and took a surprised step back, but the irritation on his face did not lessen, only becoming mixed with a measure of confusion. He stood taller and leaned aggressively towards her.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, the scowl on his face deepening.

Celestia seemed to snap back to reality, her body weakening by degrees. Her own snarl gradually vanished, and the blurry edges of her vision became clear again. Her pattern of breathing did not change much, but in her chest, she felt as though her lungs now drew breath out of necessity, not desire.

“I… i-it killed…”

Her entire expression seemed to falter. She looked around, down towards the mess that sat right at her hooves. Blood and bone and bits of gore were scattered across the floorboards here and there like a slaughterhouse. She scrambled away from it, disgusted then to find both of her front hooves stained nearly to the elbow in blood. Wherever she stepped, a faint impression of bloody hoofprints followed. In desperation, she scraped them along the floor, only to find herself painting crimson brushstrokes across the wood with no real loss of color on herself. Her whole body began to tremble, and she suddenly felt very dizzy. Seconds later, she vomited.

“Sir! The sinisteeds have been repelled, all personnel have returned to the ship!”

Lightning Sky hesitantly turned away from the sickened alicorn to a green pegasus who had landed nearby.

“Casualties?”

“We don’t know yet. Twenty pegasi downed, maybe.”

“Twenty…” Lightning murmured. “And the non-fliers?”

Nearby, Celestia was locked in a fit of coughing. Eventually, she ended it with a strained gag.

“Mostly okay. Maybe two or three casualties. The sinisteeds went mainly after the pegasi, I think. The ship itself is losing altitude with several small holes in the balloon, but it should still be able to do its job.” The soldier nodded to Celestia. “Is she gonna be okay?”

She turned towards them. Her eyes were sunken, her head was craned low, and her whole body was feebly trembling as if due to fever. She had a miserable grimace on her face.

Lightning glanced back at her, keeping his gaze locked there for a long time. Eventually, he turned back.

“Organize the remaining pegasi who are still air-worthy into squads, and line them up. This drop is going to happen. And fetch me Corporal Allez. Celestia is in no condition to fly.”

The pegasus nodded and took off. At the mention of her name, Celestia looked up and immediately spoke in protest.

“Sir, I can still fight.”

“No, you can’t.”

Celestia perked up, surprised at his answer. With her shoulder, she wiped some of the residual bile away from the corners of her mouth. “I am still air-worthy!”

“No you’re not.”

“But-!”

Lightning wheeled around to her. “You’re sick, Celestia. You’re in shock. And besides, your enchantment has lost its impact absorption spell, and nopony has the energy to renew it. You’d likely break your legs when you hit the ground below. What, did you waste it on something?”

Celestia blinked, and she idly rubbed at the armor on her neck. So that was how she was still alive.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lightning continued. “You are not coming.”

Corporal Allez found her way to the stern of the ship, and presented herself. A thin, wiry cut ran across her cheek, stained with dried blood. “Lieutenant.”

“Allez,” Lightning addressed, nodding to her. “You are to see that Celestia-”

“I’m fine!”

“-does not leave the ship-”

“Let me be of use!”

“-under any circumstances-”

“You said the impact absorption isn’t required!”

“Lieutenant!” a voice cried from across the ship.

Lightning Sky gave an uncharacteristically frustrated growl as he turned. “What is it?” he shouted back towards the ship.

One of the soldiers spoke up. “You’re… going to want to see this,” he said, pointing over the railing.

The Lieutenant stomped over to the edge of the ship, and set his hooves on the railing, peering over at the clouds below. After a moment, he shook his head, and swore under his breath.

Celestia trotted next to him and looked over the edge, as did almost the entire crew. Silent murmurs rippled through them. All Celestia saw was the broiling black clouds below, still in a state of thundering and constant unrest.

She continued staring until, in the corner of her eye, she saw something move far below them. And then something else, and then something else. The clouds seemed to stir, becoming even more fitful than they were before, until…

She heard Lightning whisper next to her. “Gods help us…”

Tens, then hundreds, then thousands of sinisteeds emerged at once from the stormy sea far below them, circling inward and upward from all directions in an enormous black swarm that blot out the sight of the clouds, almost to the point where they themselves appeared to be a great, vengeful attack storm. The collective buzzing of their wings was the vastest noise Celestia had ever heard, and the most terrifying. This was no longer a collection of enemies. It was a force of nature. Fighting them would be like trying to defeat a tidal wave with a sword.

The Lieutenant pushed off the railing and turned back to the ship. “Sinisteeds inbound! Ninety seconds to arrival! Pegasi, prepare to drop!”

Celestia whipped around towards him. “What?” she said incredulously.

“There are hostages below. This mission has to happen. Up here, there is no hope for us.”

“But the ship-”

“The ship is lost!” Lighting said. “If we drop, the storm will push us out of their reach, at least for a little while, and maybe then we can still do some good. Up here, we are dead ponies.”

“What about the crew?” Celestia shouted back, sweeping her hoof towards the ship. “They’ll die if we leave!”

A fiery indignation lit in her eyes. It was inhumane, it was cold, and calculating, it was… it was just like Lucky.

“And they’ll die if we stay. Everypony who stepped aboard this ship knew the risks. They know the meaning of sacrifice, and I dare not let it be in vain. I suggest you don’t either.”

Celestia had a prepared response on the tip of her tongue, but it suddenly dried and withered in her open mouth as an unbidden, horrible memory played in her mind.

War is not easy, and neither is it painless. Lightning Sky has long since come to terms with the notion and meaning of ‘sacrifice’. I suggest you do the same.

“Now get ready to drop, Celestia. They are almost upon us.” The lieutenant walked away, moving towards the main deck and rallying the pegasi to him. “Sixty seconds!” he called. The buzzing was getting louder.

She simply stood there, speechless and helpless. Doing what he wanted her to do, what everypony else appeared to be ready to do, seemed impossible.

“Hey.” A hoof came to rest upon her shoulder. Celestia turned to see Allez, her head tilted and expression sad. Celestia was slightly taller than her, but right now, she felt so small.

“It’s alright. He’s right.”

Celestia simply shook her head, not knowing what to say. “No,” she managed in a tiny voice.

The buzzing got louder. “Forty seconds!”

“I’ll be okay,” Allez said softly. “We’ll all be okay.”

“No,” Celestia simply repeated. “You’ll die.”

Allez scowled. “Don’t tell me what to do. Remember when you fought me in the dueling ring? I officiated afterwards because I respected you. Don’t get weak on me now.”

The buzzing got even louder. “Thirty seconds!”

Celestia cast her a pitiful look. Allez, on the other hoof, was full of bravado, wearing a huge, cocky grin.

“Besides, you know I’m a good fighter. Not all hope is lost. And this ship is pretty big. It’s not called the ‘Colossus’ for nothing, you know.”

There was a pause.

“Allez, I-”

“No, hang on. I need you to do something.”

The buzzing was so loud, Celestia could barely hear Allez speak. “Twenty seconds!”

Allez’s confidence wavered just a bit, her smile lessening ever so slightly. “Would you-” she paused, choking on her words. “Would you tell my stupid brother to step out of his shell and get a marefriend? You remember Garde, right? Captain Garde?”

Tears were openly streaming down Celestia’s cheeks. “Yes. Of course.”

“Ten seconds!”

Allez said something else, but Celestia could not hear her. The red earth pony seemed to realize this, and instead of repeating herself, she pushed Celestia towards the railing and pointed down, giving her a pat on the back.

Celestia tried to look back at her, but Allez was already gone, rushing down to the body of the ship to prepare, somehow. Her gaze swiveled forward again. Countless sinisteeds in all directions below were now a mere hundred yards away and closing, fast. There was seemingly no gap between any of them – bursting through would be difficult.

“Five!”

Celestia’s eyes hardened, her body tensed.

“Four!”

She wiped away the tears on her face, only afterwards realizing she had probably left a big red smear on her cheek in their place.

“Three!”

She shut her helmet, and without waiting any longer, she jumped off the side of the ship and tucked her wings, slipping into the relief of an open air free-fall, far ahead of the rest of her comrades.

**********

They could not keep this up for long.

After the initial volley of arrows, the sinisteeds had begun to use their dive ability en masse. It had been impossible for the unicorns to form their prismatic shield wall to protect their comrades. Such a maneuver required absolute concentration and perfect unity, both of which were in severely limited supply under the intense fire they were receiving. The most any one unicorn could do was shield his or her immediate area with a frontal wall that was more or less for personal use, being only wide enough to cover an area for them and maybe one or two other ponies. Everypony else was made to endure the rain of arrows, and soon, the field of emerald sinisteed comets that no solitary force shield could withstand.

The Maiden’s Battalion would fight to the last pony if it had to, but Lucky was no fool. In this kind of situation, he would have normally ordered a retreat – except there was no retreat to be had. Between the 21st, the rocky shore of Manehattan, and their rafts that would only go where the current took them, there was simply nowhere to go. The pegasi could have escaped, but not a one of them would even consider leaving their unit in such peril.

Deploy switchblade.

Lucky raised his hoof above his head while simultaneously brandishing his blade. An arrow flew directly towards his neck, but deflected away as it bounced off the steel. He looked behind himself and swore, seeing the arrow buried deep in the flank of another soldier. It was a pegasus mare who had landed for only a moment, and now cried out in pain as she eyed the shaft protruding through her chainmail. Nevertheless, a moment later she snapped the shaft down to its base, and returned to the sky.

Lucky rallied his force in an attempt to make one cohesive whole, and was met with some success. They were constantly besieged by sinisteeds that tore at their ranks from all sides. The pegasi had trouble actually staying in formation while still trying to repel the airborne enemies that assailed them. Lucky, standing in the very center of his battalion, looked over their number. The shifting, shouting, unorganized mass was probably as cohesive as they were going to get.

Nowhere to go, nowhere to go. The phrase repeated itself over and over again in Lucky’s mind. But there is one way.

“Forward!”

His voice nearly drowned in a sea of other superiors using the Voice to give their own commands, but everypony recognized his – and forward they went.

Their progress was measured in mere feet at a time, and often, they were pushed back down the small, rocky hill that lead to the city. The first instance of concrete, and by extension, the city and where they would actually be fighting on even ground, was a mere one hundred yards away. At the rate they were going, it could have been miles and not made a difference.

Lucky could hear fighting on the bridge above them, and could only assume it was the regular army. Not that the 21st could expect help from them. They could be held for hours or even days on what was essentially a narrow corridor of combat. So much for their plan to flank the enemy.

Throw knife.

Without hesitation, then drew a knife from a belt around his shoulder and threw it away and into the enemy crowd, arcing it at a specific angle. He did not know why, and had long since grown out of questioning such feelings. Perhaps it saved his life somehow.

A long half hour, their struggle went on, and though they had achieved a semblance of unity, their own number lessened all the time. The arrows could be blocked, but they never stopped coming, and some were bound to slip by. The comet dives could be dodged away from, but never truly avoided, as rocks would be thrown up from the impact and the green flames would explode and burn at the skin of all around.

During it all, Lucky stayed in the center of his force, taking it upon himself to make sure the battalion stayed together.

A roar, the likes of which he had not heard in a long time, forced him to reconsider his role. It was almost lost among the hisses and clicks of the enemy and the screams and shouts of his own soldiers, but it was unmistakable. Without further warning, a dozen minotaurs crashed through the sinisteed hordes and towards his own force.

He pushed and shoved to position himself at the front of his battalion, putting a claymore in his mouth and shoving the hookshot onto his left hoof. There were others who could command.

The minotaur coming directly towards him had a knife protruding from one of its eyes.

Throw another.

He did, and then charged forward, away from his company.

He fired the hookshot towards a blinded minotaur, yanked back once it made contact, and pulled it to the ground, heavily slashing as its head slid on the rocks in front of him. If minotaur hunting was a sport, Lucky wildly thought, it would have been a record time.

Next.

Momentarily forgetting about his battalion, he deliberately placed himself in the midst of the enemy. It would have been a foolish thing to do in normal circumstances, but they simply were not making enough progress. He adjusted his priorities to allow for injury so long as he survived and was still able to fight. Then, he let them come to him.

**********

Celestia fell faster than her blood could follow.

It was interesting, and was, oddly enough, the only thing she found herself able to focus on. She had been falling so long – a full two minutes, if she had to guess – that she had lost a certain sense of gravity. Occasionally she would flap her wings to give herself a small boost of speed, but she found the small reward was not worth it for the pain it caused. The carpal joint on her right wing had been slashed, or ripped at, or something of the nature; she could not twist her head around to properly check, or else it would break the form of her dive. The way the rushing wind froze at the wetness of her wing was proof enough.

In fact, now that she thought about it, she could feel that sensation all over, as if she had just bathed and was now standing in a strong, freezing wind; except she knew the reality of things was far from that. Her forehead just above her eye, the base of her neck running up to her ear, up and down all four of her legs, and running along from her ribcage to her flank, anywhere the plate armor was absent and the chainmail was loose – she was stricken with a whole-bodied sensation of stinging cold and burning pain. Such was the toll exacted by the sinisteed horde.

But they were behind her now, and she fell faster than her blood could follow. Streams and globules of it broke off and trailed behind her, lost to the atmosphere. As if she could outfly her own mortality, it stayed out of her eyes and out of her way.

The cloud layer was approaching quickly now. It looked so odd to her, as if she were going to crush her skull on the mountainous clouds that she had so readily admired not so long ago. Of course she would not – if a pegasus, or alicorn, did not want to interact with clouds, then they did not, simple as that. She would pass through it as easily as everypony else. Whether or not she crushed her skull on the other side of the storm remained to be seen.

It was seconds away. The blue sky above disappeared from her peripheral vision, and before her, there was only grey that became darker with each passing second. She presumed she was still in the lead of her eighty or so pegasi comrades, as she could not see any of them. Every single one of them could have been taken by the swarm, and she would not have known it.

Soon, she felt the influence of cloudstuff; she could have collided with it right there, if she so desired. Instead, she simply allowed herself to become soaking wet as she passed through, until finally, she was in the storm proper.

It did not take long. The process was simple, and in that encircling abyss of grey and flashing blue, she felt as though she had all the time in the world. She positioned her hooves the way Lightning had taught her, and slowed her dive by a small degree.

Seconds passed, and she felt a tingle at the back of her body. She suspected it would have been comfortable or even pleasant if it were not for her wounds. She heard a crackle, loud enough to reach her over the rushing wind in her ears. Less than a second later, there was a deafening bang and she was gone, leaving the peaceful abyss behind and rocketing downwards at a speed she could scarcely comprehend.

**********

“Rose! Ro-oooooose!”

A frantic voice echoed through the narrow corridors in the basement of the chapel, but the little filly on the main floor could barely hear them. The shouts were her mother’s, she knew, and they rang a particularly loud bell in her mind, but at that moment, the call of curiosity was louder still.

This chapel was one of the smaller ones. Manehattan did not have a proper cathedral, but rather, many scattered churches for the ponies around the city who wanted to attend. Small as this particular chapel was, Rose thought it was very pretty. The light streaming in through the stained windows was lovely, even if it was so dark outside. In fact, the windows seemed to make it brighter. And when the lightning outside flashed, they positively came alive.

Crack!

She jumped in place and clutched her doll just a little tighter. That one was loud, and really bright!

“Rose Lily, where are you sweetie?”

“Honey, we need to get out of here.”

“We are not having this discussion right now. Rose! Rose!”

On either side of the chapel, there was set a single large window that was completely clear, the only ones letting in unfiltered light. Rose hustled towards one of them, her haste making up for the short steps she took. She hopped up onto one of the pews and stood on her hind legs, struggling to get a better view of outside the chapel.

It was as miserable as ever. The same storm had been raging for days, flooding much of the city and even damaging some of the taller buildings unlucky enough to get struck by lightning. Entire sections of the city had gone up in flames before the rain could put it out. Curiously enough, the refugee quarantine had remained completely safe – at least, the parts that were on high ground.

“Rose Lily! You come here this instant!”

“I’m serious, we have to leave.”

“Just stop it, Silver!”

Crack!

Rose’s heart jumped to her throat, and she nearly fell away from the windowsill. That one was even louder! Who knew thunder could be so-

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

The filly’s eyes widened in excitement as the same magnificent sound repeated itself once, twice, and then seemingly a hundred more times in extremely rapid succession, amplifying and reverberating into one utterly massive boom that literally shook the foundations of the building. Dust fell free from the rafters, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling shook, and below, she could hear the scream of a certain scaredy-pony. But it was not scary. It was cool!

“No, I’m not going to ‘stop it’. I’m trying to save us!”

“You heard that just now, right? That’s them. They are going to save us!”

“You know they’re not. He knows they’re here. It’s not a surprise anymore.”

“It’s the Maiden’s Battalion, Silver. The Maiden herself might be on her way!”

“And what if she’s not?”

“She is. Ro-oooooose!”

The filly still had yet to really hear them, and she was not about to. Her eyes were transfixed on the scene playing out before her. She had to crane her head to look nearly completely upwards, but what she saw made her eyes twinkle with wondering awe. Almost directly above them, a meteor shower was happening!

“We can escape in the chaos. They’re not going to be watching us with the battle going on. We can do it.”

The voice was wavering now. The pony shouting it was in tears. “Rose!”

A hundred falling stars rocketed towards them, each wreathed in its own halo of brilliant blue light. Streaking behind them were a hundred sparkling blue comet tails. The sky was practically filled with them. What a sight!

Her parents had told her what was supposed to happen, what these comets actually were, but deep in her heart, she knew what this really was. It was a sign from the gods. Her family was not very religious, but this was simply that. Otherwise, how could it be so beautiful? It was the Pantheon telling them that the monsters would go away, the storm would clear up, and everypony was going to be happy.

“Rose Lily!”

She let out a puff of air as she was grabbed around her middle and yanked away from the window.

“Mommy!”

“Why did you run off?” she asked, running her hoof through her mane and over her cheek, inspecting her for injury.

“I-”

“That was a very naughty thing to do, Rose. Very naughty.”

“But mommy, did you see?” the filly said, pointing towards the window. “Everything is okay!”

A moment later, there was another series of incredible crashes, lacking the same piercing treble of the lightning, but making up for it in a rumbling bass that shook the very pebbles on the ground. Rose smiled as she felt it rumble through her body. Her mother and father shared a meaningful look.

Her father shrugged. “Too late now,” he murmured.

Her mother shot him a look before turning back to her. “We’re going back downstairs. Don’t you ever run away again. You hear me, Rose? Never again. It’s dangerous up here.”

Bashfully, she nodded. “Okay.”

Her mother yanked her daughter up onto her shoulder, and made for the basement staircase. As they descended, Rose suddenly cried out.

“Charles the Brave! Go back, we forgot Charles!”

Her mother’s tone was terse. “We’ll get your doll in the morning, sweetie.”

She was still protesting as they shut the door at the bottom of the stairs, joining the hundred or so other survivors huddled together in the completely dark basement.

When they had received the battle plan that came with the latest food drop, telling them to designate several spots to hide until reinforcements arrived, the little church on the hill had seemed like such an appropriate spot to await salvation. Now, they were not so sure.

On a windowsill, Charles the Brave sat alone and forgotten, impassively watching the fallen stars emerge from their craters. One of them did not look to be in very good condition.

**********

“Celestia!”

She stirred on the ground. Her vision swam in her eyes, as if someone had placed a blurry filter in between her and the world. Her entire body felt unpleasantly heavy, and she felt so, so tired. She was not entirely sure how she got to where she was, or even where she was to begin with; the scene before her was a blend of muted greys that all mixed together, and squinting to sharpen the image only made her head hurt. Moving in even the smallest of motions made areas of her body experience incredible pain, and she would have felt more content to simply lie there without moving a muscle, becoming mercifully numb in the freezing rain.

“Celestia!” the voice repeated.

“I’m fine… I’m fine!” Celestia mumbled. She raised her head, blinked hard, and the world became a little sharper. She vaguely remembered trying to slow her descent… and then tumbling down the side of a building… or something like that?

“Get up, c’mon!” somepony urged, lightly tugging at her hooves. Celestia looked their direction; it was Lightning Sky. “It’s not safe here, we gotta move!”

Celestia scowled, nodded, and looked down, clumsily grabbing his hoof and pulling herself up. Stinging pain assailed her during every moment of the maneuver. She hissed as a particularly agonizing sensation stemmed from her ribs and made her entire body shudder in reaction. Behind the raw pain, she felt a twinge of fear – she could feel her skin rip as she stretched it the wrong way.

“No no no no no…” Lightning murmured. “Not good, not good. Green!”

Celestia, hanging off of the Lieutenant’s shoulder, glanced over as a pegasus landed next to them. “Sir!” he acknowledged in a gruff voice.

“Take Celestia somewhere safe, and gather whoever you can find to help the wounded!” Lightning pointed with his free hoof. “There are civilians inside that church. It’s the closest safe zone, take the nearby wounded there. The civilians might be able to help.” He glanced at Celestia, who seemed to be more or less aware of her situation. “Maybe some of them are doctors, or nurses, or… or something.” He looked back towards the soldier. “Go, hurry!”

Green nodded. “Yes, sir!”

In the next instant he was by her side, and she felt herself being switched between bodies on which to lean.

Lightning continued, shouting over thunder and constantly pattering rain. “I’m going to rally our forces and do what I can to get some of the civilians nearer to the docks to safety. The other airships are still en route, and we have to be ready when they get here. In the meantime, just… just do what you can!”

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Lightning Sky took to the air, moving as quick as his namesake, and Celestia felt herself tugged in a certain direction.

“C’mon, milady,” the stallion said. “Let’s get yeh to the church.”

Much to her dismay, Celestia’s senses had finally awakened, and she was made aware of just how horrible her situation truly was. The rain was a constantly driving force, and seemed to have a suppressive effect on both her spirits and her body, simultaneously urging her to find the nearest place of cover and making her feel utterly miserable. Her body itself was in the most pain she had ever been in, including the violent duel she had with Lucky weeks ago. At least then, Doctor Cross had been nearby to treat her wounds and tend to her broken jaw. Now, she was being dragged through the rain and mud to a building filled with frightened civilians, where there may or may not be any help at all.

Manehattan itself seemed to be the site of a miniature apocalypse. Buildings were crumbling – some were even on fire – and the streets around them were, at the moment, completely empty.

The city seemed to be more cramped than Canterlot was, even if the overall scale of the cities were similar. While Canterlot was regal, elegant, and even inspiring, the theme of Manehattan seemed to be “economy”. The streets were tighter, the brick buildings were largely unadorned, and the architecture sported no apparent originality or attention to aesthetics. Of course, she supposed the effect was worsened by the events as of late.

“Yeh feelin’ okay, milady?” the pegasus aiding Celestia asked, watching her gaze swivel about at the scene around them.

“I’m okay…” she murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the rain. Only then did Celestia realize his wing was extended protectively over her head, acting as an umbrella. She looked at him. “It’s Green, right?” He nodded. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Apple Crumble, would you?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Heh, no. Funny story, though-”

He stopped, and both his and Celestia’s ears perked up. Something was making noise at the end of the street…

Green’s eyes widened as he saw two friendly pegasi fly around the corner and come straight towards them, pursued by half a dozen airborne sinisteeds. He acted quickly.

“Can yeh make it the rest of the way?” he quickly asked, already removing Celestia’s arm from around his neck.

Celestia looked towards the double doors that led to the church. They were only ten yards away, easily within walking distance, even for her. She quickly nodded, staggering in place as he let go of her. Without another word, he took off, pursuing the sinisteeds that had already passed them without noticing.

Left alone, Celestia nodded to herself, and walked towards the doors of the church. Each individual step resulted in a pitiful amount of progress. Due to both the pain in her legs and the constant hammering in her head, she frequently wobbled unsteadily, and more than once, Celestia thought she was going to fall over and not be able to get back up. She was able to keep her balance, however, and sixty agonizing seconds later, she finally reached the doors, bursting them open with a quick telekinetic push.

Another ten seconds, and she was inside.

She magically closed the doors behind her to stop the howling wind from chilling her further, and walked a little further in. The cathedral – no, not a cathedral, it was too small. The chapel was the only building she had seen that sported some decoration. In the midst of what was one of the leading centers of industry, this small temple to the Pantheon had a quaint charm about it. It was a relief to see the shrines after such a long period without; she thought she might say a prayer or two. Now was as good a time as ever.

Celestia began shuffling towards the front of the church, but stopped as she heard a series of hoofsteps to the side. She craned her neck to see a teal-coated unicorn mare emerge from a nearby staircase that led to what Celestia presumed to be the basement. Were the civilians hiding down there?

“Thank goodness you’re he-”

But she stopped, mid-sentence and mid-motion. Celestia saw a familiar expression play over the mare’s features, marring the relieved smile she had worn before. Her eyes wandered across the many wounds that crisscrossed all over Celestia’s coat, playing over her disheveled mane, her sunken eyes, her blood-stained hooves, her red-gold armor, and finally, her wings and horn.

Though she had given it no thought before, Celestia realized she should have expected such a reaction from the hostages of Manehattan. The mare reopened her mouth, and when she did, it was not because she wished to speak to another rational being. A terrified scream escaped her lips and she retreated back down the stairs to her hiding place.

Celestia looked forward again. So, she could not expect help from the civilians. Oh well.

She wandered to the front of the chapel. The journey took her a whole minute, and when she got there, she attempted to kneel in reverence. Instead, she simply collapsed onto the floor.

**********

Two hundred of Equestria’s finest soldiers lay dead on the shores of Manehattan.

Two hundred of the Maiden’s best.

Two hundred friends, two hundred brothers and sisters, lay dead.

Lucky stood firmly on the concrete of Manehattan, looking down upon the shore with his helmet mask up, barely able to hear the regular army as its ranks marched by. Their soldiers looked down upon the banks as well, and he almost wanted to scream at them. What right did they have to see the Maiden’s soldiers like this?

The bodies were scattered everywhere, and lay in every position, sporting many causes of death. Two hundred sets of shining gold armor lay worn and unused upon the ground, their pale occupants having since lost their need for them. Sinisteeds, minotaurs, and gods knew what else were grotesquely scattered among them.

He heard heavy hoofbeats stop beside him, and instantly knew it was Crumble.

“Commander.”

Lucky closed his eyes, and gave a sad shake of the head. “Just…” His lips curled into a snarl, and his eyes reopened with a rekindled fire. “Dammit! Arrrgh!” He began pacing back and forth, stopping to punt a stray helmet that lay on the ground away and into the water of the Manehattan Channel.

“Why? How?” he shouted. He looked back and closed the distance between him and Crumble until their faces were inches apart. “How?”

“I don’t know, Lucky,” Crumble said evenly.

“Well why the hell not!” he yelled, breaking away from him. He paced back and forth, intermittently shouting, cursing, and muttering to himself. “He knew, he knew…” He turned back to Crumble. “Somehow he knew!”

Crumble waited until he was sure Lucky was not going to say anything more, and then responded as evenly as he could.

“Lucky, righ’ now, we can do one thing, and one thing only. Our job.” Crumble instinctively reached a hoof to stroke his beard, then set it back down. His beard was currently slick with rainwater, and his hoof was not the cleanest it had ever been. “If Discord knew about us, then he knew about our strike team, which means they are in way over their heads. That’s a hundred o’ the finest bein’ flanked on all sides, not to mention our sunshine.”

Lucky shook his head and scowled, pointing underhandedly at Crumble. “How did you not know about this?” he growled, his tone accusing.

“I could ask yeh the same question,” Crumble returned, his voice even deeper. “Now, Commander, are yeh goin’ to fix the problem, or keep moanin’ about it?”

Lucky looked away. His scowl cycled through several emotions before settling on one that seemed defeated. He hung his head and sighed. “I’ll kill him.”

“And I promise I’ll help.” He put his hoof on Lucky’s shoulder. “There’ll be time to grieve later. Right now, there are things that need doin’. The battalion waits on you.”

It was a few seconds before Lucky spoke. “Do you know the orders they gave me?”

Crumble nodded. “I do.”

“What do you think?”

Crumble shook his head. Even beneath his helmet, Lucky could sense his doubt. “It’s your call, Commander.”

“Okay,” Lucky murmured, nodding to himself. “Let’s go.”

Crumble took a few steps back and swept his hoof forward. “After you.”

They took off, galloping past the marching soldiers of the Equestrian army.

Friendly forces had taken enough of the city to set a small, unoccupied space as a rally point for the 21st division, but no more than that. The island was massive, and there was so much city left to take. It boggled the mind, the fact that so much remained when they had already put forth so much effort. The full might of the Equestrian army crashed down upon this one city like a mighty hammer blow – and not unlike a hammer blow, they had unintentionally eschewed all hopes of precision in favor of brute force. Their initial plans, crafted by none other than Lucky himself, had miserably failed; brute force was all they had left.

How many more corpses would it take until victory was theirs?

Tens of thousands of soldiers filed across the bridge and into the city. The 21st division had been the only one to successfully complete their task in securing an entrance across the channel. The northern and southeastern bridges were still in enemy hooves; the 21st’s elite counterparts who had been tasked with taking them were no more. The frontlines were a bulge in Equestria’s disadvantage; and yet, no order came for them to retreat or regroup. Conditions were far from perfect, but this was their only chance. Any retreat would leave them recuperating for another few precious months. In that time, Discord’s hordes would replenish, and this whole attack would have been in vain. It was now or never.

The rain was ever present, and the city itself was cramped and confining. Manehattan was a veritable metropolis. The only growing things to be seen had been planted there by the citizens; not once did Lucky see something that he thought might have been growing wild, unless it was a weed. Not that one could look very far to begin with; the line of sight was horribly limited. Despite the seemingly geometric layout of the city, it was obvious that nopony had really planned it in any particular way, but rather, it had just sprawled out as necessity grew. Blocks were mostly square and uniform, but every so often, one would be a highly irregular shape, completely destroying the uniformity of the rest. Streets twisted in upon themselves, leaving dead ends and loops aplenty. In conjunction with the slight fog rising from the streets, there was a pervasive sense of dread and claustrophobia, far from how an ideal battle should have been.

The tall structures created narrow corridors for the army to march through, and even the lower flying pegasi had to keep their eyes peeled unless they wanted to break their neck on the side of a building.

“There they are!” Crumble shouted over the rain.

They exited into a small clearing where stood the remainder of his battalion. A few unicorns held a simple shield spell above the whole of them, just powerful enough to block the rain while they prepared.

Lucky and Crumble passed through the shield, both of them instinctively shaking the water from their bodies. The ponies inside were a frenzy of activity, quickly checking the gear and dressing the wounds of their comrades before the order was given to move out. Belts buckled, plate armor clacked, chainmail rattled, bandages ripped and swords rung as the Maiden’s Battalion dutifully prepared itself. As Lucky stood a little taller and moved closer to the edge of the group, a few murmurs rippled through the crowd, but they ultimately quieted down.

The rain hitting the shield umbrella made for a dull, muffled sound, almost as if they were indoors. It only made the noises on the inside louder.

“Attention!” Apple Crumble called. They were already looking at Lucky regardless.

Whenever issuing battlefield orders, Lucky always put on the same immovable mask of steel. That dark scowl, mixed with the perfect amount of contempt, superiority, and disappointment, was something everypony had simply gotten used to. The pony underneath was well-intentioned, if a bit abrasive.

Looking at the crowd before him, that mask instantly faltered. His scowl lightened into raised brows, and his grimace relaxed into a bitter frown. Lucky did something he was told never to do. He inexplicably saw them not as soldiers, but ponies. Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters and children. Ponies thrust so very deep into a hell they had no right to be in, cast with a fortune he would not pronounce upon even the vilest of criminals and murderers. Ponies with hopes, fears, dreams, and souls. Ponies that he would have to look in the eye to say,

“We have come very far, and we must go a little farther.”

His words echoed throughout the magical chamber. They were relatively quiet, lacking both the stern resolve of direct orders and the grandeur of an inspirational speech. Nevertheless, beneath it all, they could hear truth. Commander Break meant what he said.

“You all have two options. The 21st division is more selective than it was in the past, but at least one tradition endures. Everypony who serves is a volunteer, and anypony may leave at any time. If you wish to leave, you may do so. Your other option is to stay and fight.”

Slowly, Lucky unclasped his helmet and drew it off his head, ruffling his orange mane and looking back up to address them. When he did, he saw that not a single pony had moved. A spark of the smallest hope lit in his eyes.

“I can only speak for myself when I say that I have no options. I will stay and fight because I must. You all have your reasons for fighting. They are strong and they make you strong – otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Faith unto zealotry, patriotism unto passion, anger unto wrath… I cannot say.”

Lucky looked sideways to see Crumble giving him an approving look. Normally, he would have been annoyed, feeling condescended to. At the moment, he felt only gratitude.

“Already, our losses have been terrible. But I find myself still compelled. I ask anypony who feels the same to take one step forward.”

Lucky almost jumped back as, all at once, the crowd moved a collective one foot closer to him. Ponies still tangled in their readjusted armor hopped; those injured limped or even crawled if they had to. The entire domed shield shifted forward with them.

Lucky could not help but to flash a small, determined smile.

“The orders are to take the bridge to the north,” he continued. “That’s not what we’re going to do.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“Our drop team is somewhere in the inner city, surrounded on all sides with nowhere to run. Without help, they will surely be decimated. We won’t let that happen. We’re not going to abandon our friends.”

His words prompted many nods of assent.

“The blood of the slain cries out from the ground, and it cries for-”

**********

Revenge.

Celestia gasped. The sound carried through the empty room, echoing a few times before completely diminishing. Her form still lay crumpled on the stone before the shrines. Gently, she stirred and lifted her head. She squinted and blinked in rapid succession. Her vision was surprisingly clear.

I never wanted it.

Quickly, she got to her hooves. An enormous wave of pain crashed through her entire body, hailing from all parts and coming in all forms. Aching, stinging, tearing, bleeding – each sensation seemed to reach the highest possible level of severity it could be without immediately killing her. Celestia felt as though she should have blacked out from the sheer magnitude of it. Instead, she simply chose to ignore it.

There was a huge, sudden bang on the doors of the chapel, but they did not open. She assumed her low, crouching fighting stance and drew one hoof up, deploying a single switchblade.

She extended her wings, and found that she could not push her right wing to its full length. She tried to force it, and a pained yelp escaped her lips as she was rewarded with an extraordinary ache, the worst she had ever felt. It was something on the inside, feeling like a very deep bruise. Drawing it close, she ran her hoof along the edge of the wingbone, and there she felt it. Midway between the base and the tip, her bone was dislocated, bent in the completely wrong direction.

Or rather, I never wanted to want it.

There was another bang at the door. Outside, she could hear the shouts and sounds of an intense conflict.

Celestia scowled, and walked over to a nearby pew. Extending her wing as far as she could, she set it against the back of the seat for leverage and put her hoof near where the dislocation was. All of the first aid lessons she had with Doctor Cross seemed so long ago.

She took a few quick breaths, closed her eyes, and pushed.

There was a straining, creaking sound, followed by a soft, fleshy pop. Her vision filled with stars, and she screamed in agony.

It’s such a selfish thing.

The door shuddered with the force of yet another collision.

For a few seconds, all she could do was stand there and stifle what would be agonized sobbing into teary whimpers. She grasped at her wing with trembling arms, and gagged as waves of nausea overcame her.

Eventually, she was able to release her wing, letting it go but still cautiously hovering over it with shuddering hooves. Gingerly, she tried again to extend it. The pain was incredible, but she pushed through it and stretched her wing as far as it would go. She inched back towards the center of the chapel and assumed a battle stance, leaving a dripping trail of blood wherever she stepped.

In her peripheral vision, she could see her own self. Her coat no longer seemed to even be white, so frequent were her wounds. Some of them had been bandaged. Did she do that herself? Her memory was full of holes.

And yet, when they told me their plans, I…

The doors burst open, and no less than a dozen pegasi in golden armor stormed into the chapel. Riding on their tails were two dozen sinisteeds.

Celestia dove forward, carried swiftly on her injured wings.

One sinisteed she met head on, moving in the exact opposite direction. Her momentum was greater and she had been prepared. The switchblade on her extended hoof caught it directly in the chest, and she pushed it backwards, essentially tackling it to the ground.

Without delay, she spun her entire body and swiped above herself, catching a second flying sinisteed across its unarmored belly. It went sprawling across the chapel, leaving a great red smear on the smooth stone floor.

The offer was tempting, and yet so repulsive. At first, I wanted to say no.

A third landed behind her, occupied with somepony else. She reared her hind legs and bucked it in the head. Its neck snapped forward and it fell limp.

A fourth engaged her specifically. She parried it with ease, and slashed at both of its legs, then its neck. A fifth and sixth met similar fates as they attempted to duel her. A seventh tried to fly elsewhere in the chapel; pursued and downed it easily. An eighth managed to sink its fangs into her upper leg, underneath the chainmail. She hissed in pain. While still in midair, she retracted her wings and simply free-fell to the chapel floor. The sinisteed tried to disengage, but Celestia deliberately held it there with its teeth still sunk until they both crashed into one of the pews below, completely shattering it.

With a mixture of savagery and grace, Celestia moved and flew around the room, aware of nothing but the enemies who attacked her or, barring that, her next target.

The twelfth was simply standing there, with its back turned. The foolish creature had no idea she was there. This would be easy. She retracted her blades, dove towards it with wings outstretched, and tackled it to the ground. Once it was there, she deployed the blade on her right hoof, pulling her arm back for a savage thrust-

“Stop!”

A sudden force pushed her away. Deftly, she rolled with the blow and landed on her hooves, snarling as she recovered with her arm cocked and ready to attack.

Except there were no enemies. Before her stood Lightning Sky.

Her eyes widened, and slowly, she lowered her weapon.

“Lieutenant…”

She looked behind him. The creature she had tackled was not a sinisteed at all – just a black-coated pegasus with a dark mane.

Celestia shook her head. “I… I didn’t…” Her mouth opened and shut in an effort to speak, but no words were coming out. Her hooves trembled. She felt the dizziness coming back to her.

Had the black pegasus been the only one she mistook for an enemy? She looked around, and saw only sinisteeds, dead or dying.

“Watch it,” Lighting said tersely. His voice was raspier than usual.

“Lieutenant!” Another pony came running to his side. “Sir, you shouldn’t be fighting! And… gods have mercy… neither should she…”

Lightning turned towards the soldier. As he did, Celestia saw two black arrows protruding from his side, as well as a multitude of cuts that put him in no better condition than herself.

“No,” he breathed, sounding suddenly very tired. “Go downstairs… see if there’s a doctor. And barricade the doors.” He turned and coughed into his arm. When he drew it back, it was stained with a small spattering of red.

“On it, sir!”

Celestia was slowly backing towards the shrine, shaking her head. Everything was falling apart. It was all becoming chaos.

“What’s the situation at the docks?” somepony shouted. “When do we get these civilians out of here?”

“We’re not.”

“Sir?”

Celestia felt her flank hit the stone of the first altar. She kept on backing up until her whole side was pressed up against it, and then gently let her hooves collapse beneath her, sliding down until she lay on the ground. She was only vaguely aware of somepony helping Lightning Sky towards the back of chapel as well.

“The airships… meant to evacuate the hostages… gone.”

“Gone, sir?”

“Destroyed. The sinisteeds… we loaded the first one to capacity, and then they…” He let out a wet cough. “The ones we escaped from the sky are coming for us. Are those… are those doors barricaded?”

Celestia’s eyes fell closed. Her heart hammered against her chest, and what blood she had left pulsed through her veins in record time. Nevertheless, she felt herself slipping.

“They are. Lieutenant… Lightning… what do we do?”

Slipping, and somepony was calling her name.

“We make a stand.”

Slipping, and somepony was calling her name, but not actually calling for her – she knew it through some sort of context, and all she could think about was just how strange that was.

**********

The dream seemed to last forever.

And why shouldn’t it?

I said it right in front of everypony, right to his face. It was the last thing he heard me say. I regret it so much. At least it was the truth.

“One of us has to survive, you know. To tell Cream.”

Sunflowers always grow facing east. He told me that once. I didn’t believe him, so he grew his own to prove it to me. Turns out, he was right.

“Celestia…? You awake?”

‘It’s because they like to watch the sunrise,’ he said. How naïve.

“Celestia…? Doctor! Somepony get a doctor!”

And then, after he grew them, he would pick them for me whenever we passed through. I don’t even like sunflowers that much. It was so childish. I almost asked him to stop. I’m glad I didn’t.

“No, not me, her! I don’t- No, I don’t care if she’s an alicorn, just do it!”

I couldn’t stand being around him off-duty. Following me around like a lovesick puppy. When I told him to go away, he would – but not for long. Eventually, it was just easier to let him follow, albeit at a distance. Were it not for that talent of his, I would have kicked him out in a heartbeat. Then again, if it were not for that talent of his, I wouldn’t have hated him so much.

We were young, still practically foals.

As time went on, my heart softened, and his hardened. The war robbed him of his hope, made him into a cynic – but whenever he was around me, that same, stupid charm came floating back to the surface, if only a little slower. I don’t know what it was, but I think I felt sorry for him.

Years passed – and it did take years – but I stopped hating him. In fact, eventually, I think I…

There was an enormous pounding at the door. Buzzing, louder than she had ever heard it, drowned out all other noises.

Years passed – and it did take years – but I realized something. He gravitated towards me because I gave him hope. I mean, of course I did. I gave everypony hope. That was my job. But that wasn’t all. I don’t think he knew it, but he gave me hope.

Amidst the horrors of war, in a world that everypony knew was doomed, he… he made growing up fun. Exciting. Something to be proud of. Like a foalhood should be.

And when we were “grown-up”, the march that took us to battle was all the more painful, because we had so much to lose. Because we could lose each other.

All of that is gone, now. Discord took it away.

The offer was tempting, and yet so repulsive. At first, I wanted to say no.

But I didn’t.

They made it sound so easy. Perhaps it was, in the same way suicide is easy.

But I made the right choice!

I told them it was about finding peace. I told myself that, too. I had to tell myself that all the time, even before. That the ponies of Equestria deserved better! They deserved safety! They deserved Harmony!

They deserved Harmony.

I told them that, and one of them had the audacity to tell me that it didn’t matter. Well it did matter! This was my life, and IT MATTERED! Ponies say things like that, and I wonder if they forget who we’re fighting, and the things he’s done!

This war was supposed to be in pursuit of peace. Well it’s not.

Discord doesn’t care about peace. Why should I?

Discord. Hatred.

For what I lost, Discord will pay. I swear he will pay dearly.

**********

“She’s awake!”

Celestia’s eyes snapped wide open. She found herself looking straight at Lightning Sky, who lay on his belly before her, leaning in close to her.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, just hold still for a second!”

She felt somepony just out of her sight tugging at her limbs, wrapping a bandage around one of her hind legs. Eventually, she heard the pony rip a bandage and tie it to a close.

“Can you move? We have to get to the basement!” Lightning struggled to his hooves.

There was another enormous banging sound, and the double door entrance to the chapel rattled with recoil. Every able-bodied pegasus, unicorn, and earth pony put their combined effort into keeping it shut, soldiers and civilians alike.

The door shook yet again, hit by some huge force on the other side. Celestia knew it would not hold for long.

“Quickly! We have to… Celestia?”

There was another bang.

And another.

And another.

“...your eyes…”

The door burst open, throwing the soldiers and civilians that held it closed to either side. An endless black sea teeming with translucent wings and fangs and steel poured through, instantly swallowing those closest to it.

Hatred.

Hatred.

Hatred.

Revenge.

**********

A great conflict raged across a singular front in the city of Manehattan. In the streets, soldiers fought bitterly against Discord’s hordes. The ring of clashing steel sounded without relent, and the air was filled with a great, collective shout, the product of mares and stallions and beasts exerting themselves to the utmost. Any semblance of order had been completely done away with. Unicorns fought alongside earth ponies, who fought alongside the ever mobile pegasi. Enemies of every kind populated the streets in a never-ending horde. An obsidian ocean of sinisteeds stretched back to occupy every visible street, and in the midst of them, minotaurs bellowed, manticores roared, and the occasional hydra shrieked its displeasure as they all waded towards the front.

In the very front and center of the battle lines, a group of soldiers clad in gold were pushing their way towards the innermost part of the city.

Duck.

Lucky Break tilted his head forward as a sinisteed flew overhead, taking a swipe with its hoof-mounted scythe. The very edge of it clipped his helmet, leaving a thin, wiry scratch directly over the top of his head.

He did not dawdle in his recovery. To do so would have meant death. He brought his head up just as the blade of a sinisteed came his way. He parried it and took full advantage of the created opening.

The front was nearing a crossroads as the Equestrian forces pushed the hordes eastward towards the sea. On one corner of the block stood a residential building, inside which some of the soldiers took refuge. They stood at windows on multiple floors, firing arrows and pyrokinetics into the crowd of enemies below, while the pegasi did their best to repel the sinisteeds trying to swarm their position.

“Lucky!”

His ears perked up as he heard a familiar voice. He glanced over the fray to see Apple Crumble wading towards him, pointing down the street and shouting something. Lucky dispatched the opponent he was fighting and momentarily disengaged from the conflict to move towards him.

“What?” he said, pushing through the crowd of soldiers, many of whom were his own.

“Down the street!” Crumble repeated, frantically pointing. “It’s-!”

He was cut off by a tremendous roar. Lucky’s eyes rolled in his head as he looked in the direction of the source.

“Yeah, that!” Crumble shouted.

A hydra, impatient and frustrated at the prospect of having to wait its turn, was stomping down the street and towards the crossroads, crushing its own allies in mindless aggression. Lucky could have sworn at least one pair of its eyes were on him. He drew his sword, and prepared to charge.

Order a withdrawal.

Lucky immediately changed his mind. He sheathed his sword and took a deep breath. “All forces, withdraw!”

His command almost drowned in the riotous sea of noise, but it was audible nonetheless. Little by little, the Equestrian soldiers backed up into the narrow street behind them, though the enemy did not break off, and the slams of the hydras footsteps were getting closer and closer by the second.

In that moment, Lucky heard a large disturbance in the air behind them. He looked back, and sure enough, an armored frigate airship moved heavily through the air, floating just above the buildings and coming to a slow stop above the lane of their street. On the sloping curvature of its hull, fifty-five hatches swung open, and fifty-five cannons were rolled forward to point at the ground. For a few long seconds, the ship hovered unsteadily in the storm, giving the cannoneers time to obtain a lock on their target. They did not have long; the hydra was moments away.

“Hit the dirt!” somepony shouted.

Technically, it was stone – but nopony needed to say it twice. The Maiden’s soldiers either ducked their heads or went into a full-bodied drop, and the cannons fired.

A sudden cacophony of explosions could be heard everywhere in the city as cannonballs and grapeshot flew over the heads of the soldiers, fast unto invisibility. Stone and dirt were flung high into the air as the crossroads practically erupted under the barrage of heated iron.

The ship stayed in place until it was done firing – a process that took less than five seconds – and slowly floated away, circling around while it reloaded. When Lucky looked back up, he saw the carnage of the attack in all its glory. Vast sections of the enemy had been obliterated, and the hydra lay on its front, dead, its body full of holes.

The dust had not even settled before the two sides rushed forward again, fighting over the corpses of the fallen.

Lucky Break was a whirlwind of activity, blocking, dodging, and attacking. His method was brutal and utterly efficient. Aside from simple fighting, he often performed actions that did not always make sense, and sometimes never would make sense; yet, he always came out on top.

Over a lifetime of combat, he had simply become used to following the impulses. What came next, however, was utterly perplexing, even for him.

In the corner of his eye, in the building standing on the northeast corner of the crossroads, a section of the front still held by the enemy, he saw something impossible.

His eyes widened, and he danced away from the frontlines, craning his head above the chaos to get a better look. It could not be! Yet there it was, looking out at him from one of the base floor windows.

A pegasus flew past his line of sight, and though the moment in which it was broken was brief, when he looked back, the impossible thing was gone.

He shook his head. There was no way it had been real. That would be absurd.

But he had to know for sure.

He tightened his jaw around the claymore in his mouth. His eyes narrowed, and through the thin slit in his helmet, he set his gaze on the building across the way, setting a mental marker over the window he had seen it through. His gaze then lowered to the enemies in his path. They were already dead.

Wait.

He waited for a few seconds, rocking quickly back and forth on his hooves.

Wait. Wait.

Go.

Lucky rocketed forward, blowing past his own frontlines and into the wall of sinisteeds. He jumped and twisted his body, crushing the first one he met in a great downwards swipe, then bringing his sword back up to kill the one to his left. He stabbed a third and left the claymore behind, still impaled into its target. After, he simply galloped, pushing through the sinisteeds that were in his way and killing the sinisteeds that stayed in his way. A multitude of attacks slipped through his defense but bounced off of his thick plated armor. It did not phase him; he had a destination.

He became a veritable plow, charging into the enemy lines, so much so that many of the enemies simply elected to remove themselves from his path, rather than risk trying to stop him. Eventually, when he was close enough, Lucky drew the hookshot from his belt and fired it towards a third floor window, leaving him enough clearance to draw himself off the ground and swing towards the first floor window he was aiming for. The spearhead crashed through the glass and caught onto something on the other side, and he swung towards the building, putting his rear hooves forward as he got nearer to the glass.

The window shattered and the pane snapped in four as he bucked through it and simultaneously let go of the hookshot, propelling himself into the building.

He landed and tumbled across the floor, his armor taking the brunt of the damage. Quickly, he got to his hooves and drew his shortsword, preparing for invasion from the same way of entry. Oddly enough, no sinisteed seemed to have seen him enter. Or perhaps they were too scared to pursue him?

He heard a loud chunk come from upstairs, presumably the third floor. Before letting it go, he had activated the withdrawal function on Cotton’s hookshot so he would be able to retrieve it later.

At the moment, it did not matter. Nothing but his search mattered.

Quickly, he drew the curtains on the window he had crashed through without attracting any attention. The rest of them were boarded up; in this building, he was alone.

Lucky brushed himself off, removed his helmet, and looked around. It seemed to be some sort of office. A large counter, possibly a reception desk, preceded two smaller hallways that lead farther back into the building. The whole interior was economically constructed from brick, stone, or wood, preserving a very “traditional” Manehattan feel. The sinisteeds did not seem to have touched the place; Lucky supposed even their army was not big enough to occupy every building.

He stepped forward, and his hoof made one of the floorboards squeal. Everything seemed unnaturally quiet here, despite the literal war occurring not far behind him.

“Hello?” he called. There was no response. Cautiously, he proceeded towards the desk.

“Sheriff Knox…” he muttered aloud, reading a nameplate on the reception desk. So it was a sheriff’s office?

Suddenly, he heard a noise directly behind him. He whirled around to see the tail end of something, or somepony, galloping around the corner, into a separate hallway and out of sight. Lucky’s eyes widened, and he immediately went after them.

“Wait!” he cried, not caring who or what heard him. “Please come back!”

He whirled around the corner the figure had taken, and saw another exit, still swinging back and forth on its hinges. He sprinted forward as fast as his heavy armor would allow and burst into an alleyway on the other side of the conflict, behind enemy lines. Thankfully, no enemies were waiting there for him.

The galloping hoofsteps echoed off the walls, and he caught a glimpse of the elusive pony as it twisted around yet another bend. His heart skipped a beat, for he knew it was indeed a pony. Sinisteed hoofsteps were similar to their own, but had a certain muffled sound to them, a result of their pliable hooves which felt more like rubber than an actual hoof.

“Hey! Stop!” he yelled, galloping forward. His heavy armor and equipment were incredibly loud in the empty alleyways of Manehattan, the plate sliding against itself and his many tools and weapons rapping noisily against the exterior.

He slid around the alleyway, and caught yet another glimpse of the fleeing pony – except this time, it actually seemed to wait for him, stopping and looking back to make sure he was following before taking off around the next turn.

“Please don’t go!” he shouted. Of course, even as he turned the next corner, they vanished out of sight.

For a full minute, though it seemed like much longer, Lucky was led through a veritable maze of alleys until he had lost all orientation and absolutely no idea where he was. Not once, though, did he lose the chase. Corner after corner, he galloped without relent.

It’s impossible, he thought, over and over to himself. It’s not real. There’s no way it’s real.

Finally, the alleys came to an end. The pathway emptied out into a medium-sized courtyard with no entrance or exit but the one Lucky stood at, surrounded on all sides with the red brick of Manehattan residential buildings. There appeared to be an old fire escape on one side, but the staircase at the bottom had collapsed, so unless the pony could fly, which he knew they could not, then escape was impossible.

There stood his quarry with nowhere to go.

The only illumination in the stone courtyard came from the darkened sky, and a shadow was cast from the buildings farthest away from him. The mysterious pony was there, their gaze swiveling left and right as they looked up the structure. Eventually, their head lowered, and they simply stood there. Perhaps they were waiting. Perhaps for him.

Lucky did not move. He dared not.

The half-obscured form of the pony in the darkness was not proof enough, and however fast his heart hammered, however short his breath was, he tried his best to remain skeptical. With an insane hope bursting at the seams of his whole being, he deployed his switchblade, cocked his arm back, and spoke.

“Turn, stranger. And come into the light.”

The pony turned where they – where she stood and walked towards him, out of the shadow of the building.

Lucky felt his heart stop and his blood turn to ice.

If only for a brief instant, the clouds seemed to part and the grey courtyard was lightened by the smallest of degrees. Not that he needed it to see her now. Her mane was a rich amethyst hue, full, flowing, and beautiful; and the fading yellow of her coat was more radiant than he remembered. And those golden eyes… he could swim in them for hours…

His hoof fell unceremoniously to the ground, where he idly retracted the blade. For a long time, Lucky simply stood there and stared; and she was content to let him. His breath became heavy, his mouth was slightly agape, and he wore a confused, disbelieving scowl. Several times, the muscles near his lips twitched as if he was going to speak, but nothing ever came out.

Eventually, he shook his head, lightly and to himself, and spoke the only rational thing he could think to say. It escaped his lips as the feeblest of whispers.

“Daylight?”

She tilted her head, a lock of purple hair gently falling away from her eyes.

“Hello, Lucky Break.”

XXVI: The Stranger

“Impossible.”

Lucky shook his head and took small steps backwards. When he spoke, it came out in a dry whisper.

“This is impossible.”

The mare took a step forward.

Lucky instantly stopped, drew his shortsword and pointed it straight towards her, extended in his hoof.

“Don’t,” he snarled, his voice wavering with emotion.

His face contorted into a grimace. His eyes widened with fear. The hoof with which he brandished the sword was trembling – the movement was reflected twofold in the sword’s tip, which quivered in small, erratic patterns through the air. Raindrops bounced off the steel as they hit, the flat side of it turned towards the sky.

The mare stopped in her tracks, retracting her hoof that had taken the step. She recoiled away, her head shrinking towards her neck, and drew a quiet gasp as though she were shocked. Her eyes were searching his, and he could see the hurt in them – it made his heart ache.

Eventually, she craned her neck low but kept her gaze locked onto his. Cautiously, she took another step forward, then another, and another.

“I said don’t!” Lucky shouted. His voice echoed off the walls of the courtyard, as if to stress their importance.

She did not stop walking towards him. When she spoke again, it seemed to stop the world.

“Lucky… don’t you remember me…?”

Her voice was a pleasant soprano, kindly and light, carrying just the slightest gravel in its tone that only made it all the more perfect.

Lucky’s head tilted and again shook. His whole body trembled, shivering in the rain. Slowly, the scowl he had held onto melted into something much more miserable. He could feel himself on the verge of tears, his anger perhaps being the only thing that held them back.

She came closer. Slowly, as if against his will, his sword arm lowered.

“It’s me,” she said. “It’s Daylight.”

Lucky’s grip on his weapon slipped, and it fell clattering to the ground. His mind had frozen up. He simply did not know what to think.

All the while, she kept approaching. She raised her head a little higher, looking at the shortsword on the ground.

“Is that Strike’s?” she said, eying the clover emblem on the blade. “I didn’t realize you still had it.”

Lucky reflexively found his words, and, without thinking, tried to voice them between his own heavy breaths. “Found it in Ponyville,” he quietly gasped, his eyes still locked onto her. “One month ago. Reforged it.”

As she got closer, Lucky stepped back, matching her pace and keeping a measured distance away.

She looked back at him and stopped so that he did as well. A shadow of concern passed over her face.

“What’s wrong?” she said softly, leaning in towards him.

Lucky could have drowned in the gold of her eyes. Before he had the chance, he shut his own eyes as tightly as he could.

“This isn’t real,” he muttered between heavy, labored breaths. “This can’t be real. An illusion, a hallucination… a- a trick!” He opened his eyes, and looked directly at her. “You’re gone!”

She regarded him with a slight scowl. “I’m right here, Lucky,” she said, stern but not unkind. “Don’t talk like I can’t hear you.”

Lucky just shook his head, his face scrunched tight, his chest heaving in and out.

“Lucky…”

He reopened his eyes to see she had come even closer – within arm’s length. It would have been so easy for him to reach up and touch her; to stroke the side of her cheek with his hoof, to comb through the purple locks of her mane. Another few steps forward and he could have held her in his arms, could have taken her and never let go. She seemed to be waiting for him to do just that.

Lucky instinctively began to back up and turn around.

“Don’t go!” Daylight suddenly said, taking a step forward. “Please.”

He had not moved very much at all before freezing at the sound of her voice. He was not going anywhere. He could not.

Lucky stared at her for a long time, wrestling with indecision and the storm of his own emotions. Eventually, he asked.

“How?”

Daylight gave him a gentle smile. “You didn’t think I would be gone forever, did you?”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” he growled, his face flashing with anger. “That’s what they said would happen! That’s what everypony thought! That’s what you said would happen! And everypony else thinks you’re dead!”

It was too much. His snarl simmered away and his eyes gathered moisture.

“And now you… you’re here, and… and…” He took a few heaving breaths. “Daylight, what am I supposed to think?”

“Think? Why not try being happy?” she suggested. Idly, she picked up Lucky’s shortsword on the ground and walked towards him, regaining the lost ground. “I’m here, Lucky. The magic couldn’t keep me away. I’m just an earth pony, are you asking me to understand how it works?” She shook her head, her flowing mane following in delay with her movements. “About an hour ago, I just... I woke up. I wandered around, I saw you. I understand that you’re scared. I am too. That’s why I ran. But now…” She shook her head, opened her arms, and smiled. “…I guess I’m here, now.”

“But-”

“But what?” she interrupted. “Did you forget how to be happy? You don’t have to be strong right now. Please, Lucky, you’re hurting me.”

Lucky’s lip quivered. He did not cry, but the tears in his eyes refused to stay put. A single one rolled down his cheek and off the side of his face, followed by another. He looked away. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you didn’t,” Daylight whispered. “It’s okay.” She paused, craning her head to try and catch his gaze. “If I come closer, are you going to run away?”

It was a long time before Lucky responded, but Daylight seemed content to wait. Eventually, Lucky shook his head. “No,” he said hoarsely.

He heard a series of soft hoofsteps, ending right in front of him. When he looked up, Daylight was standing right there, his shortsword in her hoof. She smiled, shifted herself partially to one side, and thrust the blade towards him.

“You’re going to want to keep this,” she murmured, sliding the sword into its sheath at his side.

Lucky felt the pressure of it as the hilt hit the end of the sheath.

It was real. His body shifted with the weight of it. As her head passed his own, he could smell the pleasant musk of her fur, and a few stray hairs brushed past his face as she drew back.

She was even closer than before, well within touching distance. Their faces were only inches apart. Lucky stared at her with wide eyes, and she smiled back.

It was truly her.

He rushed forward, and met Daylight in a loving embrace.

“It’s you,” Lucky sobbed, pressing himself into her shoulder, his composure completely shattered. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you… Daylight, you’re here…”

She hugged him back just as fully, wrapping her arms around him and holding her head just a little higher that his own. More than a simple embrace, she cradled him like a child.

Lucky felt her nod, her head rested over the top of his neck. “I’m here,” she cooed. “I’m here.”

He cried even harder, until his cheeks glistened with tears. “I missed you… I missed you so much…”

Daylight merely shushed him, and held on tighter.

Lucky wished his armor were gone. As he was, he did not imagine hugging him must have been very comfortable, or clean. Nevertheless, there was nowhere in the world he wanted to be more than here, and he did not dare let go for even a moment.

And there would be time later! He thought about the future, and suddenly, it appeared so much brighter.

He wept with joy, his shoulders heaving as he released a whole tempest of emotion that had brewed within him since the first day she had left him. He would have been loathe to let any of his soldiers see him like this; even Apple Crumble, his finest friend, who knew many of the details of his plight, would have been surprised to see him in such a state. But here, he did not care. He cried for sorrow, for joy, for redemption, for no reason at all, and all the while, Daylight simply let him, patting his back and muttering simple assurances. He cried until he could no longer, and even after then, he refused to let go.

“Just don’t ever leave me,” Lucky finally whispered, nuzzling into her neck. “Not again.”

“I won’t leave,” she softly repeated, running her hoof over his mane from the top of his head down to the nape of his neck. He shuddered at the simple pleasure of it. “We can be together.”

Lucky paused, taking a few dry, tearless gasps. His head shifted upwards. “Together?”

“Mm-hmm.” Daylight nodded. “Away from all this. We’ll go somewhere quiet, somewhere peaceful, and it’ll be just you and me.”

“Just you and me…” Lucky muttered. “And nopony else?”

Daylight lightly kissed the top of his head, just behind his ripped ear. “Just us.”

“Oh…” Lucky lowered his head again. “That would be nice…”

A minute passed, and eventually, Lucky drew away from Daylight. During their embrace, they had fallen to sit on their haunches, and though they were no longer in each other’s arms, their hooves were touching on the ground and their bodies were very close. In the drizzling rain, the heat of her body felt so very comfortable. Lucky had not realized how cold he had been beneath his golden armor.

He frowned, looked away, and shivered.

“What’s wrong?” Daylight asked, tilting her head and frowning.

“Nothing, it’s just…” Lucky trailed off. He took a moment to rub the last of the tears away, and then looked back into her gold eyes. “Daylight, do you love me?”

She let out a soft chuckle that sent pangs of longing through Lucky’s heart.

“I… that’s… uh, pretty direct, don’t you think?” she said, flashing him a goofy smile. It faded as she saw the unchanging, unhappy, expectant frown on his face. She responded with a brief scowl of her own, peering deep into eyes, which were still bloodshot with emotion. Eventually, she put her hoof to his cheek, closing her eyes and drawing their lips closer together.

At the last moment, Lucky gently pulled his head away from her grasp and gazed at the ground beside them, casting an almost guilty expression.

“Hey,” Daylight gently murmured, grasping his shoulders with both hooves. “You don’t even have to ask. Of course I love you, Lucky Break.”

For a while, he was still. Then slowly, he nodded, and without a word, he slipped his arms around her again, pulling her close into another embrace. Daylight hummed with contentment as he did. He held her for a long time before speaking.

“You want to know something?” Lucky quietly said, muttering into her ear.

“What’s that?” Daylight whispered.

Lucky wrapped his arms even tighter, savoring every moment and every sensation as though it were his last. After a long while, they loosened. He brought his lips back to her ear, drawing a shallow breath.

He was not all out of tears, it seemed. One last drop rolled down his cheek, fell away from his jaw, and silently splashed onto the ground below.

“I always wanted to hear you say that.”

For a moment, there was silence.

It was broken with a soft series of metal clicks as gears shifted, levers released, and a swift metal blade came singing out of its mechanical sheath. The subtle song of steel graced the air. Lucky’s whole body seemed to jolt violently forward, and the ring and all its accompanying noises came to an abrupt end.

Daylight’s eyes widened, and she gave a pained gasp. Her arms fell limply away from Lucky’s back, and her body fell partially away from him. He still steadied her in his own embrace. Her head rolled wearily on her shoulders, but she was able to look down, and saw Lucky’s hoof hovering over her chest, a blade protruding from his gauntlet and extending between her ribs.

A few drops of blood trickled away from the wound.

Daylight let out what was halfway between a cough and a gasp, wearing an expression of pure shock. Lucky withdrew the blade from her chest and let it retract into its sheath, simultaneously sliding around Daylight’s body and catching her falling form in his arms, slowly lowering her to the ground. She sputtered and coughed, taking deep, ineffectual breaths as a line of crimson slowly dribbled down her cheek.

“W-why?” she gasped, eyes wide and staring straight at him.

His eyes were still red and swollen from crying, but his face was a hard mask of anguish and genuine hatred.

“Because,” he quietly growled. “This is impossible.”

Daylight took shallow, gasping breaths. Lucky knew she was not long for this world; before she left, however, a sly smirk appeared on her trembling lips.

“Y-you’re pathetic…”

The light left her eyes, and Lucky heard her let out one last throaty chuckle before falling still.

Blood was still pouring from the wound, mixing with the rain and staining her beautiful sunny coat. He did not want to look at it anymore. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself away from her and to a stand, pausing only to run his hooves over her eyes to close them. Then, he turned and walked away from Daylight’s body, heading towards the center of the courtyard.

Lucky gazed up at the roof of the surrounding buildings, his eyes passing carefully over the whole area. Eventually, he took another few steps forward, spread his arms wide, and shouted.

“Are we having fun yet?”

The reply came faster than he expected. Grotesque laughter filled the air.

“Ha! Haha! Ahahahaha! This guy gets it!”

He whirled around to see a purple-maned, yellow-coated mare standing on the roof, opposite of the side where he was looking. She had Daylight’s form, but did not speak with her voice – nor act with her soul.

Lucky scowled. This thing was not Daylight.

“Oh brother,” it said, an ill-fitting masculine voice being projected from her mouth. A huge grin was painted on her face, and she was doubled over in chortling laughter, pointing at him with an outstretched hoof.

“You should have seen the look on your face! Price-”

Her sentence was cut off very suddenly as a throwing knife landed firmly in her throat. Her eyes went wide, and she wobbled back and forth in place until eventually she collapsed under her own weight and fell off the roof. With a meaty thud, her body landed on the stone below, close to where Lucky had left the other body. Two perfectly identical corpses now lay dead in the courtyard.

“Okay, now be honest.”

Lucky spun again in the opposite direction. Daylight again stood on the top of the roof, slowly sauntering up to the edge.

“How did you kn-”

“Ghraaah!”

Lucky loosed a furious growl and a second knife, which landed squarely in Daylight’s jaw. She crumpled onto the roof, one hoof dangling limply off the side.

“Honestly?” the voice said, coming yet another side of the roof. “Let’s try and act like grown-ups, shall we? Whoops!” Daylight ducked as a throwing knife passed over her head. She looked at it as it sailed far beyond her.

“You know, you’re eventually going to run out of knives. What then?” She looked back, just in time to see a flash of bright steel headed straight for her eye.

Lucky watched another one of Daylight’s bodies fall to the courtyard. He was red in the face, and breathing heavier than he ever had been.

“Then I’ll throw my swords!” he shouted to the open air. “Then I’ll throw my switchblades! Then I’ll throw my helmet and each piece of my armor, then I’ll kick the whole damned building to pieces!”

An amused, disembodied laugh came from everywhere and nowhere. Lucky spun in all directions, looking for the source.

“You know, I’ve become quite used to the bravado of soldiers by now,” the voice said. “I used to think it was funny, but it eventually just got tiresome. There are only so many things a pony can threaten to do, you know? But you…” There were a few more eerie chuckles. “You put a fun little spin on things, don’t you? Because you can actually follow through. You could kick this building to pieces, given the time!”

“Discord!” Lucky shouted into the sky. “Show yourself!”

The voice was finally given a concrete location.

“Though I suppose that’s an appropriate threat for the one they call ‘the Breaker’.”

He wheeled around to see Discord casting him a smug grin on the other side of the courtyard, this time on the ground. He was still wearing Daylight’s form. Lucky drew his sword and rushed towards her, wild bloodlust in his eyes.

Without warning, Discord’s expression radically changed. The infuriating smile dissipated in an instant, replaced by an expression of utter horror, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Lucky stop!”

It was in Daylight’s voice.

He was already mid-swing when she said it, but his reaction was immediate. His arm drastically slowed and readjusted, so that instead of hitting Daylight, the sword clanged against the wall beside her. The force, and sudden change in direction, made Lucky’s grip on the sword slip away, and he was forced to drop it as he recovered.

Daylight’s whole body was cringed, her face drawn into a tight grimace as she prepared for the worst. One arm had been thrown above her head as last minute protection. Slowly, as the reverberating clang faded away, she raised her head and lowered her hoof. Her lip quivered as she gazed fearfully at Lucky, who stared back with a whole conflicting range of emotions.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a quivering voice, sounding exactly like she should have. “Don’t you know me?”

Lucky blinked and scowled. “I-”

He was cut off as an incredible force met his jaw, picking him up off his hooves and throwing him across the courtyard. His vision burst with stars as he landed heavily on the stone, stirring on the ground for a moment before clumsily attempting to get back to his hooves.

“Pow! Right in the kisser! Hope you weren’t biting your tongue, Lucky boy!” The voice was Discord’s again, its tone jovial and celebratory. “Speaking of kisser, how’d ya like my Daylight impression, huh? Pretty good, right?”

Lucky swayed in place, taking steps to the left and right while he regained his balance. “You… monster…”

Discord, in Daylight’s form, simply shrugged. “Eh. Hey, while you’re still staggering around and not trying to kill me, again, I gotta ask – and answer honestly! – how did you know it was fake?”

“Too perfect…” Lucky mumbled in slurred speech. “Was a fantasy. She would have never…”

Discord’s grin grew twice as large. “She would have never… go on?”

Lucky finally steadied himself, and shot him a furious scowl. “She would have never abandoned the war just to be with me! She would have never left her friends!”

“Ahhh, details, details.” Discord bobbed his head back and forth. “I’m surprised that’s what you’re hung up on, old colt. I mean, she did that already anyways, right?”

Lucky bared his teeth, utter hatred seething from his very being. “Shut up!”

“So you knew it was a fantasy!” Discord shouted, ignoring him. “A pity, but I guess I should have expected. You’re a cynic to the end, Lucky ol’ pal. That’s how you wanted her to act, but you knew she never would, eh? So sad. And so touching! Really, that was quite the tear jerker back there.” He motioned to one of Daylight’s corpses. “Or… there. Which one was the first, again?”

“You monster, shut up!”

He shrugged, and continued. “You know some ponies wouldn’t mind a slight divorce from reality every now and again. That’s how possessions happen, or ‘profanities’, as you like to call them. But oh no, not you. You just lo-oooove the bitter truth. So much so, you see through illusions. And for that, I tip my hat to you, sir. Or I would, if I had one. I could moon you, instead?”

“Shut up!”

Lucky charged forward yet again, this time on his full guard, determined to annihilate the mockery of nature before him. Discord, still in Daylight’s form, picked up the sword, looked at it, and grinned. Quickly, he turned towards him, and spoke again.

“Take it easy on me, okay Rummy?” Daylight said.

Lucky immediately misstepped and faltered. It was her voice again.

It was fake, and he knew it, but as he attempted to recover and make the final lunge to attack him with the switchblades, he felt a certain something.

He felt like twisting mid-air, and landing flat on his back.

So he did.

“Oof!” Lucky grunted as he hit the stone, blades still awkwardly deployed on his hooves. He retracted them, and just in time, he rolled his hooves, bringing up his gauntlet to block Daylight’s swift sword strike. It rang as it bounced off the metal of his gauntlet.

She continued the attack. She was fierce, relentless, and worst of all, she sounded exactly like herself. Her breathing, her grunts, her pants – it was all Daylight. It was as if she was the one attacking him. She was the one attacking him.

“No!” Lucky shouted.

He used an opening to swipe at Daylight with extended switchblades, and caught her across the belly. She screamed in pain – it sounded just like her – and doubled over, clutching at her stomach. A second later, he descended upon her, punching into her throat and ending her misery.

He pushed himself away from the fourth corpse of Daylight to litter the ground, feeling inexplicably horrible on the inside.

All of that, he had done without a single prompting of Tyche. In fact, he had gone against her wishes; everything he had just done was the exact opposite of what he felt like doing.

But it was a lie!

His head twitched to the side, and his eyes briefly fluttered.

“Lucky?” Daylight called, trotting cautiously towards him. “Are you okay?”

Put your weapons down, and surrender.

“Get back!” Lucky cried, swiping both hooves at her. “You, are not, her!” She jumped away from him, snarled, and slowly began circling around. Lucky followed suit.

“I meant it, you know,” Daylight said. “We could have been together.”

“You’re ridiculous!” he shouted. “I am not going to run away with an illusion!”

Discord’s voice again took hold, and he cackled with insane glee. “But it’s true!” he cried. “Granted, you may have had to settle for the chrysalis honeymoon suite, but at least you’d be happy.”

“Happy, trapped in a cocoon?” Lucky spat. “Hardly.”

“You don’t think so?” Discord tilted his head, and grinned. “How do you think I was able to lure you here? To make you believe that this was actually happening?” He smiled, chuckles intermittently escaping through his lips. “Heh, heheh, and don’t pretend you didn’t believe. ‘You’re here, Daylight, you’re here!’”

He put his hooves up and danced in place, putting on a mock voice that sounded nothing like him. “Haha! You were melting like putty!”

Lucky scowled, taking a step forward and brandishing his blade.

He gave a contented sigh. “Point is, magic and hormones work splendidly together. You would feel whatever I wanted you to feel, Lucky Break.” He hissed his words through bared teeth. A slow, serpentine smile formed on his lips. “And I’m sure we would let you out to play every once in a while…”

“…because I love you so much,” finished Daylight.

With a furious battle cry, Lucky dashed forward.

Punch left. Miss.

Lucky punched right, and still missed. Then he punched left, again with no success. His ear twitched.

Stand still. Look directly up.

Out of reflex, he did both of those things. Looking up, he found there was nothing to see but the stormy sky above – and a second later, a huge force connected with his middle. Daylight had turned around and bucked him square in the chest, sending him sprawling off balance to the ground.

Discord spoke again before Lucky had finished crashing. “That’s right, Lucky boy!” he laughed. “Your little talent isn’t as useful as you thought it was! I found the loophole! Or rather…”

“I found the loophole,” Daylight said. “It’s so easy to exploit, too.” She giggled – it sounded so innocent, and so beautiful.

Lucky lay clutching at his side on the ground. Even through his armor, the kick had been enough to knock all the wind out of him. Even if it was a trick, Lucky had to concede: Discord had gotten her strength right.

“C’mon, Lucky, get up!” Daylight said, her tone lilting and playful. She trotted past him while he was still on the ground, deliberately brushing her tail on his face as he passed. “What will the others say if you’re beat by a filly?”

Lucky’s eyes suddenly opened, and he pushed off the ground, twisting on his back and flinging himself to his hooves, diagonally swiping with both switchblades as he landed.

Use too much force. Miss. Be staggered.

Both of the attacks missed – and he had made them miss.

Daylight caught one of his hooves after it had missed her and danced around Lucky, twisting his arm as she positioned herself behind him. Lucky felt a sharp pain in his joint, and he was thrown off balance as Daylight jumped on top of him, pinning his arm painfully behind his back. He wobbled and fell over.

“Say uncle!” Discord said, insanely laughing. “Say uncle!”

Lucky mumbled something unintelligible, his mouth pressed hard against the stone.

“What was that?” Discord said, perking his ear up and leaning in.

He turned his head. “…Basta- arrrggh!”

Lucky felt his arm twist even further back, his armor creaking and groaning as his shoulder bent in a direction it was never meant to.

Discord threw his head up and gleefully cackled at his pain. “Ahahaha! Does that hurt, Commander? Well, you know what they say! What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! Or crippled!” Discord pushed even harder on Lucky’s arm, leaning in close with his ear perked up to hear his victim’s scream in full volume.

“Ha! I can’t believe I didn’t try this sooner!” Discord shouted with triumph, pressing his own body closer to Lucky’s and knocking away his other hoof as he tried to push himself up. “And it was so simple, too! It’s a good thing you never truly gave up on Daylight, though, or this never would have worked. You and your silly little priorities.”

Suddenly, Lucky gained some leverage on the ground beneath him and pushed off, bucking Discord’s form off his back while simultaneously righting himself to his hooves. Before Discord had even reached the ground, Lucky twisted and punched, catching him midair and slamming him to the ground, a switchblade planted firmly in his stomach.

He gave a few wet, bloody cackles before dying. It was the fifth corpse to be littered on the ground. They all still looked like Daylight.

“Because really, if you think about it,” Discord’s voice said, coming from the entrance of the courtyard, “playing with ponies’ priorities is my number one talent!”

He still looked like her. Lucky shouted, and charged towards him.

“Your number one priority, a priority you assigned yourself, I might add, was to protect this mare, fulfill her wi- hurggh!”

Lucky stabbed him in the throat. He had put up no resistance, and simply fell to the ground as he lost the ability to breathe.

Lucky’s head twitched sideways.

There was a loud thud on the concrete behind him. He whirled around to see yet another puppet of Discord.

“Fulfill her wishes, and make her happy. How loyal. And how romantic! Anything Daylight wished instantly became your new priority – and eventually she didn’t h- haggghh!”

Lucky killed it, too. His whole body jumped in agitation. Another one appeared.

“Eventually, she didn’t even have to say it to you. Somehow, you subconsciously knew what she subconsciously wanted. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard?” Discord put his hooves up to his cheeks and shook his head, cooing at him.

Lucky drew back both his front hooves and lashed forward, swiping in both directions. Daylight’s head landed a few feet away, leaving an arc of blood as it rolled.

“The point is…”

Lucky’s eyes widened. He whirled around to see countless forms emerging into the courtyard, jumping off of the rooftop and walking slowly from the entrance. All of them were Daylight. The one in front of the group spoke for them all, still in Discord’s voice.

“…if she ever wanted to win a duel against you, she would. Always.”

Acting on an unspoken cue, all of the puppets stopped in place, and stared at him.

Lucky was backed up to the inner wall. A whole half of the courtyard was crowded with them, pushing him back until he felt like a cornered rat, standing between him and the only exit. His breath was heavy. His expression was no longer angry, but rather hysteric and horrified. His gaze swiveled back and forth across the small gap they had left him. There were so many! At least fifty, perhaps more. And every single one of them stared at him with those shining golden eyes, framed by that beautiful purple mane. Every single one of them was her.

And he would have to kill them. Every single one.

He slammed his helmet back on, and shut the facemask to hide his trepidation.

“You were always happy to oblige, even if you didn’t mean to.”

Lucky’s panting had grown even heavier, interspersed with light, pitiable whimpers. The Daylight leading them took a step forward, tilted her head, and spoke in her own voice.

“You still love me, don’t you?”

Then, they all rushed forward. Lucky brandished his weapons, and readied himself for them.

Lower your weapons. Cower.

He jumped to meet them, head-on.

His attack was completely out of form, as if the whole of his accumulated skills as a soldier had been suddenly forgotten. In the heat of battle, in the horrors of war, it happened from time to time – but not to soldiers of the Maiden’s Battalion. Not to Lucky.

His first attack connected, and not because of any skill or prompting borne of Luck. Rather, it was actual, simple, everyday luck.

He was subsequently bucked in the head, jaw, stomach, and flank.

Lucky was armored, and they were not. He had weapons, and they did not. Were it not so, he would have been beaten to death in the first few seconds. Bangs and clangs sounded incessantly as his armor was constantly beat with the hooves of Daylight…

He lashed out with one of his hooves. His attack connected with the underside of Daylight’s jawline, and felled her immediately. She attacked him from the other side in retaliation.

“You completely forgot about your soldiers, Lucky!” she said. “You should know better!”

Take off your helmet. Remove your armor.

He punched at Daylight’s ribs, only to be interrupted as she punched him back from the left, right, and behind.

“You forgot about the drop team in the center of the city!” Daylight screamed in accusation.

Withdraw your switchblades. Give them to Daylight.

Lucky found the opportunity to lash out again, clipping Daylight’s ear and lopping the end of it off, just like his own. His victory was not meaningful, nor did it last very long before the favor was returned tenfold.

“You forgot about Celestia! She will die because of you!”

Lucky’s heart skipped a beat. She was right. Celestia was still out there.

Save her.

Just surrender.

Save her!

Give up.

Save her!!

Suddenly, he became a whirlwind of activity.

Dodge right. Block left. Bucking kick. Next.

Dodge right. Let yourself be hit. Stab for the throat. Next.

Throw knife. Miss. Throw knife. Next.

Swing left. Dodge roll. Trip. Get up, dodge. Swing right. Next.

Lucky’s form was a blur of unpredictable, senseless action. The brutality of his method had not been lessened, but its efficiency would leave any onlooker puzzling, the fantastic situation aside. Alongside strokes and movements of masterful poise and lethality came fumbles and blunders so outstanding they almost appeared to be purposeful. Nevertheless, the number of Discord’s puppets were quickly dwindling.

“Stop it, Lucky!”

Save her! Shoulder tackle. Attack while down. Next.

“Why are you doing this?”

Parry. Riposte. Flourish into diagonal swipe. Next, next.

“You’re hurting me!”

Give up. Lose balance. Stumble.

“Stop! Please!”

Fail to block. Remain still, get grabbed. Allow helmet to be ripped off.

“Don’t you lo-”

“I’m sorry!” Lucky cried.

Thrust. Next.

Thrust. Next.

Swipe. Next.

He tried to become a machine. Remain detached, retain control. Emotion had gotten him into this mess, made him lose sight of his priorities.

And yet, as he killed her, over and over and over again, he could feel the horrible reality of his actions – even if he knew it was not the reality. He could not help it. Every time she died was another reminder. Every time she screamed, it was an echo of the past. It sounded just like the screams from Canterbury.

Lucky was not detached in the slightest. He felt the tears streaming down his face as he stumbled and fought and killed his dearest friend.

Thrust right!

He did, catching Daylight in the throat. She looked directly into his eyes, and he into hers, seeing the light of life flee her sight as she dropped dead onto the stone.

Lucky pulled the switchblade from her throat, and attempted to draw it back into its sheath. It went halfway and then became stuck, the internal gears grinding on something. Without hesitation, he ripped the gauntlet off of his hoof and threw it across the courtyard. His other switchblade had done the same thing, now leaving him weaponless.

Not that it mattered. His instinct had fallen quiet. They were all dead.

He looked around. The puppets lay everywhere in the courtyard, lifeless and still bleeding. She lay dead all around him. What had once been a simple, stone courtyard – likely some sort of sports court for the foals – now appeared to be a single mass grave. The rainwater licked at their mortal wounds, washing the blood down the nearest slope, which happened to run out of the entrance, lapping at the base of Lucky’s already bloodied hooves. The red water was probably cleaner than the stallion himself.

Daylight was dead. She was dead so many times over. And it was all his fault.

Lucky heard a set of hoofsteps behind him. He whirled around to see one more approaching, and put himself into a battle stance. He had broken his weapons, but he knew he could win.

She stopped a few yards away from him. Her expression was one of peace, if not depression, or melancholy. Her head was craned low and she carried herself calmly, as if resigned to her fate. Dark circles formed around her eyes, her body seemed to sag with exhaustion, and even the colors of her coat and mane appeared less vibrant.

Lucky drew a sharp breath as she spoke.

“I’m so tired of fighting, Lucky,” she said. Slowly, she raised her head and looked up at him. “Just kill me.”

Lucky just stood there, looking back at her. The last time he had seen her, she had given him that exact same look. So tired, so sad. So ready to sacrifice herself. Ready to… to get it all over with.

He had no weapons, but he did not need them, and his Luck told him only one thing.

Kill her.

Lucky blinked through his tears, and stared for a second more. And then he shouted. It was not aggressive, or ferocious, or violent, or even very intimidating. It was a simple cry of desperation, beginning low and gaining in volume and emotion until it was a bitter plea. The sound implied no specific relief or desire, but it would have been recognizable in even the most beastly of animals. He cried for the pain to stop.

His cry echoed long after he had stopped. After the noise was done bouncing off the walls, he leapt forward with outstretched hooves, catching Daylight by the throat.

She gagged as he locked his arms around her neck, struggling in his grasp as he crushed her windpipe with inescapable brutality. Lucky moved only in the slightest of motions as her hooves flailed on the ground below, eventually only being forced to bring her to her side as she lost the strength to stand.

Her gasps came out less and less frequently. Her hooves writhed about with less strength until her struggle was no more. Finally, she lost consciousness, and a small while after that, she lost her life. Lucky let go of her, and backed away.

Daylight was dead, again.

Lucky heard the ring of a sword sound just behind him. Slowly, lifelessly, he turned around, and saw one last Daylight pointing his own shortsword straight towards his throat. Instead of attacking, she seemed to be waiting for him to act.

He did not move a muscle.

He half expected his Luck to prompt him to defend himself. But it did not, and he did not want it to. His teary gaze was glassed over as he peered emptily at Daylight’s hooves, his mind’s eye replaying the fifty-seven deaths he had witnessed of his dearest friend in the world. Fifty-six of them had happened within the space of a few minutes, here in the stone maze of Manehattan. One of them had happened five months ago, in the town of Trotterdam. Every single one of them been his fault.

Tyche had fallen silent, for Lucky had eschewed all his priorities. Nothing mattered anymore.

Lucky wanted to die.

He fell back onto his haunches, and did nothing more.

Daylight smirked.

“Did you know I profaned Daylight, once?” Discord said lightheartedly, sneering at him.

He waited for Lucky to respond, to even react. If he had heard Discord’s voice at all, he made no indication of it.

“It’s true!” he continued. “And it was incredible! She actually had the strength of will to fight it and expel me. Do you know how many ponies have been able to do that? I can count the number on my claws!” He paused, bringing a hoof up to his eyes. “If I had my claws.”

Lucky’s eyes were half-lidded, and he glanced at the steel held at his throat.

“Of course, before that happened, I had full access to all her dirty little secrets. Which is what gave me this idea, incidentally. She knew she could control you!” He flashed a mischievous grin that stretched from cheek to cheek. “Haha! I’m almost disappointed she never abused that power. That could have led to some interesting situations, don’t you think?”

Lucky made no response, and Discord grinned even wider.

“Did you know she loved you too? I know she never told you. If I were a betting pony… chaos demon… thing, I would say you had no idea.” He chuckled. “And it’s funny… that was her deepest, darkest secret of all.”

Lucky’s eyes slowly wandered up to meet his. He wore a slight, questioning scowl, not quite on the verge of caring, but curious still.

“Awww,” Discord mocked in a sing-song voice. “Look at poor little Lucky. I’ll bet I could profane you right now, too.” He shrugged. “I think you’d be more useful dead.”

In the distance, amidst the cacophony of battle, far over the distant shouts, cannonfire, and thunder, Lucky heard an enormous explosion. Without even looking in the direction of its origin, he saw the light from the blast, whatever its cause; it lit up the mountainous banks of clouds above and the whole city below, setting a burning red glow to everything in sight. A tremor ran through the ground as well, shaking his body with a force the strength of which Lucky had never felt before. Seconds later, a hot wind coming from the east blew past his chilled, soaked fur.

It all faded as quickly as it had come. Discord looked off into the direction it had come from, a slow, crooked smile forming on his lips.

“Disappointing,” he said, though he did not look or sound disappointed at all. “You made me miss the fireworks, Lucky Break.” He laughed at his own joke, his horrible guffaws pleasant as claws on a blackboard.

“Well… heh heh… maybe they’ll have an encore. In any case, my time is spent. Toodles!”

Discord looked back to him and drew back the steel, preparing to plunge it through his neck. Lucky swallowed, closed his eyes, and waited for it. He deserved this.

Bang!

A blinding purple light filled his closed eyes, followed by another series of cracks and pops, like repeated lightning strikes hitting in the exact same spot.

“Oh! How nice of you to join us-”

“Demon! To the abyss with you!”

With one last incredible burst of sound and force, Lucky felt himself being picked up off the ground and thrown to his side, far from his original place. He heard a savage, animalistic growl, the straining grunts of an elderly mare, a whoosh and a pop, and then nothing.

Lucky wondered if, in some strange, unforeseen fashion, he had indeed just died. His ears were buzzing with a high-pitched swan song, and his eyes only saw a blur of washed-out colors. What a strange place the afterlife was.

“Lucky Break!”

He blinked. Somepony had called his name, and he knew who it was. But she could not possibly be here too…

“Get up! Now is no time for dying!”

He felt somepony tugging at his hooves. Gently, he left the ground and was lifted to his hooves, completely independent of his own effort and will. He hovered there, his weight equally distributed throughout the whole surface of his body.

Telekinesis, he realized.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

“Good, you’re awake,” Clover the Clever said, peering in close to his eyes. “And healthy, too. Excellent.” She released him from telekinesis and looked up to the sky, facing eastward. “We must away. Ponies need our help. Celestia is…”

She trailed off as he caught the corner of her eye. Instead of standing on his hooves, Lucky had merely landed and then sunk into a lying position, his belly pressed against the wet stone. His gaze was planted firmly on a corpse that lay before him, one of the many that were scattered around the courtyard.

“Lucky!” Clover cried, walking towards him as fast as her gait would allow. “Are you blind? Do you not see the-”

“I killed her.”

“-explosions in the…” Clover stopped, and tilted her head. Adopting a scowl, she leaned in and raised her ear. “What?”

“I killed her,” Lucky repeated.

The mage looked all around the courtyard, eyebrow raised. “Killed who?”

“Daylight.”

Clover looked back at him, and frowned. “What are you…?” She trailed off as she saw the expression on his face. He wore a mask of apathy that seemed to be failing by the minute, betraying a horrible despair beneath. In the rain it was hard to tell, but his eyes might have been bloodshot and swollen. A spark seemed to jump between her eyes as a sudden realization dawned on her.

“They learned how to transform.”

Lucky’s eyes hardened, and he looked away. “He was possessing them somehow.”

“Does he know about… about our friend?” Clover hurriedly asked, her tone hushed to a whisper. “Did he learn it from him? Did he say anything about him?”

Lucky shrugged, and shook his head.

“And he transformed into…”

She glanced all around the courtyard, where laid the black and bloodied corpses of dozens of sinisteeds. Before she had arrived, each one of them had appeared to be… and Lucky had been forced to…

Her gaze softened, and she inched closer to him. “Oh, child…”

“Don’t,” he said harshly. “I know it wasn’t real. I thank you for the aid, but I just… I just… I need to be alone right now.”

“Alone?” Clover backed up a small ways. “Commander Break, we don’t have time for that.”

Lucky laid his chin flat on the stone. “I do.”

Clover scowled. “No, you don’t. What about the battle?”

“What about the battle?”

“Ponies continue to fight and die!” Clover said, stomping a hoof. “The Maiden’s Battalion persists! They would have their Commander by their side!”

“Let Crumble do the job.” Lucky’s tone was completely flat. “Or somepony else. I don’t care.”

“What is wrong with you?” Clover asked reproachfully. “Are you this easily broken? Are you willing to throw it all away just because-”

Lucky was suddenly on his hooves, facing the Master-Adept.

“I did not throw it away!” he shouted, his face twisted into a mask of fury. “It was taken from me! My family was massacred! Friends have been murdered, countless times, before my own eyes! And Daylight-!”

He seemed to choke on something. He stopped, swallowed, and continued. “I have spent my whole life fighting, and for what? This?” He spread his arms out wide around him, motioning to the bloody massacre. “This struggle is pointless. It has only brought me pain, and any pleasure I have had the fortune to taste has only ended so much the bitterer. So I’m done.” He walked towards the exit of the courtyard, speaking over his shoulder as he went. “Let the chaos consume me. It has earned its victory.”

Clover’s eyes widened, her whole expression a mask of surprised anger. “Coward!” she yelled. “Come back and finish what you started! Daylight would not approve!”

None of it seemed to phase him. He was almost out of the courtyard, and out of sight.

“What of Celestia?” she called. “She has turned!”

He stopped, and slowly looked back over his shoulder. “She what?”

“It is as we feared,” Clover said. Her horn briefly glowed, and in a quick flash of sparks, she teleported to his side. “She has embraced her nightmare.”

As if on cue, a massive, fire-colored explosion happened in the east, looking and feeling similar to the one he saw before, shaking the ground and casting orange light on the whole city.

“Is that…?”

“Her, yes,” Clover finished.

Lucky looked down. “And you want me to kill her as well.”

“Lucky,” she murmured. “I want you to save her.”

He instantly looked back up at her. Inside his heart, something stirred. Something very much like instinct, like desire. Something very much like the inspiration of a goddess.

Save her.

XXVIII: Ashes to Ashes

The nightmare seemed to last forever.

Reality was a riot of color and sound. Violently it turned in all directions, crimson reds and billowing blacks, blending and settling and blending again. Sometimes the colors seemed to bend around phantom shapes, like water breaking upon a rock in the rapids, giving form to the ghosts of images that may or may not have been real.

At length, the ghosts began to appear more frequently. Images became clearer, sounds became more distinct, and a scene began to unfold. Flickering firelight cast on a stone wall. Smoke, lazily accumulating where it would. Heat, pulsing through the place like the heartbeat of a monster. Ponies, running this way and that. A single young filly, standing alone in a burning room.

Without warning, reality itself seemed to crack like a whip. Sounds became clear, images became sharp, and though it did not cease to be a nightmare, everything became horribly real.

Rose Lily screamed as the world around her fell apart.

“Watch out!”

Her eyes were shut as tight as could be; she was not watching for anything. Her high-pitched scream came to an abrupt stop, and she gasped as a pair of strong hooves slammed into her side and shoved her violently to the ground. She tumbled across the hard stone floor a small ways before coming to a stop, the weight of another pony crushing her body. Immediately after, the sound of a snapping wooden beam pierced the air, and a terrible crash came from where she had just been standing. She drew a sharp breath as the pony that had tackled her quickly relieved her of his weight.

Her eyes snapped open in shock. Sensations leapt at her from all directions. Her head was spinning. The world was a dizzying mess of vertigo. She could not breathe. It was awful.

Her mind struggled to grasp what was happening around her, but the fear made it hard to think. Never in her life had she been so afraid, not even when Manehattan had been overrun by those terrible monsters. Her mother and father had done their best to protect her then. But this… this was happening to her, and it was inescapable.

The church basement had seemed so safe when they first entered. Despite its dark, gloomy atmosphere, everypony had been so excited. The unusually spacious interior and multiple rooms meant that even the hundred or so of them could gather in relative comfort and even privacy, though nopony really wanted to be alone. There had been candles, blankets, food, even a few beds – it was like an indoor picnic, she had thought, and nopony had seemed worried in the slightest. The army was coming to rescue them, they had said! The Maiden herself, and all of Her knights! Rose Lily’s eyes had lit up at that. She had always wanted to meet an angel. Much to her parents’ chagrin, she had even gone upstairs to see them come – descending on celestial blue comets, piercing through the storm clouds and streaking towards the ground like a living meteor shower. Just like they had promised.

Eventually, the soldiers had arrived, and everypony had been so happy they cheered!

To her delight, a knight of the Maiden had come downstairs to tell them something, but she did not hear what. He had hardly looked like a knight, though. More like a dirty, injured pegasus that happened to be dressed in gold-and-grey armor – not nearly as brilliant as she had imagined. He had gone back upstairs, and some of their group had gone with to help him with something.

There had been shouting, and banging, and an omnipresent buzzing noise that Rose had long since learned to fear. There had been an explosion, and an earth-shaking roar. She was not sure which had made her ears hurt worse, but they were both equally fearsome.

And then everything had gone wrong. Rose was not sure how or even when it had happened, but everything was falling apart, literally.

Everypony had been waiting with bated breath for the return of the knight, ears perked up, listening for the announcement that they were free and clear. It had never come. Instead, a column of fire had rushed down the staircase, igniting the basement and all of their supplies. Soon after, the sole passage upstairs had collapsed. They were, all of them, trapped.

Everything that followed was a blur of smoke and sound. Fire slowly crept in towards her. Billowing black smoke poured into the room, lying across the ceiling like a thick blanket. Blistering heat coursed through the place in waves, so stifling and pervasive that it was difficult to breathe.

And yet, it was not so difficult to breathe that Rose Lily could not scream.

“Mommy!”

The filly was still trying to stand when she felt herself scooped up into the arm of pony much larger than herself. She yelped and wriggled in the hooves of her captor, trying desperately to break free, until she heard a familiar voice.

“Keep your head down, Rosy!”

Her gaze wandered up, and she saw her mother looking back at her, the wild firelight reflecting brightly in her brave eyes.

“Hold on!” she yelled above the din, shifting Rose’s weight and resting her on her own back, all four legs dangling off either side. Rose tried to respond, but choked on her words, only letting out a whimper as she was handled. Once stable, she instinctually wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck, nuzzling into her mane. She did as she was told, holding on for dear life.

Peeking through strands of silky lavender hair, Rose Lily spotted the dirty grey coat of her father – except it really was dirty with soot and dirt and red… He and her mother were speaking, carrying on a frantic exchange that, for all its volume, she could just barely make out.

“…I’ve got to do something!” He was not facing them as he spoke, but rather digging at a burning mess of wood and debris.

“You can’t!” her mother screamed back. It scared Rose to hear her like that. “They’re going to send somepony, Silver! The soldiers are already here, they’ll help us!”

“Then where are they?”

A miniature eruption burst forth from the pile he was working at. He jumped away and shielded his face, growling in pain. The sudden flare of heat hurt Rose’s eyes, and she shut them tight, hiding behind her mother’s mane.

“Violet!” she heard her father say. “Take Rose to the storage closet! It’s the farthest- Ah!” The sound of another crash came from before them, she felt her mother’s body lurch beneath her, backing away from the source. “It’s the farthest away from the fire! I’ll come get you when we’re free!”

“Silver…” To Rose, the voice sounded strangely rough.

“Go.”

“Silver!”

“Go!”

A strangled cry of protest tore itself from Violet’s lips, but without another word, she turned and galloped. Rose tried to look back, but could not properly angle her head while being carried. Another flare of heat caught her eyes, and she closed them again.

The retreat seemed to take much longer than it should have. Rose felt her mother swerve around obstacles, sometimes slowing down to push things out of the way. Once she almost fell off as a section of the ceiling collapsed dangerously close to them. Violet let out a cry of pain as she was buffeted by the debris, but kept her balance and pushed through it, not daring to stop for even a moment.

Finally, the volume of the chaos was behind them. It abated by degrees as they escaped into another room, separate from the place they had initially taken refuge. Violet slammed the door behind them, and then gently let her daughter slide off her back. The terrifying sounds became muffled behind the layer of wood, but Rose could still hear it clearly enough. Relentlessly piercing the air were the sounds of collapsing architecture, the crackle of fire, and the screams of other refugees. Especially the screams. Nevertheless, Rose could not help but feel safer in her mother’s presence, if only a little. She dared to open her eyes.

They were alone. The room was small, only a few paces from wall to wall, even fewer with all the crates and furniture lining the space, but if she had to be alone with anypony, it would have been her mother. It would have been pitch black if not for a pair of candles that somepony had taken the time to light. The gentle glow was nice, especially after escaping the blaze behind them. And with the noises mercifully dampened, it was almost peaceful.

Her mother had one hoof against the door, resting upon it. Her head was craned down low, and she was breathing heavily. She may have only been six years old, but Rose recognized that the sound was not healthy.

“Momma…?”

Her hoof fell away from the door, and hit the ground with a clop that seemed to echo in the small space. Her chest rose and fell with breaths that she tried to make deep and lasting, but Rose could hear the strain.

Rose took a step closer. “Is dad gonna be okay?”

Violet’s breath seemed to jump as she tried to summon a response. She raggedly inhaled, and spoke in the sweetest, calmest tone she could muster. “He’ll be here in just a few minutes, Rosy.”

Rose merely whimpered. Violet tried to take a deep breath, her expression almost disinterested as her hoof wandered up to her side, dabbing at a spot on at her ribs. A wince of pain played across her features. She withdrew her hoof and brought it to her eyes. It was slick with blood. Slowly, her neck craned around as she tried to get a better look at herself. Her calm expression faltered, and she looked away.

She shifted in place, trying to hide it.

Carefully, she turned around and began the walk to the other end of the room. Rose trotted to her side to follow suit. Violet’s steps were slow and methodical, and though it was only a few seconds, the journey took longer than it should have.

Rose cried out as they stepped into the candlelight. “Ah! Y-you’re… you’re…!”

Her eyes followed a single drop of blood as it fell, splashing lightly when it hit the floor. It was followed by another, and another. Soon, a small pool of crimson formed and crept steadily across the floor, flickering candlelight dancing and gleaming off the surface of it.

Rose’s eyes wandered up, and she saw the source. Four inches of splintered wood, charred black and dyed red, protruded from her mother’s ribcage.

A groan of discomfort escaped Violet’s mouth as she slowly let herself collapse to the ground.

“Mommy!” Rose cried, stepping closer. “Are you okay? There’s a… there’s a… You’re bleeding!” The filly paced frantically back and forth, making small half-circles around her mother.

“Shhh…” Violet cooed as steadily as she could. “I’m okay.” She shifted her right side to face the wall where her daughter could not see it. Rose tried to follow, but felt herself ushered away by a strong hoof.

“Come here, sweetie,” Violet whispered, gathering her filly into her arms. Rose weakly complied, and lay down by her side, curling up as tightly as she could against her mother. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she quietly sobbed, hiding her face with her hooves.

“Shh, it’s okay. Hey. Don’t cry. It’s okay.” Violet nuzzled her daughter’s cheek, brushing away a tear.

A terrible crash shook the entrance of the closet. Tendrils of black smoke began to slip into the room, leaking through the top of the doorframe.

“Don’t look,” Violet quickly murmured, gently turning Rose’s head to face her. Her eyes wandered around for a few moments before resting on her. Violet smiled. “Why don’t you sing me a song?”

Rose sniffled. “W-what… kind of song?”

Violet closed her eyes in thought. When she spoke, she did not reopen them. “A lullaby. The one I taught you. Remember?”

Rose weakly nodded, though her mother could not see. She took a deep breath, and coughed it all out. It tasted like smoke. She tried again.

Her voice was a clear, high, the soprano of a child. It was weak and full of fear. It trembled pitifully as she sang. Yet somehow, the chaos did not drown her out. It was quiet, but it was there.

It made Violet’s heart ache.

“My beautiful daughter,” she whispered. She lay her head down upon the stone as her daughter began singing.

“Sun’s last ray, light of day,
Lazy sunset slips away.
Close your eyes, go to sleep,
Dream of heaven, dream of peace.

“Starry skies-”

The ceiling above them creaked, and Rose stopped, casting a fearful glance upwards. Her mother did not move, but whispered hoarsely to her. “Keep singing, Rosy.”

Rose coughed, and looked back at her mother. Her eyes were still closed, and her breaths were shallow.

“I’m okay,” she said, peeking one eye open. “Keep singing. Please.”

Violet felt her daughter tremble at her side, but she continued regardless.

“Starry skies, moon’s soft light,
Heaven keep you through the night,
Morning light, brings the day,
Sun’s first ray.”

Her last note seemed to linger in the air. Rose looked at her mother hopefully. This time, she did not look back.

“Again,” she whispered.

Rose nodded, shut her eyes, and started again.

“Sun’s last ray, light of day,
Lazy sunset slips away,
Close your eyes, go to sleep-”

Another crash sounded from ceiling above them. Rose opened her eyes. The roar of the fire was getting stronger outside the room, and she realized she could barely see through the smoke. A ragged cough tore itself from her throat. She felt dizzy.

“Mom…”

Her eyes widened as the sound of a support beam snapping filled the room, and the wooden ceiling buckled under an unseen weight, sagging towards her as if it were about to cave in.

“I’m scared, mommy…”

Her fear was met with no response. She looked to her mother, who lay there unmoving.

“Mom…?” She pawed at her face with a hoof. Her mother’s head rolled limply back and forth again, but there was no other response. “Wake up, mom. Wake up!” She nudged at her side, pushing with her whole body. Her mother seemed content to let herself be shaken.

“Mommy! Wake up! I’m scared, mommy, I’m scared! Wake up, help me! Please!”

Rose Lily rose to her hooves and frantically paced around her mother, the tears returning to her eyes. The smoke was even thicker, now. She coughed and coughed and shouted and pleaded with her mother to wake up. But nothing happened, and nopony came to her rescue.

The ceiling bent in even further. Finally, it collapsed.

Only half of it caved in – fortunately, the half that she was not occupying. A chaotic pile of bricks and debris fell, smothering most of the room and forming a disordered staircase to the lip of a hole in the ceiling. Rose cried. She wanted more than anything to escape the hellish room, but if mommy thought it was best to stay here and rest, then that’s what she would do.

She hugged her mother tight around the neck and closed her eyes, softly crooning a lullaby, just like she had been told. Singing was hard. It came out like more of a whisper. It probably would have been easier if she was not coughing so much.

Why was her mother so sleepy? Though, Rose was pretty sleepy herself. She probably would have taken a nap were she not coughing so hard. But luckily, things were beginning to get a little bit quieter. The fire did not roar so fiercely, the stone did not crack so loud. Little stars started lighting up around the room. The lullaby was working.

But suddenly, she was moving, and not of her own accord. Her stomach lurched with that familiar sensation of being rocked back and forth in somepony’s arms. The arms were strong, and somehow, she knew the pony carrying her was brave. Daddy had come back for her! Mommy was probably close behind.

She bounced like a ragdoll in her father’s arm as he climbed the staircase of debris and continued on to escape. Fire swept by them, a cacophony of destruction resounded all about them, but Rose could not be frightened. She was too sleepy.

Eventually, she felt all four of her hooves touch the ground as she was quickly, but gently set down. More out of reflex than anything else, she managed to stay standing, locking her knees. She swayed and stumbled around as a miniature earthquake shook the stone beneath her. The smoke was not so bad out here.

“Don’t move, little one!” her rescuer said. “I’ll be back!”

Beyond her exhaustion and sheer numbness, her heart fluttered with joy. Slowly, she raised her head to say something… but it was not daddy. It was a knight.

A pegasus, dressed in golden armor, frantically sifted through a pile of burning debris. His coat was grey, smeared with strokes of black soot, and his mane was two-toned blue. He looked sick and sleepy, just like mommy, but he moved with the importance of a hero.

The Maiden’s knights were going to save her after all!

A roar, too loud to ignore, interrupted Rose’s thoughts. She blinked the ash out of her eyes, turned her head, and saw it.

Before her, standing at the head of the decimated church, was a demon, a living bonfire given physical form. Its mane and tail were aflame, its coat pulsated with twisted veins of orange. Worst of all, its eyes were a piercing, pupilless white, and they were looking straight at her.

It was a monster, straight from the storybooks. It was an alicorn.

Rose stayed frozen in place, but to her surprise, the alicorn did not seem to care. It blinked and turned away from her, extending its wings and crouching, preparing to rise in the air. Fiery power seemed to gather at the base of its hooves. The air wavered with heat, and somehow, Rose knew the energy would not be contained for long.

She tore her gaze away and looked weakly about. Where was her knight?

She spotted him easily. He stood only a few feet away, and was shouting at the alicorn monster. It did not seem to hear him. He tried again, and again, to no avail. The fire gathered around it further.

The knight looked at Rose, horror in his eyes.

Quick as lightning, the knight dashed towards her, wings extended, grunting as he tackled her. In one fluid motion, he wrapped his body around hers and pulled her in tight with his arms. They hit the ground hard. One of his wings shot into the air above them, forming a living shield. His light-grey feathers rippled in the heat.

The sound of an explosion tore through the air. Rose could hear a pair of wingbeats, mingled with the shriek of rushing fire.

A moment later, the flames engulfed them both.

**********

Celestia woke up with a scream.

The sound of frantic, scuffling hooves filled the air, and a moment later she found herself surrounded by nearly a dozen others, all keeping a cautious distance and casting her wary looks.

Her scream subsided just as suddenly as it began, but the terror within her did not. Her eyes, wide and bloodshot and full of fear, flicked madly back and forth between them. What were they doing here? What was she doing here? Why was she…

Celestia looked down at herself. She was lying on her back in some sort of small bed, divested of all clothing and armor, save for a soft, billowing white blanket. She grabbed the edge of it with both hooves and pulled it up tighter to her chest until it was just underneath her chin. Her upper body was propped up by pillows. Splayed over her shoulders were locks of her pink mane, all tangled and messy, rife with knots. Her white fur was matted in some places and even somewhat lacking in others, with pink skin vaguely showing through, but overall she looked and felt cleaner than perhaps she had the right to be.

Her gaze wandered back up. A cloth ceiling was above her, rippling gently in the wind. It was small and windowless, but by the dim light and the slight chill in the air she could tell it was either early morning or dusk. Aside from the soldiers surrounding her bed, she seemed to be the sole occupant of the tent.

Most of her guests seemed to be armed or armored, and another few looked like doctors. She noted that nopony had actually drawn a weapon, or done anything at all really. However, each of them seemed to be standing on edge, as if unsure whether to regard Celestia with hostility or sympathy.

The feeling was mutual. She eyed them with suspicion and fear, blood still racing in her veins. They simply stood by and watched, waiting for her to do something.

Well what did they expect her to do? She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out save for a fearful croak. They all seemed to tense up at the noise, but nopony moved. She shifted a little under her covers, and realized her joints and limbs were terribly sore, some in ways she had never felt before. Her jaw felt especially tight, as if her teeth had been locked and grinding for together hours on end. This tent might have been a prison for all it mattered, and her blanket a binding chain.

Ten seconds drifted slowly by as she eyed her company. She knew all of them, she realized. Sweetcorn, Acier, Moonstruck, North Star, Cheesecake… all comrades, soldiers or physicians from the battalion.

Seeing the familiar faces, she tried to calm herself. Her wide eyes relaxed just a bit. Her limbs, which were stiff as a board, loosened up. As Celestia relaxed, her company seemed to do the same. And yet, though the tension eased, she could see it in their faces and feel it in her own heart that it was far from absent. Why did she feel so… bothered?

The ponies around her looked just as, or perhaps even more curious than her.

Eventually, she opened her mouth, and this time managed to speak. Her voice was dry, and cracked midway through the sentence.

“What happened?”

With one accord, their expressions shifted from cautious to somber. They exchanged wistful, knowing glances, and yet all of them seemed to be at a loss for words, as if she had somehow uttered the explanation to her own question. Though the inquiry was simple enough, Celestia suspected the answer was not so easy.

The sound of fluttering canvas came from the far end of the tent, and a few heads turned. Celestia heard heavy hoofsteps thumping steadily across bare ground, and she instantly knew who it was. The group of soldiers wordlessly parted before her to make way for the most recent visitor. Apple Crumble, loosely clothed in an unbuttoned red commander’s jacket, stepped into view.

His eyes met Celestia’s, a contemplative, unknowable expression on his face. He stroked his beard, hummed deep in his throat. Celestia unconsciously tried to scoot away in her bed, though there was nowhere to go. After what seemed like ages, Crumble spoke.

“What happened, sunshine?” he repeated, his voice rumbling beneath his thick beard. His hoof fell away from his face, and his eyes locked onto hers.

“You tell me.”

**********

“So you reached your full potential.”

“Hmm?” Princess Celestia took pause and tilted her head, casting a curious gaze towards her student. “That’s an odd thing to say.”

Twilight suddenly looked inexplicably sheepish, her ears drooping a bit before she answered, a nervous, lopsided grin on her face.

“Well,” she started slowly, “you excelled at hoof-to-hoof combat, and your skill in flight sounds as though it was passable by military standards. And then this. Powerful magic. You finally had the unique abilities of all three races.” The unicorn’s features brightened up. “But of course, your strongest area was magic, by far! I should have known.”

“My strongest area?” The princess repeated. Slowly, she relaxed against one corner of her chair. “I think you misunderstand, Twilight.”

“I mean, sure, it was a wild surge,” Twilight continued, undeterred, “but even the most powerful unicorns get those. Especially the most powerful unicorns.” She smiled, her face alighting with a mix of embarrassment and pride. “Remember when I was a filly? I completely lost control during the entrance exam for the academy. I turned my parents into cacti for pony’s sake! If you didn’t show up when you did, who knows how many ponies would’ve been turned into desert plants?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Celestia’s mouth. Yes, she remembered. In the eternal perspective of things, it seemed as though it had happened only yesterday. That had been an interesting day; a good day. But…

Twilight’s voice lowered a bit, sobriety coming back over her. “Who knows what kind of harm I could have caused? You just didn’t have anypony to help you control it, like you helped me. And even without anypony to help,” she continued, her eyes twinkling with admiration, “you managed to maintain enough self-control to defeat an entire army.”

Despite her mild surprise, a part of the Princess had been expecting this response from her student, and her rebuttal was already articulated in her mind and hanging on the edge of her tongue. She leaned forward a small ways to speak, drew in a short breath, looked at her beloved pupil…

…and stopped. No sound came out. Twilight just sat there, waiting patiently, that admiring gleam still dancing in her eyes.

An odd thought struck the Princess.

What if I simply let her believe that?

Twilight Sparkle had always been the best of students – not just her best student, but likely one of the best students anywhere, in any time, under any teacher. Twilight herself would surely have scoffed at the idea, humbly asserted she was just another curious pony in pursuit of knowledge, but Celestia knew better. The Princess had been alive for a long, long time, and she knew; the young mare was a genius. Always willing to learn, to challenge ideas, to change her mind. The perfect student.

Her reward was twofold: she gained knowledge, which was its own reward, but more than that, Twilight craved approval. Not just anypony’s approval, Celestia noted, but hers especially. Twilight loved to know she was doing things right, and hated when she was doing things wrong, and hated even more when her image of perfection crumbled. Celestia was not just her mentor, she was her role model.

By Celestia’s own design, Twilight wanted to be just like her.

Her brother was captain of the guard. Her personal tutor was the Princess of the Sun. Even her foalsitter had been royalty. All by design. All to reinforce her craving for perfection.

One day, a few weeks before summer solstice, Twilight broke down, an occurrence that was happening with increasing regularity. The princess realized something. That craving had never been healthy.

Her plans had changed then and there. Celestia decided she could still undo the damage she had caused, mold her student into something else, something better. Her tests would help Twilight learn to accept her flaws, handle stress, and make new friends. And, in time, Twilight would hear the story of how she had done the same.

Even still…

Scenarios and second thoughts played out in her mind.

“Indeed,” she said, “With this newfound power, I conquered the armies of Discord. And eventually, with the help of Luna and the elements, Discord himself. From that time onward, Equestria has always been under our care.”

The turning point of her tale would soon be upon them. The image of a helpless, misunderstood, amnesiac underdog was already fading. Even now it was close, like a pane of dirty glass only barely obscuring the image on the other side. Soon, the glass would be shattered; she would be in full view, naked and alone, not standing on the pedestal of gold she had been hinting at over the past thousand years. Where a hero should have stepped up, as it would have been in a proper story, there stood just another pony. Where an inspiring tale of victory should have been, there were only choices and mistakes and consequences.

“Oh,” Twilight said, smiling, believing her lie wholesale. It was far too easy to deceive her. “So how long did it take to retake the other cities?” Celestia answered her in perfect detail, citing the story she had crafted over a millennia, knowing full well that the best lies were merely half-truths.

Celestia always, always received the benefit of the doubt from her beloved student. Not that she had needed it very often. But even now, with that metaphorical glass becoming ever more transparent, Twilight was willing to believe in the goodness of her mentor. Celestia could still salvage this, if she wanted to.

But…

Eventually, their study session ended. It only took one more night after that to tell the rest of the story. Twilight wrote it all down, compiled it, and published it for ponies everywhere to read – “The Early Life of the Princess of the Sun”, she called it. Everypony loved it, loved her for writing it, and loved the Princess for her bravery.

Twilight went on with her life feeling proud, not having learned a single thing.

In the long run, who would it be more painful for? Was Celestia willing to endure that pain? Was her student willing to understand?

She had her reasons for telling this story – it was not solely for Twilight’s sake. And yet, she felt it important that her student knew the truth. Perhaps that was the most important reason of them all.

Eventually, Twilight became a princess herself. But she had forgotten it was okay to be imperfect. For centuries to come, she always wondered what was wrong with her. Other ponies tried to help, but they didn’t understand, she reasoned. They weren’t immortal, they weren’t royalty, they didn’t know.

The Princess took another composed breath.

Celestia could have told her, but she did not. She was afraid of breaking that strongest of bonds – but it was a bond founded upon deceit. Which would hurt her more, she wondered: the lie, or the truth?

“It wasn’t magic, Twilight.”

The smile faded from the unicorn’s face, replaced by a hesitant frown, as if perhaps she had not heard correctly. “What?”

Painful or not, it had to be done. Sacrifice was something she had long since come to appreciate. Perhaps it was simply her turn once again. How could she expect Twilight to overcome that craving for a perfect image, if she could not do it herself?

“What I just described – the part of me, the fiery alicorn – was not magic. Far from it.” Her tone was even, her expression calm.

Twilight scowled in confusion. “But you… you breathed fire, and flew around on fiery wings, and toppled buildings, and blew things up, and…” She looked back down at her notes, her eyes flicking back and forth as she skimmed through them. “I don’t know, a bunch of other things.” She looked back up and tilted her head, staring into the Princess’s eyes. “How is that not magic?”

“It isn’t magic in the traditional sense,” Celestia responded. She glanced out of a nearby window and seemed to ponder for a moment before responding. “Let me ask you a question, Twilight. What is the most powerful magical artifact known to ponykind?”

It was so easy, she almost wondered if it was a trick question. In any case, she recognized the Princess’s tone; Twilight was about to learn something, regardless of her answer. She responded immediately.

“The Elements of Harmony.”

“Correct.” Celestia nodded. Her student smiled, even at this small victory, and she could not help but give an amused smile back. “And how do the Elements of Harmony work? Describe, in a few sentences, what makes them powerful.”

This was why she always studied before class. Twilight smiled. The answer came easily.

“The Elements feed off of each other,” she said confidently, her hooves waving indistinctly in the air as she tried to pantomime her words. “The closer they are physically, the closer the wielders are ‘spiritually’, and the more ‘in tune’ each wielder is with her respective Element, the more powerful the final output is.”

It was a definition Twilight had come up with on her own, but Celestia supposed it was more or less correct. “So if you had to describe their energy source in a single word, what would you say it was?”

Twilight looked to the corner of her eyes in thought. A single word? She scoured her brain, filing through the tens of thousands of words in her vocabulary to find the right one.

“Harmony?” she guessed, looking back to the princess.

Celestia’s brows raised a hair’s breadth, and she looked more intently. She was looking for another answer, Twilight knew.

“Friendship?” Twilight offered.

Celestia smiled. “Correct. Both of those things, truthfully. Friendship. Harmony. And love, of course. Powerfully positive emotions, one and all. The correct application of these things can result in a magic so powerful, nothing can stop it, not even the God of Chaos himself. You, personally, have witnessed this.”

Twilight nodded, not bothering to write it down. She already knew it, after all. But her attention was undivided, regardless.

“This principle is not limited to the Elements, either. The stronger your love and friendship, the stronger your magic. You could say friendship is magic.”

Twilight nodded emphatically. Of course, there was strength to be had in practice and sheer talent – were it not so, the first sixteen years of her life had been wasted – but...

“Friendship can be powerful,” Twilight stated simply.

“Indeed it can,” Princess Celestia agreed. “So believe me when I say, turning into that thing was not an act of magic. In a way, what I described to you is the farthest thing from magic there is.”

Twilight blinked, and frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s okay,” Celestia assured. “Think of it like this. How did you feel when you first used the Elements of Harmony?”

Twilight pursed her lips, and looked up, bringing to mind her first night in Ponyville. How had she felt? Happy, excited, elated, accepted; her heart was warm, and for a few perfect moments, everything was right the world. She had been right where she needed to be, doing exactly what she needed to do, with exactly who she needed to do it with; those five mares who, in that moment, shared a bond stronger than could be described, and had been the best of friends forever after.

In a word: “Wonderful.”

Celestia nodded, smiling at the serenity on her student’s face. “Friendship is the true nature of magic. Never forget it.”

Twilight nodded. Her brows furrowed as she looked back to her mentor. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Slowly, the smile faded from the Princess’s face, and she took a deep breath.

“Fear. Pain. Loathing. Confusion. Hatred. Bloodlust. And above all, a severe desire for revenge – a desire that, at the time, I didn’t even understand, but was desperate to act upon.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “These were the things I felt. Imagine, if you can, the very antithesis of the Elements of Harmony; chances are, that hellfire is very close to what you see.”

Twilight frowned. “I see Discord.”

Celestia gave a strange, sideways smile, which appeared to be more of a grimace. “Yes, you would think that, wouldn’t you?”

Twilight’s frown stayed frozen in place. She was unsure how to respond. Nevertheless, the princess continued.

“Powerful as it may have been,” she began, “do you suppose what I was doing was true magic?”

“Maybe not…” Twilight said, her gaze trailing off to the side for a moment. “But ponies use magic all the time, even when they’re feeling all those things. There’s no possible way any unicorn is feeling love at the moment they start firing spells meant to… well, to kill things. Besides, power is power, right? If it won you the battle…”

Twilight’s words died in her throat. She trailed off and looked away blushing, suddenly feeling as though she had gone too far.

“No, you’re right Twilight,” the princess said, showing a sad, half-smile. “You bring up an excellent point. We debated this very thing, time and time again. How did that power come to be? Was it fear? Or bravery? Was it simply the shock of battle? More importantly – after singlehandedly turning the tide of battle, did it even matter?”

“Does it?” Twilight asked.

Celestia’s gaze suddenly became degrees more intense. Hard lines appeared on her forehead and her brows furrowed, for a moment betraying the age behind the ageless beauty. Her eyes narrowed, giving her whole expression a sharpness that normally it lacked. The change was slight, but almost seemed to dissipate the comforting aura surrounding her.

Suddenly, Twilight became strangely aware of just how big, strong, and absurdly powerful Princess Celestia was. Of course, she had always known, but the times were few and far between when she was actually mindful of it. She squirmed in her seat, fighting the urge to back away from her teacher’s dominating presence.

After what seemed like ages, Celestia spoke.

“You tell me.”

XXIX: Choices

“Is it true that you beat all those monsters by yourself?”

Celestia pondered Cotton’s question. Facts mixed with speculation, and sometimes she did not know which was which. The memories of the battle had been steadily returning to her over the past few days, but sometimes they were hazy and out of order.

“Just the ones that were near me.”

“Is it true you caught on fire?”

“Sort of.”

“But that didn’t hurt you?”

“Not really.” Celestia looked away, biting on her lip. “I mean, I wasn’t actually on fire. I think it was more-”

“But you were!” Cotton exclaimed. “Is it true you were so hot you could roast marshmallows just by looking at them?”

“Cotton…”

“I’ll bet you could roast a hundred marshmallows without even trying!”

“Cotton.”

“No, maybe a hundred thousand!” Cotton’s eyes lit up. She twisted away from Celestia’s cot, reaching for something out of her vision.

“Here!” she exclaimed, producing a fluffy white marshmallow and offering it to her. “Roast this one!”

Celestia stared at Cotton’s gift, the marshmallow sitting in the center of her extended hoof. Where it had come from, she had no idea. She had always assumed Cotton carried mostly tools in her saddlebags. She craned her head over her bedside, peering at the bags lying nearby. They were plump, filled to the brim with marshmallows, making them look more like pillows than saddlebags.

Cotton was beaming.

Celestia rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Aw,” Cotton’s grin shrank into a tiny frown. She popped the marshmallow into her mouth and chewed it sadly.

Celestia suddenly felt guilty as she watched the little mare eat in silence, her lips smacking together as she chewed with pronounced effort. It occurred to her that Cotton did not actually expect her to roast it, but only wanted to see a smile.

“Well fine!” Cotton huffed, swallowing the mouthful and producing another marshmallow from her bags. “I’ll do it myself!”

Celestia watched with mild apprehension as Cotton’s horn began to glow. The marshmallow rose into the air, spinning. Cotton’s face scrunched in concentration, her eyes squinting, her tongue stuck out.

The marshmallow began to spin faster and rise farther. Celestia stared up at it, then glanced back at Cotton.

“Now just a teensy bit of fire magic-”

The marshmallow burst.

It was only a tiny noise, a sort of hissing pop, but Celestia yelped all the same. A hot, gooey mess of sugar fell out of the air and plopped lamely onto the floor.

There was a pause as both Celestia and Cotton stared at where the treat had been, before Cotton burst out into giggles. Celestia could not help but follow suit.

A moment later, Celestia glanced up as a pair of doctors trotted by the open door, conversing in hushed tones with each other. They glanced in her room as they passed, but kept moving. The sound of distant activity echoed down the stone hallways. Celestia remembered where she was, and her laughter faded.

Miraculously, Manehattan’s city hospital had been preserved, and it was now filled to overflowing by casualties from the battle. Celestia, however, had been confined and quarantined away from the others, made to occupy a small private room of her own. It would remain that way until they had confirmed that, in the words of Clover the Clever, she “was no longer a danger to herself and others.”

She could understand that, and even thought it was a good idea. However, she quickly realized entertainment was low on the list of priorities. More than half of the Equestrian army was camped in and around Manehattan. In the wake of one of the war’s most devastating battles yet, there were things to be done: wounded that needed tending to, civilians that needed care, bodies that needed to be counted, recorded, and buried. And though Discord’s hordes had vacated the city, the huge urban island was far from secured.

And so, Celestia had largely been left alone. Three days had come and gone, and she had still seen neither hide nor hair of Clover. The four drab stone walls of her tiny room began to grate upon her. The room’s only window had been broken and boarded up, allowing little natural light into the room. A steady drip, drip came from the leaky ceiling in one corner of the room.

At least the cot was comfortable.

Celestia welcomed the reprieve visitors brought from the dreary boredom. Cotton was left with little spare time – she was very busy helping repair the army’s more complex devices – but she came as often as she could. Apple Crumble visited too, and even Lucky checked in on her from time to time. “Just making sure you’re doing well,” he had said once. Celestia found herself wishing his visits would last longer; she would have liked to speak with him.

Many of her other fellow soldiers visited her as well. Their conversations were amiable enough, but word soon got out. It was not an angel, nor an avatar of the gods that had helped them. It was her. And so, in almost every case, the conversation turned to…

“Sho, I tink you need uh nickname,” Cotton said, popping another marshmallow into her mouth. “Yur not jus’ a hero, yur like a… like a legend! Like a demigod, like in da shtories!”

“A demigod?” Celestia said hesitantly. “I don’t know about that.”

Cotton did not seem to hear her. “What about…” She paused to swallow, and licked her lips. “What about ‘the Pyromancer of… of Doom!”

Celestia wanted to grimace, but could not help but smile at Cotton’s enthusiasm.

“Ooo! Or how about, ‘the Blazing Terror of Canterlot’! Or, or how about,” Cotton’s voice took on the mock tone of an announcer, “‘The Fire Wrangler!’”

“I think I like my name how it is.”

“Oh, no, wait, I’ve got it!” Cotton leapt up to Celestia’s bedside, and maneuvered an arm around her neck, pulling them together until they were cheek-to-cheek.

“‘Celestia, the Living Bonfire!’” she exclaimed, thrusting her other hoof into the air, sweeping it across their vision as if to showcase an imaginary title hanging above them.

Celestia began to laugh again despite herself. “Cotton, I don’t want ponies to call me anything except-”

A voice came from the other side of the room. “Some are calling you ‘the Phoenix.’”

Clover the Clever entered, brushing the door curtain behind her. Celestia’s head spun around, eyes wide. How long had she been standing there?

“‘The Phoenix of the 21st’. An interesting title, to say the least.”

The old pony’s gait was, as usual, slow and methodical, showing her age more clearly than the wrinkles on her face. Yet, for some reason Celestia could not put her hoof on, she looked older and more frail than ever. She walked with a hesitancy that Celestia had only seen a few times before, as if at any moment the wrong movement would break her. For a pony so elderly, Clover had always seemed rather spry to Celestia, moving with energy that ill befit her age.

Now, that energy was gone. Celestia was almost shocked to see that in its place was pure, simple exhaustion. Had those lines always been under Clover’s eyes? Had her wrinkles always been that deep?

Rather than her usual mage’s cloak, Clover had a simple drab blanket draped over her shoulders and back. Celestia’s eyes narrowed. Beneath the cloak, she saw something that looked very much like a long cut.

Clover coughed pointedly, and drew her blanket-cloak tighter. Celestia blushed, and drew her eyes away. The old mage drew closer to the cot. Cotton stepped back a bit to give them space.

Exhaustion lingered on Clover’s breath as she spoke.

“How are you, Celestia?”

“Fine,” she blurted out.

Clover raised an eyebrow, and stared. Celestia could not meet her gaze, staring just slightly to the left at the wall behind her.

“Is that so?”

Celestia nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the wall behind Clover. Truthfully, she was not sure. She felt Clover’s eyes upon her, studying her for a moment more, before speaking again.

“I am glad to see you in good health,” Clover said. A moment passed. “Do you remember what happened?”

Celestia was surprised. She had known this conversation was coming, but she expected at least a little more small talk beforehand – perhaps some tea and more accommodating quarters. Time was a precious commodity, she supposed, and comfort in Manehattan was in short supply.

“Yes… at least I think so.”

Clover nodded. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Celestia’s lips became a grimace. Her eyes flicked downward and she slouched a little further into her cot.

“I’d rather not,” she muttered. After a moment, she added, “I haven’t been in this room the whole time, you know. I know the soldiers are talking about it.” She looked back at Clover. “Surely you must already know what happened, too?”

Clover tilted her head. “Perhaps I do. But I would like to hear it from you.”

“It’s a little hazy…”

“I understand,” Clover said softly. “Just start from the beginning.”

Celestia’s expression wavered as she considered it. Finally, she rolled over onto her side, maneuvering out of her cot. She stretched, as if she were preparing for a training exercise. Some of her joints popped in their sockets. She then turned to face Clover and Cotton. They were both watching expectantly.

Celestia drew in a deep breath, and exhaled.

“There was some trouble on the airship,” she said. “We were ready to storm drop from above and rescue the civilians in Manehattan, but it never happened. The sinisteeds were waiting for us in the clouds. We were ambushed. Our secret plan wasn’t… wasn’t so secret.”

Cotton popped another marshmallow into her mouth, chewing it quietly, and offered one to Clover, who politely declined. She then removed her saddlebags and set one beneath herself, the contents making for an excellent cushion. She offered her other saddlebag to Clover, who, after glancing around the room and seeing no other furniture, accepted. She slowly lowered her haunches onto the makeshift seat, and nodded her silent thanks to Cotton.

“There were too many to fight. We had to abandon the airship to escape. I don’t know how many ponies made it.” Celestia’s eyes lowered. “Not all of them.”

Celestia wandered over to the window and peered through the boards at a courtyard a few stories below. Physicians and soldiers shouted, rushing this way and that, tending to numerous tents filled with wounded. The faint clamor of hoofsteps, shouted orders, and moans of the injured filled the silence of Celestia’s room.

“I’m not exactly sure how it happened after that. I think I was the first one on the ground, but my landing didn’t go very well. The enchantment that was supposed to help me cushion my impact had already dissipated, and I… I think I hit the side of a building, or…” She paused, and shook her head. “We found one of the spots where the civilians were hiding. An old church. A number of pegasi regrouped there. The plan had been to escort them out from there, but at that point, we stood no chance, scattered and disorganized as we were. We barricaded the door, and readied to make a stand.”

“How many were with you?” Clover asked.

Celestia looked up in thought. “I don’t remember. Maybe a dozen. Lighting Sky was there, plus some others he had managed to round up, myself included. And there were civilians in the basement. I never saw how many.”

Clover slowly nodded, and motioned for her to continue.

“My condition was bad, to say the least. I was injured and helpless. I remember slipping in and out of consciousness. There was a lot going on. I’m not sure what was real and what was in my mind.” A distant expression took over Celestia’s features. “I remember fevered dreams. I saw things I didn’t understand. Places I’ve never been. Ponies I never knew. And for some reason, I was so… so angry about it all. In that moment, through all of the fear and pain and confusion, I hated the enemy like I never hated them before. I wanted blood. And revenge.”

Celestia stopped, realizing her voice had gotten a little louder. She glanced back at Clover and Cotton, who were listening intently.

Celestia cleared her throat. “It didn’t take long for the sinisteeds to break in. And then I-” She paused, looking back at the window. “Then I…”

Clover waited.

“Something happened,” Celestia eventually managed. “I changed somehow.” She looked back. “I don’t know how to describe it.”

A hint of sympathy played across Clover’s features. “It’s okay, dear. Take your time.”

The silence was thick. Celestia pressed her lips into a thin line, looking for her next words.

“All those emotions – the hatred, the rage – they just kept building within me. Building within me so greatly I thought I was going to die. But then I found a way to release it. It was like… like a cup, filled to overflowing. Fire spilled from inside of me and into reality.”

“Or like a balloon!” Cotton suddenly chimed in. “Fill it with too much air, and…” With her hooves she mimed a balloon getting bigger and bigger in the air.

“And then,” Celestia continued, “the change happened.”

Cotton made a popping sound with her lips as her imaginary balloon burst.

“That’s the best I can explain it,” Celestia said apologetically, addressing Clover.

“That’s okay.” Clover nodded. “Do you remember anything after that?”

“I do, mostly. In comparison to the memories before that, I can recall what happened then surprisingly well. The memories of what I did are vivid, but focused, as if I had blinders on. The monsters I fought, the things I felt… I remember them with clarity, but they’re the only things I remember. I just wanted to kill everything.” She paused. “All of the monsters, I mean. So I did.”

“And you single-hoofedly turned the tide of the whole battle!” Cotton exclaimed.

Celestia smiled weakly. “Yes, well. I suppose so.”

Clover’s tone was less enthusiastic. “You did not seem to exhibit much control.”

Celestia’s smile faded. “No. I suppose not.”

“And, nearing the end of your rampage, you attacked your own commander.”

“‘Rampage’ isn’t how I would…” Celestia drifted off. “Well, I am sorry for that. Lucky attacked me first, though.”

“No he didn’t,” Clover said.

Celestia blinked. “He didn’t?” Her brows furrowed. “Yes he did.”

“No,” Clover said firmly. “You are remembering it wrong.”

“Oh.” Celestia bit her lip. “He must have gotten in my line of fire.”

Clover raised an eyebrow.

Celestia lowered her eyes. “I remember fighting him. I’m not sure how it happened, but I don’t think I meant to.”

“Was it because you lost control?” Clover asked, an edge creeping into her voice.

“No,” Celestia looked up. “I mean, I did have some control. Not precision, perhaps, but control. It was like I was compelled forward. I could turn in any direction, but I was always moving, always fighting, always needing to stoke the fire – but I would never attack an ally.”

“But you did.”

“It was an accident,” Celestia said.

“And what would have happened when there were no more enemies to fight?” Clover demanded. “Would you have continued to ‘burn’?”

Celestia lifted one hoof off the ground, drawing away. “I would have stopped fighting. I would have burnt out. Of course I would have. What else would I have done?”

Clover searched Celestia with scathing eyes, holding herself as though ready to continue the tirade. Celestia waited, but they never came. Her gaze flicked back and forth between the old mare’s eyes, watching the wrinkles around them become deeper.

Eventually, Clover drew her gaze away, and sighed. Her features relaxed.

“Forgive me,” Clover said, a slow decisiveness returning to her voice. “It has been a difficult time, and even I am not immune to the stress of war. I am not here to bring accusations against you, Celestia. What happened was beyond your control and comprehension. I am only trying to better understand this turn of events. I am only trying to divine the truth.”

Celestia slowly returned her hoof to the ground.

“I don’t know the truth.”

Clover merely hummed, nodding in accord.

“Do you, Clover?”

She gave no reaction.

“I know you seek understanding,” Celestia said quietly. “I do as well. Yet something tells me you have a greater understanding already.”

Clover said nothing. Her eyes were closed, her expression unreadable.

“What happened to me does not happen to ordinary ponies.” Celestia took a step forward. “And I understand that I am not ordinary. I’m an alicorn. It feels like I am constantly learning new and unexpected things about myself. But this was something else. It was inside me. It was more than discovering a new ability, more than reaching new potential. It was some fundamental part of me that, until now, lay dormant. And I don’t know why. And it confuses me. I’ve never known what being an alicorn is supposed to mean. But you…” Celestia’s eyes were pleading. “You brought me here, with a spell of your own making. You must know something.”

Celestia paused, waiting for a response. There was none.

“Clover. Please. What happened to me?”

Another moment passed in silence.

Eventually, Clover opened her eyes. Seeing them, Celestia was again reminded of the Master-Adept’s age.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered, speaking to herself, “What I would not give for a pot of tea right now.”

“I can make some,” Cotton offered.

“No, my dear,” Clover spoke, shaking her head. “Thank you, but no. I’ll not delay any longer.”

Celestia’s gaze softened as she watched the old mage stand. Her legs seemed to tremble as she set them against the ground and pushed. When she was fully upright, she seemed to sway for a bit. A military camp, Celestia remarked, is no place for a pony of her age.

One hoof at a time, Clover took a few steps backward, then put one hoof on the makeshift cushion, kicking it towards Celestia.

“Please,” Clover said, “take a seat.”

Cautiously, Celestia pushed on the cushion with a hoof, testing it, then slowly eased her haunches upon it. Without standing, Cotton scooted across the floor until they were sitting next to each other. Together they waited for the Master-Adept to say something.

Clover gave them both a scrutinizing look, then looked toward the doorway, her horn glowing. The curtain hanging across the doorway was drawn shut, enveloped in a swathe of purple magic. A screen of magic appeared over the closed door, spanning from top to bottom, distorting the image like uneven glass until it came to rest.

“An enchantment for privacy,” Clover explained. She looked toward the window, horn still glowing.

Celestia looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of another screen appearing over the window, shimmering briefly before becoming nearly invisible.

The glow of Clover’s horn faded away, and she looked at Celestia.

“The things you are about to hear must never leave this room.”

The dull background noise of doctors and soldiers was completely gone. Celestia had not noticed how loud it really was until the only sounds she could hear were her own shuffling hooves and the steady drip of the leaky ceiling in the corner of the room.

Clover turned towards Cotton.

“You are here, Cotton, as Celestia’s friend,” she said, wagging a hoof at the little mare. “In any other circumstance, I would ask you to leave. But given your attitude in the past, I trust that you can handle this information with maturity and discretion. And,” she added after a pause, “I believe it will be beneficial for Celestia to have friends that… understand her.”

Cotton smiled, opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off.

“Nevertheless,” Clover suddenly started, her gaze becoming deeper, “this is privileged information. Few ponies besides myself are privy to it. This is the way it should be kept. Do you understand?”

The smile faded from Cotton’s face. She looked at Clover, then towards Celestia, then back, and solemnly nodded.

Clover shifted her gaze towards Celestia. “And the same goes for you, dear.”

“Why is it such a secret?” Celestia said. “I don’t understand.”

Clover pursed her lips. “You will.”

Celestia tilted her head.

“Very well,” she eventually said, nodding.

At this, Clover drew herself up, cleared her throat, and assumed a teacher’s posture. Celestia recognized it as easily as any battle stance; and it was just as poised. Sure enough, Clover began to slowly pace back and forth, a habit Celestia had become familiar with when first being tutored in the ways of magic. Just as habitually, Celestia’s own posture straightened, and her ears perked forward.

Clover cleared her throat once again.

“Celestia,” she began, then paused. She stopped, looked up, tapping a hoof on her chin. Celestia had never seen the old teacher consider her wording so carefully.

“Celestia,” Clover began again, resuming her slow pacing. “To understand this phenomenon, you must first understand that ponies are magical creatures. Magic is a part us, and we are a part of it. What is traditionally considered ‘magic’, a unicorn’s ability to manipulate their surroundings, is merely a certain kind of magic; not greater or lesser, simply easier to discern and classify. Because of this, non-unicorn races are considered by many to be non-magical.” Clover stopped briefly and looked at Celestia, her eyes gleaming. “This is simply not true.”

A moment passed, and she resumed pacing.

“Indeed, all ponies are magical, unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies alike. No mere creations of flesh and bone are we. Woven into the fiber of every pony on this earth is magic. It binds us to ourselves and each other, invisible threads spun by the gods themselves, ordered and organized, but infinitely complex. And while there are commonalities between us all, the magic housed within each pony is unique in at least some small way.”

Clover’s horn began to glow. From the corner of the room, a small globe of water came hovering towards her, drawn from the small puddle where the ceiling was leaking. The globe hovered undisturbed before her, a perfect sphere.

“Unicorns have telekinesis, spells, connections to the celestial bodies. Pegasi can touch cloudstuff, control weather, and fly. Earth ponies have innate strength; plant and animal life grow in concert with their will. All of these are basic, general examples of magic. To you, they may seem mundane; yet they are nothing short of miracles.”

The watery sphere broke its shape, siphoning into a thin, flowing ribbon. Clover effortlessly manipulated it into a figure eight. Celestia watched with interest and admiration as it flowed endlessly in the air, hovering in place while Clover paced back and forth.

“A creature of mere biology would never be enough to replicate these effects. Give an earth pony the wings of a pegasus, and he would still never lift himself off of the ground. In fact, there was once an old mage who managed to conjure for herself wings of flesh and blood - but because she lacked a pegasus’s magic, a pegasus’s essence, if you will, they were vestigial, and practically useless.”

The figure eight gradually separated into two separate but interlocked rings, flowing opposite directions. Clover did not seem to pay it much mind, idly manipulating it as she spoke.

“Yet,” Clover continued, “all of these things are but after-effects, flickering shadows cast upon the wall of reality. The true nature of this magic is within us. One might call it the ‘soul.’”

“The soul?”

Clover nodded. “Indeed,” she said, her voice lowering. “It is the magic we are made of, and it has everything to do with not only what we are, but who we are. Abilities, personalities, emotions, and even cutie marks and special talents all paint a picture of a pony’s soul.”

Clover stopped pacing, looking back at her audience. Celestia wore a confused frown on her face. Cotton’s eyes twinkled with wonder – she was enamored with Clover’s display of telekinetic prowess.

“I admit, this is all highly theoretical,” Clover said, volume returning to her voice. “It is difficult to know the true nature of the soul, or if it really even exists as we understand it. There is not much written on the subject – and if you cared to look, you’d find many studies to be written by myself. Indeed, it is like trying to describe something by only seeing its shadow. Or like guessing at the shape of a chandelier, if you could only see the light it scattered about the room.”

“I’m not sure I understand. What does this have to do with me?”

At this, Clover frowned. She tapped a hoof on her chin, as if she was not sure what it had to do with Celestia at all. Eventually, she gave a weary smile.

“Ah, well,” she said, weakly chuckling, “That is the question, is it not? What indeed.”

Celestia gave Clover a slightly withering look, though the old mare appeared not to notice.

“I apologize. It is difficult to explain this without also discussing magical theory,” Clover said, “And as much as I would enjoy pursuing this line of conversation, I do not expect you would fully appreciate it.”

“Perhaps not,” Celestia muttered, then added, “Though I always appreciate your tutelage.”

Clover gave a humble nod, and continued. “The point is that though magic is at the core of all ponies, it manifests itself in only the most subtle of ways.”

“But what I experienced was not exactly subtle,” Celestia said pointedly.

“Indeed,” Clover said. “What you experienced was the Nightmare.”

“I guess it was rather frightening.”

“No.” Clover shook her head. “I do not mean to say that you experienced a frightful vision whilst you were asleep, nor am I referring metaphorically to the troubling circumstances of the battle.”

There was a pause. Clover’s levitating ribbon of water unraveled itself, twisting through the air as it returned to the corner of the room. There was a tiny plink as it splashed back to the floor.

“It was not a nightmare. It was the Nightmare.”

Celestia’s narrowed eyes locked with Clover’s. She hesitated before she spoke. “I don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head.

“I know, my dear,” Clover said softly. “I scarcely comprehend it myself. This is the kind of phenomenon that could only be explored in theories, hearsay, and myths. Until recently.”

A strand of pink hair floated in front of Celestia’s vision. She swept it away with a hoof.

“What do bad dreams have to do with what happened to me?”

“Nightmares,” Clover corrected. “Not just bad dreams. It has also been called the ‘deep fear’ by those who have studied it. And it is exactly that: a pony’s deepest, darkest fear.”

Celestia watched as Clover resumed pacing.

“Every pony, no matter how brave or spirited or cheerful, has a Nightmare,” Clover said. “It is whatever that pony fears most, the one situation in which they hope never to find themselves; a particular set of circumstances and emotions that produce fear beyond fear.”

Celestia glanced left. Beside her, Cotton was merely nodding. Celestia could not tell if she was actually understanding or not.

“A pony may not even realize what their Nightmare is until they are forced to confront it.” Clover looked at Celestia with a piercing gaze. “However, when they are, they will do everything, everything in their power to prevent it from coming true.”

Celestia nodded diligently, making mental notes of everything Clover said.

“Most of the time, this means a change in behavior. A pony may take drastic measures they would otherwise never take. Their entire personality may appear to alter in response to the Nightmare, as a way of coping with it; either to protect against it, or to soften the blow when it inevitably comes. Responses vary widely, from pony to pony, but they are, all of them…” Clover paused, searching for the right word. “Unhealthy,” she finally settled on.

“This is all very vague.”

“Indeed it is,” Clover said. “You would be right to be skeptical of the very existence of what I am describing. It is difficult to observe, and indeed, difficult to report on because in most ponies, it is a subtle, seemingly natural change.”

“But Celestia isn’t most ponies!” Cotton happily chimed in.

Clover gravely nodded. “Indeed not. When a being of exceptional power experiences their Nightmare…” She paused and looked at Celestia. “Their reaction can be a world-shaking event. There are stories of mighty ponies of all kinds being brought low because of their Nightmare – and the world is brought low with them.

“Princess Winter Wind, grieving her lost family, forged a link between Tartarus to the waking world. Paladin Gold Leaf prevented the sun from rising, against the will of thousands of unicorns. It is said that Rocksalt III became the Foal Mountains. All myths, to be sure, but…”

Celestia looked down and away, suddenly self-conscious.

“I’ve never felt like a being of ‘exceptional power,’” she muttered.

“Trust me when I say,” Clover answered, “that you are.”

Celestia hesitated. “So you’re saying I was scared,” she said, “and reacted by unleashing some hidden power?”

“In a way,” Clover said slowly. “But you were not simply scared. A pony’s Nightmare is the very essence of true fear. It runs deeper than the simplicity of death or pain. It is connected to the soul, the magic at our core. More than terrors in the night, more than even the most horrifying of Discord’s monsters, the Nightmare is contrary to a pony’s very being. It is a combination of mental, emotional, and physical stress unique to every pony – a hypothetical point that would not simply destroy somepony, but undo them completely.

“In some ways, the Nightmare bears resemblance to the way Discord profanes ponies to control them. Indeed, I believe the two are very closely related.

“As such, most ponies never encounter their Nightmare. Such a mind-breaking situation is rare, to say the least. Most do not even know what their deepest fear is, and those who experience it may not even understand what it was afterwards. And when it does happen, usually it is not so terribly drastic; the problem is often corrected before things become get too out-of-hoof.

“But you, Celestia, in this and so many other things, are different.”

Celestia pondered, still not looking at Clover. She shuffled a hoof along the floor, drawing patterns in the stone.

“So I became the… ‘Phoenix’… because my worst nightmare was coming true?” she said quietly.

“That is one way to describe it, yes.”

“And what was my Nightmare about?”

“Who can say? It was a highly stressful situation. It could have been caused by any number of things. Perhaps you afraid to let down your comrades, or you felt you would fail to fulfill your purpose as a soldier. The cause of a Nightmare is always very complex, and very personal; the only person who could truly know of its nature is you.”

A moment passed. Celestia’s mane draped over her eyes, obscuring them. Her expression was a mask. If Clover could see gears of thought turning in Celestia’s head, her face was indifferent nonetheless.

“So, what now?” Celestia finally said.

“What now?” Clover said. “Well, despite the incident, you seem to be making a rapid recovery. Still, I would suggest some rest from the weariness of war. Gods know you need it, and after your traumatic experience, you would likely be granted leave if you asked. With careful study, we may eventually know what exactly caused your Nightmare, so that we may keep it under control.”

“Can it be kept under control?”

“I am certain there is something we can do,” Clover said evenly. “If we try hard enough.”

“And then?”

“And then…?” Clover repeated. “And then we will move on, dear.”

Celestia gave a small nod, considering the notion. Clover allowed silence to fill the air, waiting patiently for a response.

Eventually, Celestia spoke. “There’s something that still doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Oh?” Clover said, eyebrow arched. “What is that?”

Celestia looked up.

“You say we should ‘keep it under control’,” she said, looking at Clover. “I agree. We should. But the way you talk of it makes it sound… impossible.”

Clover seemed to have a response ready, but something about the look in Celestia’s eyes and the poise with which she spoke must have made her hesitate. She watched Celestia stand and walk away from them towards the room’s far wall, purpose in her steps. Once she was a small distance away, she turned around and looked at Clover and Cotton, taking a deep breath.

“Ever since the Nightmare, I’ve felt… something, inside of me,” she said. “Like it’s still there. Or like it always was, and I didn’t realize it.”

Clover cast her an anxious, questioning look. “Celestia?”

She continued. “I’ve been experimenting when nopony is around, and…”

Celestia paused, and raised one arm, bringing her hoof to hover at eye level. She took another deep breath and held it in her lungs, her eyes narrowed and focused on her hoof. All was silent, save for the water dripping in the corner of the room.

Seconds passed.

Cotton’s cushion rustled as she leaned in.

A spark…

Clover took a cautious step forward.

A flicker…

“What’s she doing?” Cotton whispered loudly. “Is it magic? Her horn isn’t even glowing.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Celestia’s cheek. She could feel the strain building.

And then…

A tiny fire sprang to life, clinging to the tip of Celestia’s hoof like a flame to a candle wick.

Celestia released her breath in one great gasp. The flame flickered as it caught the gust, but it did not go out. She watched it, rolling her hoof left and right, watching the little tongue of flame sway and quiver with the motion. A shaky smile came to her face.

“I think,” she said, the fire’s orange gleam playing through her eyes, “I already have it under control.”

After a moment, she looked up and offered her hoof forward so they could see it. Celestia’s smile disappeared as she noticed the reactions of her audience; Cotton, usually delighted at little displays of magic, seemed dismayed; and Clover looked horrified.

Celestia frowned. She took a step forward, offering a closer look. Clover flinched.

“What is this?” the old mare asked in a near-whisper, her voice hoarse and hurried.

“The ‘Nightmare,’ I think,” Celestia said, pulling her burning hoof back towards herself. “With some concentration, I can recreate it.” She again focused on her hoof. The flame began to grow, spreading across the flat area of her hoof. “I should be able to use it in battle.”

“You-” Clover stammered. “You- you-”

Celestia looked up at Clover with concern. Her whole body was recoiled away from her, shock etched into every line upon her old, wrinkled face. Celestia had never seen the seasoned mage so agitated; nor had she ever seen her at such a loss for words.

“You cannot!” Clover suddenly shouted. For a moment, the thin, magical privacy screens across the door and window seemed to pulse with energy. “You must not!”

Celestia started at Clover’s exclamation, taken aback at its forcefulness. “But-”

“Put it out! Now!”

Celestia stared at her mentor with worry. After another moment, she walked to the corner of the room and rested her burning hoof into the shallow puddle. There was a quiet sizzle. A mix of smoke and steam rose from the ground. She looked back.

Clover still seemed to be in shock, staring at Celestia’s hoof with wide eyes.

“How long have you been able to do that?” she demanded.

Celestia recoiled at the steel in her voice. “A few days,” she said defensively. “There’s not much to do in this room by myself. I was pondering about what happened, and-”

“And what?” Clover interrupted, her frantic voice a near shout. “You thought you would do it again? Here, in the middle of a hospital? Purposefully trigger your Nightmare and set the place ablaze?”

“I…” Celestia hesitated. She never expected to see Clover’s wrath directed at her, and she had not been prepared for it. “No. I mean, the first time was an accident, just a little flame like I showed you. I tried it again, and found if I concentrated, I could do it again. I kept practicing until I could spread it across my arm. And,” she quickly added, seeing Clover’s expression become even more distressed, “I was able to sequester the flame without any water! It dies out when I want it to.”

“Your arm?” Clover repeated. “Your entire arm?”

Celestia nodded.

“Celestia,” Clover said, “dear. Tell me you did not go further than that.”

“No! Of course not. I wouldn’t do that here.” Celestia looked away. “So… I practiced on the banks of the Manehattan Channel.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“You snuck out of the hospital?”

“I didn’t ‘sneak out’,” Celestia said defensively. “I’m not a prisoner here.”

“You know you are supposed to stay-” Clover cut herself off, putting a hoof to her forehead. “What were you able to do? How far did the flame spread?”

Celestia mumbled something.

“I’m sorry?” Clover said.

“My whole body.”

Clover blinked. Her mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out.

“I was just like before,” Celestia hesitantly continued, after seeing Clover had nothing to say. “All wreathed in flames like I was. It made me stronger, faster, gave me endless endurance. I had control over the fire; I could use it to help me fly, I could attack with it, breathe it like a dragon, things like that.”

Clover did not reply.

“I didn’t practice for that long. Half an hour at most.”

Still nothing.

“Then I returned here. That was last night.”

Celestia glanced at Cotton.

“And I’ve been recovering just fine since then.”

She took half a step forward.

“Clover?”

Clover seemed to sag with defeat, even more so than when she had entered. She did not simply appear tired; her vacant eyes and swaying balance made her appear to be on the verge of collapse.

“Everything we worked for…” she muttered. Her eyes seemed distant.

A moment passed. Cotton inconspicuously scooted herself away from the conversation, no longer enjoying being in the center of it. Soon she was in the corner of the room, watching both parties with deep concern.

“Celestia,” Clover started, her voice strained, “You must not continue along this path. No good thing can come of it.”

Celestia met Clover’s gaze. “Why not?” she asked.

Clover just closed her eyes, and shook her head. For some reason, this irritated Celestia.

“I haven’t seen the reports,” Celestia said, “I don’t know how many soldiers we committed to the fight, or how many we lost. I don’t know if we would have won or lost. But I know the outcome was as decisive as it was because of me. Because of my powers. How can that be a bad thing?”

“If ever I have given you reason to trust me, Celestia,” Clover said emphatically, “now is the time I call upon that trust. You must take my word on this. The Nightmare is not a thing you can use like a tool. To continue using these ‘powers’, as you call them, is to invite ill fortune of a magnitude you have never seen.”

Celestia pursed her lips. She was no stranger to being defiant, but she had never anticipated the day she would want to defy Clover the Clever – the calmest, smartest, wisest pony she knew.

But Clover was a reasonable pony, was she not? Celestia could not understand why Clover was responding this way.

“With all due respect, Master Clover,” she said, trying to stay level-headed, “how could you know that? You’ve told me several times that this is all theoretical. Despite describing the nature of the Nightmare in great detail, there’s no way you can be that sure about it. Because all those myths, they’re exactly that: they’re myths, nothing more. This whole ‘Nightmare’ business may not be even be what happened at all. This could just be my innate power as an alicorn. You don’t know.”

“I do know.”

“How?” Celestia asked. “How could you know that?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge.

Clover closed her eyes, sat upon her haunches, and sighed. It was a tired sound.

Celestia realized there were the beginnings of a snarl etched onto her own face. She wrinkled her nose, and it was gone.

“Please sit down, Celestia,” Clover eventually murmured.

She considered further defiance, but after a moment, Celestia complied, levitating the marshmallow-filled saddlebag towards herself and sitting upon it without breaking her gaze.

“Your situation is not as unique as you believe.”

Clover’s horn glowed and the privacy screens briefly glimmered, renewed with energy. She opened her eyes, returning Celestia’s stare.

“You are not the first alicorn.”

Celestia scowled. “I know that. I know the stories of the alicorns who migrated away from Equestria and vanished in the east. Behind the Astral Mountains, the same place from where Discord’s beasts endlessly emerge. It’s why alicorns had such a bad reputation.” A haughty smile crept onto her face. “Until I redeemed it for them. In any case, I’ve heard the story a dozen times from a dozen different ponies. I know my legacy.”

“I do not think you do, Celestia,” Clover said evenly.

“And I suppose you do?” Celestia said, not kindly.

Clover nodded. “Indeed. You misunderstood me. I am not referring to the alicorns of old. Your ‘legacy’ has far less to do with them than you might imagine. Your true forerunners were more… recent.”

“May we dispense with the riddles?” Celestia said. She noticed her voice tinged with a familiar contempt – it sounded a lot like Lucky.

Clover’s eyebrow twitched. She heard it too. Regardless, she continued.

“You were summoned, Celestia,” Clover began, her voice rising. “Brought here through means of magic to aid Equestria in its time of need. But you were not the first alicorn to be summoned by the Royal Magi.”

There was a moment of heavy silence.

“What do you mean?”

“As I have told you before,” Clover said, “I discovered a spell that would allow us to summon an alicorn. Not the fictitious caricatures of evil of foals’ tales, but something like a true alicorn; intelligent and powerful, capable of understanding things beyond the comprehension of any normal pony.

“I reported my findings to Arch-Mage Midnight Shimmer, and she reported them to the hierarchy. It did not take long to reach a decision. The war made us desperate to have a pony such as this on our side. And even though Lucky may accuse me of being too gentle for war,” Clover said, her voice becoming softer, “I admit that even I was tempted at the chance for such a boon. For pursuits both intellectual and… military.”

Clover’s gaze strayed away, her eyes distant, as if she were looking over Celestia’s shoulder and into the past.

“And so, in a remote, secluded forest in the north of Equestria, the Royal Magi performed the spell. And to our horror, it worked.”

Celestia’s mouth was dry. With some difficulty, she swallowed, and asked, “What happened?”

“We summoned an alicorn, that much is true. A handsome yellow-coated, blue-maned stallion who called himself ‘Stell’.” Clover’s voice seemed almost nostalgic, lamenting for what could have been. She shook her head. “But something was wrong. Not unlike yourself, Celestia, he came into the world screaming. Agonized. Unlike you, however, he did not recover.

“The physical pain was temporary – though I was baffled as to why my spell caused physical pain in the first place – but his madness never ceded. He ranted and raved about things we did not understand, cowered at visions we could not see. Despair was written into his very being. The Magi, we tried… tried to…”

Clover stopped, utter dejection on her face. Celestia wondered if she might cry – a strange and uncomfortable notion.

Clover regained her composure, cleared her throat, and continued.

“We tried to calm him down, to talk with him, to treat him, to sedate him. Nothing worked. His madness continued, and all the while, he was changing. His colors faded, his voice grew deeper, energy crackled in the air. His raving took on a dark tone. He kept telling us there was no hope for any of us, that we were doomed from the start, that our deaths were inevitable; and he spoke them not as threats, but as facts.

“Storm clouds gathered above us, thunder shook the ground, rain began to pour. No pegasus-created storm was this – it rumbled and stirred in concert with the madness of the alicorn before us. Soon, Stell became wreathed in electricity, crackling and hissing like the element itself.

“Lightning began to strike the forest around us. It was destroying the landscape, obliterating it. We tried to suppress him, to keep his magic under control, but to no avail. He was simply too powerful.

“It was like watching the tantrum of a god.

“Our lives were in danger, and the site surrounding our summoning was going to be made into a spot of black soot on the Equestrian landscape.

“I did not know what to do. None of us did. Except for Midnight.”

Clover closed her eyes.

“The Arch-Mage did what she had to. An unexpected and fatal blow put an end to the insanity. The alicorn Stell had lived, and died, within the space of an hour.

“We had failed,” Clover continued, reopening her eyes, “but we came so close. My summoning spell, one of the most complicated magical procedures in a century, had worked, almost, on the first try. The hierarchy asked that we try again. So we did. Months passed as I researched and refined and rewrote my spell, in the hopes that the same disaster would not occur twice. On the eve of our second attempt, one year later, I was confident of our success.”

Clover scoffed. “I was a fool. The second attempt was met with the same ‘success’ as the first. The alicorn, a mare named ‘Nova Belle’, was just like the first: stricken by dreams and plagued by fears unfounded. Void magic, dark and without form, seeped from her being until it threatened to consume everything around her. She lasted only a few hours before Midnight Shimmer was again forced to strike her down before the destruction she caused became too great.

“Attempt after attempt, all of our would-be saviors were consumed and destroyed. Their fears were different, their magic was different, but they all ended the same. Each time the Magi collaborated in refining the spell, and each time the summoned subject lasted a little bit longer – a few hours, a few days, a week – but they all eventually succumbed to the madness in their minds.

“I was never sure what caused it – and to this day I do not know – but the alicorns always exhibited similar traits of a pony who had been profaned, broken by Discord; which led me to believe they were somehow falling prey to their Nightmares. We tried to compensate for this, but to no avail.

“After so many failed attempts, I became discouraged, as did all of the Magi; our curiosity and ambition no longer outweighed our despair. One of our number even quit, discharging herself from the Royal Magi. Yet, the Royal Council demanded that we continued to try; it would, admittedly, be a great benefit to Equestria if we were to succeed. Yet they had never witnessed our failures firsthand.

“Eventually, I was ready to refuse them. Were it not for Midnight Shimmer, I would have. She told me that she too was tired of their failures, that she found the whole thing reprehensible. She proposed one last summoning, and if the attempt failed, she would refuse alongside me.

“This, our last, great effort, is how you came to be, Celestia.”

In the corner of the room, Cotton cast a concerned gaze at Clover and Celestia, switching back and forth between them. Clover seemed sad, very sad; but Celestia was simply speechless.

“Why am I different?” Celestia eventually managed, her voice hoarse.

Clover cast her a pitying look. “I can guess, but I do not know exactly why. It could be our final modification of the spell worked. It could be that you are inherently stronger than your predecessors, or that your Nightmare is weaker – though, judging by recent events, I would hesitate to draw that particular conclusion. The only thing I know is that between our previous failed attempts and Discord’s attack and personal appearance at your summoning, it is a miracle you are with us today.”

Celestia swallowed. “So I’m… what? The fourth alicorn? The fifth?”

Celestia watched as Clover cringed and looked away. A cloud of shame seemed to hang over her head. When she spoke, her voice was despondent.

“The thirteenth.”

Celestia did not know how to react. She glanced at the door and windows, watching for the faint shimmering of the privacy spells.

“How many others know about this?” she asked.

“Not many,” Clover answered. “Myself, obviously, and Arch-Mage Midnight Shimmer. The Adepts knew, though of their number only Reverie remains. A few of the highest ranking military figures and politicians are privy. And Lucky Break as well.”

“Lucky?” Celestia repeated. “The day we met he told me that he didn’t know of my origin. Does that mean Apple Crumble, and Lieutenant Trick, and-”

“None of his subordinates know,” Clover quickly said. “It is very privileged information – Lucky would never have known, if not for… if not for the fact that it was deemed proper for him to be told of the potential dangers to his battalion. He was told when you were assigned to the 21st. Obviously, he accepted without hesitation.”

“And nopony thought to tell me?” Celestia said.

Though she tried to hide it, Clover’s shamed expression deepened, but she responded, “You were incredibly anxious when we met. I did not want to burden you further with prophecies of failure. And afterwards, you seemed to fall into a stable routine of training and social interaction; I feared I would upset a balance I could not perceive.”

Celestia looked away.

“This is exactly why you must never attempt to utilize the Nightmare,” Clover said, her tone pleading. “Others have fallen prey to it, and you shall too.”

“Or,” Celestia said, “perhaps this is why I must use the Nightmare.”

She looked back at Clover, who stared at her in confusion.

“I haven’t fallen prey to it.” Celestia stood. “Not yet. I’m here now, carrying on a perfectly civil conversation. I don’t fear visions like the others.”

“You have told me about your dreams-”

“And they remain nothing but that! Dreams! Strange dreams, it is true,” Celestia said firmly, “but they remain in my head nonetheless.”

“But this one did not,” Clover observed.

“It was different.”

“No, it was not.”

“It was though-”

“It was not,” Clover asserted, her voice rising. “Celestia, I see in you the signs I saw in the others.”

“I know you do,” Celestia said. “But it may be like you said: perhaps I am stronger than them. Perhaps I have more self-control.”

“Self-control is not a factor when it comes to Nightmares.”

“Then why can I control it?” Celestia demanded.

“I don’t know,” Clover said, her tone clipped.

“You don’t know, I don’t know,” Celestia said. “Nopony knows and it doesn’t matter.”

“How can you say that?” Clover asked, a uncharacteristic edge creeping into her tone. “After everything I have just told you, how can you say it does not matter? It matters, you know exactly how much it matters. This is your very life we are discussing!”

“I understand that. But-”

“Celestia,” Clover said, emphatically cutting her off, “I must forbid you from using the Nightmare like this. You simply cannot.”

At this, Celestia’s longsuffering facade broke, and her expression went from annoyance to anger.

“You forbid me!” she exclaimed. “You ‘forbid’ me!”

Clover’s expression faltered at the outburst.

“At every turn, I have been prohibited from serving!” Celestia shouted, her voice echoing in the small chamber. “At first, ponies were too frightened of me to even speak with me, much less let me help them. Later, after I am actually accepted into a battalion, on the eve of our first battle, I am put into the 4th support company, so that I see no combat. And now this?”

The privacy screens over the door and window glowed, pulsating with each new crest in volume.

“Every time I have a chance to be useful, there is some obstacle in the way; and every time, I have overcome it by not doing what people expect me to do. I had to make a better name for myself, instead of cowering away from ponies’ fear, as would have been a perfectly reasonable reaction. I had to pose as member of another battalion just to see the battlefield – and afterwards, Lucky saw my potential, and decided I could fight!”

“This is entirely different,” Clover stated.

“Why should it be so hard to serve?” Celestia asked incredulously. “Does Equestria want my help, or doesn’t it?”

“Dear-”

“Since my first breath,” Celestia continued, “I have sought nothing but the truth of my existence, and to help Equestria. And yet I am denied both of those things. Until now, I have been able to do nothing worthy of note – and only today am I hearing of the alicorns that came before me. Is there anything else I should know?”

Clover ignored her. “Be reasonable. There are many ways to serve, if that is what you want – but this is not one of them.”

“But think of all the lives I saved! Think the soldiers that would have been lost, were it not for my efforts. Think of all the lives that would have been saved had I done it sooner. Ponies I knew, good friends, at Manehattan, they, if I had just-” Celestia tripped up over her words. She cleared her throat, and continued. “Ponies lost their lives at Manehattan. Soldiers of the 21st. Comrades, some of my only friends in this world, died, and I could have saved them.”

“Their deaths are not your fault,” Clover said.

“I don’t blame myself,” Celestia said. “But it will not be happening again.”

Clover did not respond.

“I’m supposed to be a soldier,” Celestia asserted. “That’s why I’m here. To defeat Discord’s hordes. And now I can.”

“You are a gifted, intelligent mare, Celestia,” Clover said, trying to calm her. “You are an invaluable ally and a steadfast friend. But right now, you are being very foolish.”

“Foolish? I finally was able to contribute,” Celestia responded, “In the Maiden’s Battalion, a force filled with legends and heroes, I was finally able to have some measurable presence. And now you tell me I cannot? That I should not? That goes against everything I’ve ever been told! I should-”

“You will destroy yourself!” Clover suddenly shouted, stamping a hoof on the ground. “Yourself and others! You wish to talk of lives? What of the lives that could have been lost in the fires, had you misdirected them? You caused massive damage to the city of Manehattan-”

“As if it wasn’t already damaged.”

“-and in the end, you were fighting the commander of your own battalion!”

“I said that was an accident!”

“I know you wish for me to see the potential in this,” Clover continued, her voice surprisingly fierce, “but all I can see are memories of madness and decimated landscapes.”

“If I must destroy myself for Equestria, then so be it.”

Clover was incredulous.

“I cannot believe I am hearing this!” she exclaimed, throwing both hooves into the air. “You sound exactly like Lucky Break! There is more to life, much more, than war and self-sacrifice!” Her tone was somewhere in between pleading and demanding. “What is the point of winning if you lose yourself in the process?”

“Well maybe Lucky is right about something!” Celestia shot back. “I will lay down my life, as many others have before me, if it means I can avenge those who have been lost to this godsforsaken war. This is what has been expected of me from every pony I’ve ever met. It is what I promised them! My friends, my comrades – even the Royal Council! Sending me to war was their choice.”

“It was a choice I disagreed with,” Clover asserted. “It was a choice I never would have made.”

“Well, with twelve dead alicorns on your hooves,” Celestia venomously spat, “I think we both know how the choices you made have turned out.”

In the corner, Cotton let out a quiet gasp, and put her hoof over her mouth.

Celestia immediately regretted speaking. She could see the hurt pass over the old mare’s face, come and gone like a bolt of lightning.

Celestia slowly sat down upon her haunches, rubbing her elbow and letting her gaze drift away.

A moment passed before Clover spoke again. When she did, it was with the calm, collected, teacher’s voice that Celestia had come to know her for.

“You are right,” Clover said softly. “I have led a long life. I have made many mistakes. I have lost too many ponies. I would not lose another.”

Celestia looked back towards Clover, her expression only half apologetic.

“And I would not be wasted.”

A moment passed.

“I’m sorry,” Celestia muttered.

She rose to her hooves, and walked out of the room, the magical privacy screen shimmering as she passed through it.

Clover watched her go.

Deafening silence filled the room.

Cotton rose to her hooves, unsure of what to do, who to try and comfort. Clover did not seem to be moving, simply looking at the doorway where Celestia had exited. Cotton could not see Clover’s expression, but did not expect it was good.

A few more tense moments passed.

“Wow,” Cotton said, nervously chuckling, “that was intense.”

Clover gave no response.

“I know she didn’t mean it,” Cotton said soothingly. “She’ll come around.”

Clover still said nothing, and remained motionless.

Cotton drew closer, and put a comforting hoof on the old mare’s shoulder.

“Celestia is just being a grumpy-lump,” she said, rubbing Clover’s shoulder. “The battle just made her tired. It’s made everybody tired.”

Clover’s gaze dropped, just a little.

“Oh, she told me her left wing was still sore,” Cotton said cheerfully. “That’s probably why she’s so grumpy. Maybe we could get Lieutenant Lightning Sky to come in and take a look-”

“Lightning Sky is dead.”

Cotton stopped short. Her hoof dropped from Clover’s shoulder, returning to the ground with a quiet clop.

The privacy barriers lowered, and the commotion of the hospital came flooding back in, replacing the room’s grave silence.

Without another word, Clover left.

XXX: Exhaustion

Celestia stepped out onto the street and took a gasp of fresh air.

She had not meant for it to go that way. Clover was supposed to be excited. Interested. Pleased at her progress. Stoic but supportive. A source of wisdom, as she had been from the beginning. And, if nothing else, a friend.

Celestia was not sure how much of that was true anymore. Clover was still the same wise old teacher she had always known, but how could Celestia accept what she was saying? “The Phoenix” was too powerful and too useful to simply ignore.

And yet, a seed of doubt had been planted in the back of her mind.

Well, Celestia thought, suppressing it, she doesn’t make tactical decisions. She can’t forbid me to use my power. The only pony who can do that is Lucky Break.

Mentally, she paused. The only pony who can do that is Lucky Break.

She shuddered. Never in the history of their relationship had a conversation gone better with Lucky than it had with Clover. It always ended in snarky comments, frustrated faux pas, shouting matches, or, in at least one instance, actual fighting matches. The few times she had interacted favorably with Lucky had been, in her mind, flukes, outliers, and passing interactions that were too inconsequential to be considered friendly.

But his opinions mattered. Ultimately, Commander Break decided what his soldiers did, and were allowed to do, in battle.

Celestia steeled herself and set off to find him.

She trotted down the streets of Manehattan. It would not be easy to find one pony in the huge island city. Soldiers occupied every part of it, involved in a massive search and rescue to find comrades and civilians alike. Even three days later, wounded continued to trickle into the hospital, which was, itself, barely operable.

Pegasi crowded the skies, flying fast in all directions. Soldiers and doctors trotted briskly to their destinations. Wagons filled with supplies were being pulled down the road towards the camps of different battalions, some of which had taken shelter in surviving residential buildings. Tents and canopies were pitched here and there, held over supplies and weapons and wounded ponies.

The last time Celestia had roamed the city, it had been in the dead of night. Now, in the day, she was able to appreciate just what a poor state the place was in. It appeared as if, despite everypony’s best efforts, the world around her had already ended. Buildings were crumbling on the sides of the narrow streets. Some had been destroyed altogether, lying in ruined piles of bricks and stone. Water from the immense attack storm three days ago still pooled in low places on the streets.

The bodies of Equestrian soldiers had been mostly carried out of the streets, but in many places the corpses of sinisteeds and other monsters had yet to be cleared. The stink of blood and bodies and sewage rose from the city, in some places more potently than others. In the center of one street Celestia saw the giant, rotting corpse of a hydra, which made an impassable roadblock for the supply wagons. She gagged at the smell as she passed by it.

Celestia weaved through the crowds, which became thicker and more active as she got closer to the supply yard in the middle of the city. Lucky could be anywhere, and so, rather than looking just for him, she sought out other officers, or soldiers of the 21st. Somepony had to know where he was.

Celestia was not blind to the looks she was receiving as she passed – some awed, some curious, some admiring– but she was, if nothing else, accustomed to ponies looking at her.

Except now, she felt more truly deserving of it. She was more than just a mythical creature, a walking anomaly to be gossiped about and gawked at. Her actions had let her contribute measurably to the war effort – which was the only cause that mattered. She only wished Clover could see that as well.

Finally, she reached the supply yard. It was a great maze of canopies, tents, and wagons, set up in the center of Manehattan in what used to be a park. The entire occupying army’s store of food, weapons, and other goods came through here. It would be no easy task to find Lucky, but-

“Careful with that crate!” a voice snapped.

Celestia’s ears perked up. The voice was clear as day. She thanked her the gods for her luck.

“It’s filled with cannon compression,” Lucky growled at a pony who seemed to shrink under his anger, “So unless you want the doctors to be scraping you off the pavement with a shovel, you’ll think twice before dropping it again!”

The pony nodded anxiously, picked up the crate, and walked off as carefully and quickly as she could.

“Commander-” a pony said behind him.

“Just a moment,” he said without turning, or even fully registering the voice.

“Cloudburst! Come here. I’ve gotten word that the wreckage of the Canterlot Crusher downtown still has volatile cannons. Somepony said one of them went off and blew a hole in a nearby building. Go see if that’s true – if it is, tell them I said to stop the salvage operation, clear the area, and I’ll be down shortly to deal with it myself.”

A sky-blue pegasus smartly saluted and took to the sky.

“Um, sir-” said the voice again.

“One second,” he said impatiently.

“And you!” Lucky yelled, his voice carrying over the commotion. “Hey- yeah! You! Red guy, starburst cutie mark! That food is inbound for the 7th division, but some fool also packed tools for the armorer into the same box. When you take it, make sure you stop by the armorer first, okay? Okay? It’s on fifth street. No, fifth street. Stop there first!”

The voice came again: “Lucky?”

He wheeled around.

“What?”

Celestia stood before him, hastily giving a brisk salute.

“Sir.”

Lucky’s briefly flustered expression slipped away from his face.

“Oh. Celestia. It’s you.”

Celestia’s saluting hoof lowered. She glanced at the bustle of the supply yard behind him.

“Is this a bad time, sir?”

Lucky looked around at the supply yard another time, checking over the scene for himself. He sighed.

“No… sorry. It’s fine. It’s as good a time as any.”

Celestia heard sincerity in his apology, which surprised her – though she immediately attributed it to his apparent exhaustion. His commander’s jacket was disheveled and dirty, his mane was a mess, and faint lines sagged under his eyes. He appeared tired, more tired than even Clover – though he weathered it with a soldier’s endurance.

Perhaps he just could not work up the energy to be bad-tempered towards her?

Celestia hesitated. “I just needed a moment to talk with you. But I can wait.”

“No no,” Lucky said quickly. “We can talk, so long as you can do it while you walk. It will be a welcome change to discuss something that’s actually important.” He cast a sour look at the chaos that was the supply yard. “Walk with me. I’m going downtown to investigate an airship wreckage. You can help.”

Lucky brushed past her and began walking.

“Yes, sir,” Celestia said.

“And no more ‘sirs’ right now, please,” Lucky said, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “I don’t think I can take it.”

“I… okay,” Celestia said awkwardly.

Celestia fell in line behind him, and they navigated the crowd together until they reached a street that was slightly less crowded. He strode with purpose, though he did not seem to be going very fast.

“Celestia,” he called back, “How are we going to talk if you stay directly behind me the whole time?”

“Oh, um.” Celestia trotted forward to place herself beside him, but still lagged slightly behind.

Lucky rolled his eyes and slowed down until they were side by side.

Celestia stared straight ahead, without saying anything. She did not know what to say. How to begin such a complex subject?

“The weather has been pleasant, at least,” Lucky remarked.

Celestia almost tripped over herself. Did Lucky just comment on the weather?

“Since the battle, I mean,” he said, looking sidelong at Celestia. “The attack storm took a whole 40 hours to move away from the city, and it rained almost the entire time. It’s good to see the sun again.”

Celestia did not know how to respond. Was Lucky making small talk with her?

“Yeah, it’s… nice,” Celestia managed.

Lucky nodded to himself. “So. How are you feeling?”

The question was nonchalant and effortless – very unlike when Clover had asked her the same thing.

“I’m alright,” Celestia said.

“Good,” Lucky said. He glanced at her. “You look better. Your mane’s a bit flat from being in that hospital bed, but other than that, I’d say you’re healthy as a horse.”

Celestia self-consciously brushed a hoof through her mane, combing it out. “The doctors said I made an excellent recovery. There are many others that walked away from that battle much worse than I did. Some didn’t walk away at all. I’m just glad I’m alive.”

“So am I,” Lucky said wryly.

They came to a pile of rubble that lay across the street. Half a dozen earth ponies were steadily digging away at it, pulling the stone aside to clear a path. Lucky climbed over it, and Celestia jumped over it altogether, aided by her wings. A few white feathers came loose. She realized she had not preened her wings in a while.

“Well, um, Lucky,” Celestia started, “how are you feeling?” The words felt odd even as they left her mouth, and she still felt odd calling her commander by his name, despite the 21st’s unique allowance of informality in appropriate circumstances. It was only polite to return the question, though.

“Tired,” Lucky said. “I haven’t slept since the battle.”

Celestia was stunned. “The battle was three days ago.”

“Yes, it was.”

When Celestia said nothing, he continued. “Sleep is a luxury I can’t afford.” He shrugged. “I don’t sleep very often these days anyways.”

“Surely you must be exhausted.”

“I am.”

“How can you function like that?” she said, bewildered.

“Because I have to,” Lucky said simply. “The days preceding and following a battle like this are particularly stressful. Even minor skirmishes require days and nights of strategizing and planning – and this was no minor skirmish. And then afterwards there is territory to secure, weapons to repair, casualties to sort, injuries to treat. The dead have to be identified, their families notified, their bodies buried. And all the while, the gears of war grind on; the troops need somewhere to rest, somewhere to eat, somewhere to relieve themselves, some way to receive their meager wages. The list goes on.”

“You don’t have to take on all these responsibilities by yourself,” Celestia pointed out. “Apple Crumble is your lieutenant-commander, can’t you delegate some of the burden to him?”

“Crumble does act as my quartermaster, yes,” Lucky said, “but he’s already very busy. Perhaps just as busy as I am. And to tell you the truth, it’s usually not so bad managing the 21st. The Maiden’s soldiers are self-sufficient in a way you don’t usually find in other battalions – and the Maiden’s Battalion is relatively small.”

“But… the battle of Manehattan was huge.”

“Massive, yes,” Lucky said. “The largest military offensive in the history of Equestria, I think. Tens of thousands of ponies fought here. There were nine mixed unit divisions, three support divisions, and one airship brigade, each with their own chain of command. Technically, my authority only extends over the 21st division. Anypony not in my battalion has no real obligation to obey me. But there’s too much to do, and nopony knows who’s supposed to do it. So I’ve been helping sort the chaos out.

“And besides,” he added, a small smile coming to his face, “nopony is going to disobey an order from the commander of the Maiden’s Battalion.”

Celestia walked onward. She was still trying to grasp the fact that she was having a normal, non-confrontational conversation with Lucky Break.

“Celestia, do you know how long the battle of Manehattan took to organize?”

“No. A long time, I suppose?”

“A long time,” Lucky said with some rue. “Planning and coordinating the assault, maneuvering the divisions into place, waiting for the cloud city Draft to hover within range where it could create hostile weather… it took months. It was a plan so long in the making, Commander Daylight herself took part in its planning before she died. I also had no small part in it.”

Celestia gave an interested nod.

“I have a reputation for making tactically sound plans,” Lucky continued. “And, tactically, and in every other way, this plan was a complete failure. Somehow, the enemy countered us perfectly. We should have lost outright.”

The crowd stirred around them, getting thinner and less active as they traveled away from the city center. The ponies around them were too engaged in their own activities to hear their conversation, but a few took notice of Celestia as she walked by, muttering to themselves and their comrades.

“But we didn’t lose,” Lucky said, his voice slightly lowering. “And if I had to guess, I’d say that’s what you wanted to talk to me about.”

There was a silence.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about, Celestia?”

Celestia looked at Lucky. He was looking back at her, his eyes genuine and curious.

“Yes.”

“Go ahead, then.” His tone was friendly enough.

Celestia looked forward again. “Okay. Except… I’m not exactly sure where to start.”

Lucky said nothing, keeping a patient silence as they walked.

“Clover came to me in the hospital,” Celestia eventually started. “We… discussed it a little already.”

Lucky nodded. “I figured Clover would want to do that. What did you talk about?”

“A lot of things,” Celestia said. There was a pause. “She told me of my origins.”

Lucky stopped. One of his hooves still hung in the air.

Celestia, not expecting it, continued a few paces before coming to a stop.

Lucky looked around. By now, they were on mostly alone on one of the more obscure roads of Manehattan. Only a few ponies trotted up and down street.

“She did?” Lucky said.

Celestia nodded.

“And… what are they?”

Celestia lightly scowled. “I’d think you of all ponies would know that, Lucky.”

“I…”

“Clover told me about how I’m not the first alicorn,” she said, her voice lowered. “She said there were twelve others before me, but they all succumbed to their ‘Nightmare’ after they were summoned. I’m the first not to do so. And she told me you already knew all this.”

“I…” Lucky fidgeted nervously. “What else did she tell you?”

Celestia raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic display of nervousness.

“We talked about what the ‘Phoenix’ – that’s what ponies are calling me now – truly was. She thinks it’s a form of Nightmare. She’s scared for me… a little too scared, if you ask me. You know how Clover can get.”

Celestia felt suddenly conflicted, talking about her friend like that.

“Right?” she added.

“Yeah, I know.” Lucky haltingly chuckled. He seemed to sigh before continuing walking. Celestia fell in line beside him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it before,” Lucky said. Again, Celestia noticed his apology seemed sincere, and thought about just how odd that was.

“It was the lie I had to tell everypony. Clover had some very convincing reasons to keep it secret. For once, I agreed with her.”

“They didn’t seem all that convincing to me,” Celestia muttered.

Lucky shrugged, as if he somewhat agreed with her. “Yes, well, regardless of what your own opinions are, they don’t call her Clover the Clever for nothing. She and I may differ on many things, but she is very wise in her own right. It’s easy to forget that when you’re arguing, though.”

Anxiety began to rise in Celestia.

“But… even as wise as she is, she can’t be right about everything.”

“Nopony is right about everything,” Lucky responded shortly.

A silence settled over them, and they continued walking.

Soon, they reached their destination. The remains of the Canterlot Crusher lay heaped in the city street, a huge mountain of metal and wood. Damaged or collapsed buildings were on either side of it, and the street’s cobblestone had been torn up, showing a clear trajectory of how the airborne giant had crashed. A small team of ponies milled about the exterior of the wreckage, but, as per Lucky’s orders, had ceased to salvage it.

“It’s good you’re here, Celestia,” Lucky said as they approached. “You can use your earth pony strength while flying to dig some of the wreckage the others can’t. Some of the cannons might still be ready to blow and we need to disarm them. It’ll be dangerous, but if you do what I say exactly when I say it, then you won’t get hurt. Can you do that?”

Celestia nodded. “Of course, sir.”

Lucky rolled his eyes. “Very good, private.”

The sarcastic way he said it reminded Celestia of her accidental formality, and she cringed. It was not an order. It was a favor.

The next hour was spent digging through the debris, getting at the cannons within, some of which were buried deep. Lucky directed the dozen ponies that were there to help, shouting orders, but mostly he worked with Celestia, advising her on where and where not to dig, often asking for her opinion on the situation. Once, he shouted at her to move. She did, and a moment later, an explosion shook the wreckage, and a cannonball whizzed right through where she had been hovering.

The rest of the job passed without incident, and though it was not finished when Lucky and Celestia left, the airship had been deemed safe, and the salvage crew could continue.

The two began walking back towards the center of the city.

“Thanks for helping,” Lucky said.

“You’re welcome. Were you using your… your ‘luck’ for that?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a useful ability,” Celestia said. “It’s almost like magic.”

“According to Clover, it is magic. I wouldn’t know anything about that, though.”

“How would she know?” Celestia asked, anxiousness in her voice.

Lucky gave her a sidelong glance. “Does this have something to do with your talk with her?”

Celestia’s eyes wandered down, and she nodded. “I suppose.”

Lucky said nothing, but motioned for her to continue.

“‘The Phoenix of the 21st,’” Celestia started. She had hoped by saying something, the conversation would begin to flow, but she still did not know how to start. “It is… a silly nickname. But-”

Lucky gave a short, barking laugh. Celestia threw him an odd look.

“Yes, ponies do love making nicknames,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t choose ‘the Breaker’ myself, you know. I’m not sure if I’ve ever even liked it, either. Makes me sound like a thug. ‘The Maiden’s Battalion’ isn’t bad, though. Has a nice, strong ring to it. And you could do worse than ‘the Phoenix.’”

Celestia almost smiled back. “Yes, well… I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was ready to do the mission, just as you had ordered. When that didn’t work out, it just… happened on accident. Clover said it’s because I encountered my ‘Nightmare.’ But I’ve been experimenting, and I found out I can do it again. I can become the Phoenix whenever I want.”

“Yes, I know.”

Celestia blinked. “You… what?”

“I know you can do it again.”

“Wha- How?”

“I saw you,” Lucky said matter-of-factly. “Down on the banks of the Manehattan Channel. I’ve been awake for three days, and I happened to be nearby at the time. Don’t look so surprised,” he scoffed. “You were lit up like a beacon in the dead of night. You are many things, Celestia, but subtle is not one of them.”

Celestia was startled – she had never considered how noticeable she might have been. She waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be waiting for her.

“Well, then,” she eventually continued, clearing her throat, “I suppose I was wondering what you thought of it. The Phoenix. Not the nickname. The… incident.”

“What I thought of it?” Lucky repeated. “You mean what I thought of you?”

Celestia nodded.

“You want to do it again, and you want my approval. Yes?”

Celestia nodded.

Lucky pondered for a moment. “Well, to be honest, I think you are a great soldier.”

Celestia’s heart leapt. “Really?”

“I do. I’ve heard a lot about your exploits over the past three days, and I’m impressed. You performed as admirably as I would expect from any other soldier in my battalion. Despite the enemy countering us at every turn, your spirit, tenacity, and endurance met my expectations and then some.”

Celestia could not help but smile at the praise.

“I was reluctant to put you in any sort of danger. I didn’t want to lose you before your time. But in Manehattan, you proved yourself ready. You could say I am still fear for your safety – but it is the same way I fear for the safety of all my soldiers. I don’t like putting them into conflict, but I have to. I have no hesitations about deploying you again. You’ve made a fine addition to the Maiden’s Battalion.”

“Thank you, Lucky.”

“That said, I’m not entirely sure that purposely inflicting your Nightmare upon yourself is a good idea.”

Celestia balked. “Why? You just said-”

“I know what I said,” Lucky interrupted. “I meant it, too. But I’ve talked with Clover as well. It was the first thing I did when the battle was over. And she is mortified.”

Celestia slowed her pace. “But… I…”

“We were concerned about your well-being. After the battle, we didn’t know if you would wake up again.”

Celestia stopped walking, and Lucky stopped with her.

“I had never seen a Nightmare before, but because I knew about you, I knew of the possibility that it might happen. Clover tells me being consumed by a Nightmare is one of the worst fates that can befall a pony.”

“I wasn’t consumed, though…”

“And that was before we knew you could do it again. I haven’t talked with her since, so tell me – is Clover supportive of your decision?”

Celestia’s ears flattened, and she looked away. “No.”

“I didn’t think she would be.”

She looked back up. “But think of the lives I saved, the monsters I killed-”

“The damage you caused,” Lucky said, cutting her off, “the control you lacked.”

Celestia did not respond. A moment of silence drifted by.

“To answer another one of your questions, I don’t know how Clover knew about the nature of my Luck. She just did. I assumed she had read or studied it elsewhere. She certainly understood it better than I did.”

Lucky contemplated for a moment.

“Clover and I used to be good friends. She was my mentor, just the same way she is yours. As a colt, I came to her pleading for help. Luck, as I told you before, is not always a blessing. In fact, for the first decade of my life, I was convinced I was cursed. And nopony knew what was wrong with me, except Clover. She helped me to understand my condition, tutored me, made me master it. We did always not see eye-to-eye – in fact, we had a great argument over how exactly I should use my gifts; and the rift that argument created has never truly healed, I’m afraid.”

Celestia bit her lip, her ears laying flat.

“Despite all that, contrary to what it may seem, I respect the Master-Adept a great deal. Her wisdom and experience makes her incredibly valuable to Equestria. I’ve come to realize I’m glad to have her in this army.”

“Well,” mumbled Celestia, “If that’s what you-”

“I understand the stakes all too clearly,” he interrupted. “That is why, with great reluctance, I’m going to allow you to enter battle as the Phoenix again.”

Celestia blinked, and her ears perked up. Cautiously, she met Lucky’s gaze, wondering if she had heard him wrong.

“Really?”

Lucky took a deep breath, and exhaled. He seemed more tired than ever.

“I’ll be honest with you: we need this. We need you,” he said, nodding towards her. “We haven’t had a victory like the one at Manehattan since Daylight was alive.”

Celestia nodded, standing up straight.

“Of course, you will only use it in circumstances when we really needed it.”

“Of course,” Celestia said, professionally as she could.

“And you will still be under the command of your superior officers. You will only engage when, where, and what we tell you to engage. Furthermore, you’ll be assessed after every battle by Doctor Cross, Master-Adept Clover, and myself. If we aren’t confident you are stable enough to continue going into battle, you won’t.”

“I understand,” Celestia said.

“Most importantly, though, you’ll do this of your own free will. Your opinion is what matters most. Our examinations can only go so far in assessing your readiness – only you know how you feel.”

“I feel good,” Celestia said quickly. “About this plan, I mean.”

A moment passed. Lucky scanned her up and down, as if giving his first assessment on the spot.

“You’re certain?” he said.

“Yes,” she said without hesitating.

Another moment passed. Lucky seemed to struggle picking his next words.

“You… will be careful, won’t you? You’re no good to us dead, or…”

Seeing him struggle, a memory came suddenly to Celestia’s mind.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Lucky gave her a flat look. “Do you mean like we’ve been doing this whole time?”

Celestia blushed, but continued. “Sorry sir, it’s just… Do you remember when I impersonated a soldier of another battalion, just so that I could join the battle?”

“…Yes.”

“And there was a hydra? And I almost died?”

“If you’re meaning to make a good case for yourself, you’re failing,” Lucky said, one eyebrow raised.

“You were angry with me afterwards, but you told me something important.”

“If I had to remember all the times you’ve done something to make me angry at you,” Lucky said, “we would be here all day and night.”

Celestia continued, undeterred. “You talked about sacrifice.” A light seemed to glint off of Celestia’s eyes, ever so briefly. “You told me that if I was to sacrifice myself, that I should make sure it’s worth it.”

Lucky looked at her, his eyes narrowed just a bit. He gave a small nod. “Yes, I did say that.”

“Well…” Celestia started, “this is how I do that.”

Lucky gave a small, gentle nod, considering the sense of her words.

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Celestia added, after a moment. “You’ve seen what I can do.” She smiled, though it faded quickly. “But, if it does… it’s my honor, my duty, to serve my brothers and sisters in the 21st. To serve Equestria. I know Clover’s scared. And I can see you’re nervous. But this is something I simply must do.”

A moment passed.

“If that’s how you feel,” Lucky said.

“It is,” Celestia said confidently.

Lucky took a step back and looked at her, examining her in full. He had long since learned to detect false bravery in soldiers. After all, “bravery” was, in a way, a myth; a pony could not be brave if they were not also full of fear. Bravery was not the absence of fear; it was the overcoming of it. The greater the fear, the greater the valor.

But the soldier before him, clear-eyed and sincere, standing tall, head held high, held neither fear nor bravery. Just a sense of duty.

“Alright,” Lucky said.

They resumed walking.

Their path took them towards the city center, and as they got closer to it, the encampments became more frequent and the activity became more common. Still, Manehattan was a big city. It would be a while before they reached the center. Dusk was beginning to fall; they could no longer see the sun above the city skyline.

“I often think about Daylight,” Lucky suddenly said. “As a Commander.”

“Oh?” Celestia said, glancing towards him.

“Yeah,” Lucky said. “I think about what she would have done. Tactics and decision-making came natural to her. Before every battle, I ask myself what she would do. ‘Would she order an aerial attack from the north? Or lead a ground charge from the east? Would she shell the area with cannonfire first? Or is there some other fourth option I’m just not clever enough to see?’”

“I can’t imagine planning for such things.”

“Sometimes it helps to pretend she’s beside me, telling me what to do,” Lucky said slightly quieter. He cast her a sidelong glance. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Celestia said. “Cotton rigging my saddlebags to explode with confetti when I open them is silly. You’re just following a good role model.”

“Thanks,” Lucky said, giving a wry smile. “I’m not sure what Daylight would do in every situation, but I do know she would give everything and more to win this war.”

“Yeah,” Celestia agreed.

They began to see soldiers increase in frequency. Some were on patrol or busy with tasks, but this far away from the city center, most were simply idle, passing the time with each other, resting while they still could, while the rest of the army organized.

“Do you mean what you said about me being a good soldier?” Celestia asked.

“Absolutely.”

A moment passed.

“Sorry for trying to kill you, by the way.”

Lucky laughed. “The feeling is mutual.”

Celestia smiled, and then echoed his laugh with her own.

Ahead and to the right, something caught Celestia’s eye. A large manor, which had no doubt once been the pride and joy of its owner, lay in ruin. Miraculously, the front lawn of the manor lay mostly untouched. It was only a fraction of an acre, but the thick, overgrown grass and leafy green trees made it a rare sight to behold in the urban jungle of Manehattan.

Upon this green oasis, an encampment had been set up which housed a hundred or so soldiers. They did not appear to be of any particular battalion; most of them were overflow patients from the hospital – hurt, or even maimed or badly injured, but stable enough to be cared for by their fellow soldiers away from the doctors. A multitude of tents and pavilions were pitched, with supplies and bedrolls littering the ground.

On the far side of the encampment, an orange pegasus leaned against piece of rubble from the manion. A white bandage rolled was around his head and across one eye. In his hooves he held a guitar. Gently, he plucked at the strings, singing a quiet song. Nopony spoke over the music; and those that needed to speak, muttered.

Lucky saw it too. Together, their pace slowed, and as they came closer, they stopped.

It was the most peaceful thing Celestia had seen for a long time.

After a moment of listening, Lucky spoke.

“You know, I’ve been working for three days straight,” he said matter-of-factly. “I think I’ll take a break.” He glanced her way. “What do you think?”

Celestia looked back at him. Was that a question, or an invitation?

“I think that’s a good idea,” she said with a noncommittal shrug.

“C’mon then,” he said, gesturing towards the garden. “It’s easier to have a conversation when you’re not moving around all the time.”

An invitation, then. Celestia hesitated. He was tired – up close, she could see the dark circles that framed his eyes – but he seemed genuine. In fact, everything he had said today was genuine. Kind, even. He had treated her like a friend, in his own sort of way. It was nice.

She followed him in.

“There’s an open spot,” Lucky said. They wandered towards it, weaving through the crowd and ducking under pavilions until they maneuvered their way there.

Lucky sank into the grass, lying on his belly. Celestia followed suit, leaving a small space in between them, though there was not much space to leave. The yard was already full of soldiers, wounded and otherwise. Though, Celestia noted, it did not feel uncomfortably packed. Just cozy.

And she did not mind that there was no tarp or bedding beneath her, or pavilion above. On the contrary, her days in the hospital had made her pine for something natural, beyond the four walls of her room, beyond the sprawl of the city. The grass was soft and yielding. It felt nice against her belly.

The music played, and for a while, they listened.

“You want to know the hardest thing about being a commander?” Lucky muttered, keeping his voice low.

Celestia glanced over at him. His head was lowered onto his hooves, and his half-lidded eyes were fixed on the performer. He looked comfortable.

“I imagine it’s all hard,” Celestia replied.

Lucky gave a single, quiet chuckle. “You’ve got that right.” He tilted his head towards her, still balancing it on his hooves. “No, aside from all the commanding and strategizing, I mean. The hardest part is making friends.”

“Making friends?” Celestia struggled to avoid a sarcastic tone. She had never seen Lucky show any inclination that might suggest he cared about such a thing.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Lucky said.

Ah, so he had heard the sarcasm. Celestia blushed.

“I mean it. Nopony is really ‘friends’ with their battalion commander,” he said. “Allies, maybe. Comrades. Brothers-in-arms. But not friends.”

She was not sure if he wanted to be comforted, or if he was just chatting. It was a strange thing to admit so casually. Lucky had his moments of eloquence, but a maker of conversation, he was not.

Nevertheless, Celestia responded, “How can you say that? You have plenty of friends. Your soldiers like you.”

Lucky paused for a moment to yawn.

“They don’t like me. They respect me. There’s a difference. The bond between a good commander and their soldiers can be one of the strongest there is. Ponies trust me to save their lives – or spend them wisely. But the relationship isn’t… equal, like real friendship is.” Lucky did not sound like this upset him; rather, he was just stating the facts.

“I suppose I’m fortunate,” he continued. “The conditional informality of the 21st makes it easier to get to know my soldiers on a more personal basis. But still.”

“What about Apple Crumble?” Celestia said. “The first time I saw you together, you were slinging curses at each other like childhood friends.”

Lucky made a motion that approximated to a shrug, though he remained in his lying position.

“That’s silly. You think it was hard for you to make friends,” Celestia said, “Try becoming an alicorn and then see what you think.”

Lucky chuckled. “True.”

“You’re just tired. You wouldn’t be thinking like that if you weren’t. Ponies become grumpy lumps if they don’t get their sleep. And you’ve been a warrior too long.”

This time, it was Lucky’s turn to look inquisitively at Celestia.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, ‘grumpy lump’ is just something Cotton always says when I…” She paused. “You mean about the warrior thing.”

Lucky nodded.

“Well… your whole life, you’ve…” Celestia searched for the words. She did not want to offend him. In the back of her mind, she considered how unusual it was to care about Lucky’s feelings.

“Take today, for example,” she finally said. “You’ve been working so long you can barely keep your eyes open. You can’t think straight. Maybe certain details pass you by, or maybe you get sloppy. And I know the work has to be done, but… maybe a nap now and again wouldn’t hurt you.”

Lucky blinked. “I don’t understand.”

Celestia cringed. It was a poor analogy. She tried thinking of another, but could not.

She blurted, “You’ve been a soldier so long, you don’t know what friendship really is.”

Lucky nodded his head, understanding. “Do you?”

Celestia could tell it was not an accusation, nor did he sound in any way offended. He really was simply curious.

“Yes,” Celestia said firmly. Probably.

Lucky hummed, resting his chin back onto his hooves. “This war has been going on for fifteen years. There are some in the Maiden’s Battalion who have been soldiers for that entire duration – some even longer. Have they also lost their grasp on friendship?”

Celestia bit her lip. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, I can’t speak for everypony, but… I admit you might be right about a commander having difficulty making friends. So maybe… try not being a commander all the time. Just try being you once in awhile.”

Lucky grunted. “Try being ‘me’,” he flatly repeated. “You sound like Cotton.”

Celestia smiled. “Thanks.”

“That’s only sometimes a good thing,” Lucky said. But Celestia could tell he was amused.

“And… I imagine Commander Daylight had friends.”

A moment passed.

“You’re right,” Lucky said. “She did.”

Celestia looked over at Lucky. His eyes were closed, and though he said nothing, somehow she could tell he was pondering something. Even so, he did not say anything else, and Celestia was content to enjoy the atmosphere of the cozy oasis.

A few minutes drifted lazily by.

For all the talk having no friends, Celestia thought, Lucky had surely been friendly today. She wondered why. Was he tired to the point of delirium? She thought of all the other times he had stayed up longer than was healthy – and could only remember his frustration and annoyance fueled by exhaustion. Was it because he was pleased with her contribution to the battle? Maybe, but until the very end, he had seemed almost as opposed to the use of the Phoenix as Clover had. So what changed?

The question led to another.

“Lucky,” Celestia muttered, leaning over slightly. “About Clover. And your argument with her. You said you’ve come to respect her, but… if you don’t mind me asking… do you think, eventually, the rift between the two of you could ever truly close?”
A moment passed, with no reply.

“Lucky?”

She looked over at him. He was fast asleep.

He looked very content. He gave a gentle, nearly unnoticeable snore with each slow, deep breath. He was a picture of peace, or exhaustion.

Celestia was suddenly struck by a sense of her own tiredness. The day was ending. She dreaded returning to the dull, featureless prison that was her hospital room, but there was little else to do; and technically, she was not supposed to be out until Clover lifted her quarantine.

The music was still playing. Would it be so bad to enjoy another song or two before returning to her hospital bed?

She looked away, listening to the performance and staring idly into the darkening sky.

**********

Lucky awoke gradually. His limbs felt heavy. His body had rolled over, so that he was lying comfortably on his side. His eyelids almost refused to open. When they did, it was only by a small degree. Out of the crook he had formed with his hooves, he lifted his head and looked around.

It was nighttime, now. The courtyard was lit by a full moon. The guitarist was gone, and the other soldiers were scattered about, sleeping under tents and pavilions and stars.

At his back, he felt something stir. His craned his head to look over himself.

Beside him, Celestia lay deeply asleep. She was leaning against him so that they were back to back. Her head rested lightly against his neck. By lifting his head, he had somewhat disturbed her.

They must have both rolled this way sometime in the night, Lucky reasoned.

Careful not to disturb Celestia further, he gently lowered his head back onto his hooves. His duties could wait a little while longer.

XXXI: E Pluribus Unum

Twilight Sparkle’s quill burned across the pages, her mind hot with curiosity.

Princess Celestia serenely took another sip of tea.

They discussed specifics for a while at Twilight’s insistence. How long had the army marched? How exactly had the attack on Manehattan been executed? How had the camp been set up afterwards? How long had it taken to rebuild and re-inhabit the city? Which branch of Equestrian government had been in charge of such things?

The princess endured the barrage of questions gracefully and to the best of her ability, but oftentimes her answers were vague, like somepony struggling to recall what exactly they had had for breakfast ten years ago on the day they got their cutie mark. They were unimportant details of a distant memory.

Twilight was not oblivious to the princess’s disinterest, and did not blame her for it. How would she have known about the exact movements of the Equestrian army? And as for ancient politics – well, Princess Celestia had not been anything close to a princess at the time.

She felt perhaps the tiniest bit of guilt at using the princess’s time like this. But she had to ask. Not since the discovery of the Ponsetta Stone had such an advance in the understanding of pony history been possible. In the name of scholars all across Equestria, she had to record as much information as she could.

It took a long time, but eventually the story continued.

“So how did the army proceed from there?” Twilight said, turning towards a map of Equestria that was unrolled on a table beside her.

Equestria had looked very different in the time of the War of Madness. Twilight had found a blank topographical map, and used her notes to fill in the names and places of the cities, towns, roads, and landmarks of the old world herself. It was the best way, she reasoned, to keep track of towns which had moved, such as Ponyville, or places which simply no longer existed.

Plus, she could not wait to see the faces of the archeologists at Canterlot University when she told them the locations of ruins all across Equestria.

“Did the army break up into smaller battalions again?” Twilight continued. “Or did you all move as one force? And where did you go next?”

Celestia took another patient sip of tea. “The attack on Manehattan took almost all of Equestria’s military force. I believe many units were returned to their posts guarding the frontier. However, though the toll of the recent battle was great, the generals were eager to strike while the iron was hot. The Equestrian military divided into three - or was it four? - armies, and set out to retake the remaining territories.”

Twilight’s paused fussing with her map. Her brows furrowed.

“Was it three, or four?”

Celestia considered it for a moment. “Three.”

“How large were they?” she eagerly pursued, “Each?”

“I have no idea, Twilight,” she said, suppressing a giggle. “Maybe twenty thousand?”

“Hmm.” Twilight scowled at her map. A collection of wooden pieces, which looked vaguely like carvings of soldier ponies, sat scattered across the parchment. She moved one large piece off of Manehattan, and replaced it with three smaller ones. Arrows had been drawn all over the map, with little marks indicating where and when a battle had taken place. Usually, Twilight only tracked Celestia’s journey; there was simply no way to know where the other units had been. But she still tried.

“And where did the army advance?”

“I don’t know where they all went, though I do have a general idea of where the battlefront was. At this point, with Manehattan as a hoofhold, conflict took place all along the north and northeast,” Celestia said, leaning over and motioning to the general northeastern area of the map. “Here. If you draw a line from Manehattan…”

She poked Manehattan on the map.

“…to Neighagara Falls…”

Her hoof traveled west.

“…to the plains north of Canterlot…”

She motioned to the vast emptiness north of the Canterlot mountains.

“…and finally, to Galloping Gorge and then north to the mountains. Everything west of Galloping Gorge was safe. That may not be completely accurate, but if I had to draw a line,” Celestia said, a smile coming to her lips, “that’s where I would put it.”

“That’s a large battlefront.”

“Not as large as you might think. The Crystal Empire kept their borders quite secure, meaning we never had to worry about any of Discord’s monsters moving through the mountains. This was, in fact, the most territory Equestria had owned since the beginning of the war.”

“So if Discord’s army couldn’t push any farther north than the edge of the mountains… and farther south than the northern plains…” She squinted at the imaginary line Celestia had drawn. “It’s a bulge.”

“That’s right,” Celestia nodded. “Territorial bulges are never good in a military sense. They are easily flanked, and resupply becomes slower and riskier. And even Discord’s forces needed a line of supply.”

Twilight became absorbed in marking the area the princess had motioned to.

“And the only way they could be resupplied was…”

“From here.” Celestia pointed to a spot in the northeast. “Through a narrow strip of land in between the Crystal Mountains the the Celestial Sea. Supply was brought to the hordes from across the Trottingham Channel, including food and reinforcements.”

Twilight peered closely at the map. “Isn’t that Bugbear Territory across the Trottingham Channel?”

“It is now. Back then, those mountains were firmly within Discord’s grasp – a land of monsters and peril.” Celestia looked up with a thoughtful expression. “Which, I suppose, isn’t so different from nowadays.”

“I guess some things never change,” Twilight said.

“Well, not necessarily,” Celestia said, looking back down. “Remember, beyond the edge of your map, lie the Astral Mountains and the supernatural fog from which the hordes first emerged. But east of that, a certain civilization had stood between us and them…”

Twilight looked up at Celestia, a gleam of understanding in her eye.

“The Hieyuma Empire,” she muttered.

Celestia nodded.

“Wow…” Twilight looked back at the map, resting her hoof upon her chin and pondering. “The ruins of an entire lost culture, just sitting there…”

“I know what you’re thinking, my faithful student,” Celestia said, a stern edge to her voice, “and I absolutely forbid it. Bugbear Territory isn’t any less dangerous now than it was back then. I would not risk an entire battalion of Royal Guards to explore it, much less my prized pupil. It is regrettable, but the ruins of the Hieyumans must go unexplored.”

“I know,” Twilight said, her tone tinged with longing. “It is a shame, though. I’ll bet there are all sorts of secrets just waiting to be found. Think, an entire civilization, just waiting to be rediscovered. A whole history, there for us to read it! The inventions, the architecture – the books!” She gave a squeak of delight. “Do you think any of their books survived?”

Twilight looked up, and found Celestia’s gaze locked directly on her. An unspoken warning passed between them. It felt like the scrutiny between a wary parent and a naughty child.

Twilight bashfully smiled. “But of course, I won’t go.”

“Good,” Celestia said. She took another sip of tea.

Twilight cleared her throat, and looked back at her map. “So…”

“As I was saying,” Celestia continued, her tone professional, “this was the most territory Equestria had ever owned. A smaller frontier meant less forces spread thin, which meant more offensive power, which meant more retaken land, which meant a smaller frontier, and so on. For the first time ever, Equestria was actually gaining territory.”

“All thanks to you,” Twilight remarked.

“Not all thanks to me.”

Twilight looked up. “Well, no… but it all started with the taking of Manehattan. Which they would not have been able to do without you. You said even Lucky admitted that.”

“That’s true,” the princess said. “Not everypony was as enthused about it as I was. But it is probably safe to say that without me, the battle of Manehattan would have been lost.”

Twilight nodded, satisfied, and went back to scribbling on her map.

A moment passed, and a sudden question occurred to Twilight.

“Did… you ever apologize to Clover?”

A moment passed before Princess Celestia answered.

“I tried,” she said. “I found her and said the words ‘I’m sorry’. I really meant it, too. But at the time, it simply wasn’t enough. Her disapproval of my methods aside, we stayed upset with each other for quite some time.”

“Oh…” Twilight said, her gaze lowering. “I’m sorry. Losing a friend is the worst.”

“It’s alright, Twilight,” Celestia said kindly. “We weren’t enemies. In fact, eventually, our friendship rekindled just as bright as it had been before. But it was not the same. I would never again be her bright-eyed pupil with a sinless heart and an empty vessel of a mind.”

“You were bound to graduate from her tutelage eventually,” Twilight pointed out.

“A wise pony never stops learning from her friends,” Celestia countered. “I’m over a millennium old, and I learn new things every day. But I think this was more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Clover loved teaching,” Celestia said, “though she had stopped teaching in an official capacity decades earlier. She gave guest lectures to universities, dispensed advice to the Royal Council, but I was the first real ‘student’ she had had in a while. I think Clover really enjoyed guiding me in the right direction. And when I so blatantly refused that guidance, especially on a matter so important to her… well, I think it hurt her. I think Clover thought she had failed – as a teacher, and a friend. And my harsh language did not help matters.”

Twilight noticed Celestia’s tone subtly change, as if she were revealing the moral of a story.

“Wounds heal. But if they’re deep enough, they leave scars. Friends deserve better than to be scarred.”

“But… at least you learned, right?” Twilight offered, “To never treat your friends like that again?”

Celestia gave a helpless shrug. “I’ve had a long life, and plenty of time to make the same mistakes twice. I’m just a pony, after all.”

Twilight smiled, though it was half-hearted. “That’s true.”

Though not entirely, she thought privately. This was the princess they were talking about. Surely she was just being modest. If there was anything Twilight had learned about Celestia, it was that she was indeed pony – but a legendary, heroic pony at that. A flawed hero, but a hero nonetheless. And certainly flawed no longer. The step down from goddess to legend was a short step indeed. Twilight was sure of it.

“So when did you deploy?” Twilight asked, navigating away from the troubling topic.

“About two and a half weeks later,” she said, leaning back into her cushion. “The Maiden’s Battalion set out with a dozen or so other battalions, and headed for the northeast front. After Manehattan, I had been promoted in rank, and after every battle after that, I was promoted even further. They finally took the Arch-Mage’s suggestion for me to be ‘hastily elevated in a chain of command.’ At first, I was the leader of a small patrol – which then became a full squad, and then a section, and eventually, an entire platoon. Though sometimes, I led them in name only, given the unorthodox way in which I participated in battles. As it turns out, a Nightmare of fire and rage has difficulty giving rational orders.

“With the momentum we had created, the goal of the Equestrian army was to recapture every territory within its borders. We were determined to drive Discord’s force back. To cut them off from supply. To wipe them out completely.”

Celestia leaned towards the map, and nudged forward one of Twilight’s wooden soldiers.

“With the power of the Phoenix, we were able to do just that.”

Twilight readied her quill, and scribbled as the Princess continued.

“We approached the site of our next battle, which was, at this point, deep within enemy territory. Sinisteeds patrols were becoming more frequent. The pegasi patrols usually did a good job of keeping them away, but sometimes they got through. And the closer we got, the more vicious they were. I had thought they were wild enough before – but now they fought like injured, cornered animals.”

Twilight nodded. “Change – er, sinisteeds haven’t changed much since the old days, have they?”

Celestia drew back, putting her hoof to her chin, considering the remark more seriously than Twilight intended. “Perhaps in some ways they haven’t. But the fact that they are known by a different name nowadays points to at least some change, does it not?”

“Well…” Twilight hesitated, not wanting to contradict the princess. “It’s true their name is different, and somehow they’ve since gained the ability to transform their appearance… but the ‘sinisteeds’ you’ve described to me resemble changelings in almost every other way. Same look, same behavior… seems to me like they’ve always been evil.”

The princess shook her head sadly. “Twilight,” Celestia said with a hint of disappointment, “you of all ponies know better than to judge a creature by its appearance. Very few creatures are simply ‘good’ or ‘evil’.”

Twilight was quick to respond. “Well… but… you can judge actions, right? The sinist- er, the changelings once tried to conquer Equestria! They’ve been nothing but bad for us.”

“I’m not saying what the changelings did was right, or good. But we do not know what circumstances led to their actions. Even today, I am not entirely sure what led the sinisteeds to Discord’s servitude. But I do know their history is a sad one. For that, we should pity them. And we should know that we cannot classify an entire culture of individuals.”

“They’re a hivemind,” Twilight said. “They don’t have culture. Or individuals.”

“Have you lived among them?” Celestia responded. “Can you be sure of that?”

Twilight sheepishly looked to the corner of the room. “Well, no… of course I haven’t…”

“Then you simply cannot know them,” the princess said firmly.

“Do you, Princess?” Twilight suddenly said, looking back. Her eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity. “Do you know what they are like?”

Celestia showed a sad smile. “No, not truly. And I don’t think anypony ever will. They are, admittedly, difficult to approach. But know this, Twilight: as is the case with all creatures, there is much more to sinisteeds, to changelings, than you might think.”

**********

It thought: The mind. It calls. It calls to us.

It thought: No, to me. Me. I am me.

It thought: Yet it calls nonetheless. It calls and it calls and it never stops, never stops, and we I cannot disobey. It tells me to do, and we I do. There is no disobey. There is only hide, only distance, and in these things there is danger. In all things, danger. Danger for us me. But we must do them.

It thought: I must do them.

It knew: For I am me.

It asked: What shall we do?

The voice behind voices rang loud in its head.

Child, the mind replied, sharp like the wind, warm like the sun, Takest up arms and make ready for war. I am thy Queen, and this will please Us.

Of course, it already knew that. Nevertheless, the thought came, and it allowed itself to echo, This will please us.

It had not yet obeyed. The mind knew it needed more direction. It said, Child, and ahh, how wonderful and soothing and invigorating the mind’s voice was, Child, go forth to the south reaches of this city, and reinforce the territory there. Thy brethren await you. I am thy Queen, and this will please Us.

It echoed, My brethren await us. This will please us.

It felt: small. It felt itself rub against the vastness of the mind and all the minds beyond that. It felt its consciousness being tugged upon by the vacuum of its empty brethren. It wished it could let go, to be understood by the only beings who could possibly understand – for it was aware of the cruel irony: that in a world populated by consciousnesses, all creatures were an island unto themselves. No creature truly knew its brothers. No creatures but these, its brethren and its princesses and its queens. But also, it did not wish for this.

It knew: Complex thoughts for a mere child.

It asked, Wherefore shall we join the brethren in the south? Where are our brethren in the diverse parts of this city? And what shall we do when we are attacked?

The mind responded, Child, it will suffice.

It said, It will not suffice.

The mind responded, Child, it will suffice.

It said, I must know.

The mind did not say anything. In the mind, there was silence.

Then, among hundreds of tasks and thousands of drones and millions of scattered imaginings, the mind turned its full attention towards it.

It felt: scared.

I must know, the mind said, re-echoing its own voice back to it. I must know.

It felt the weight of the mind’s stare, of a thousand stares, and it could hardly breathe. It was crushing. Fear, that instinct which even the most mindless of things could experience, flooded its very being.

It began to flee.

Must you? the mind asked.

It did not answer. It was aware of wind and sky and moonlight as it raced over a forest landscape, as fast as its wings could carry it. It tried to keep its thoughts on these things.

Must you? the mind repeated, louder. Answer Us.

It was compelled. It answered, Yes.

Why?

It answered, Because ~~I~~ we must.

The voice behind voices could not so easily be redacted; the mind heard him in full.

Answer Us further.

It was getting farther away. The mind was becoming dimmer. Nevertheless, it was compelled to say, ~~I~~ we must know where my brethren are, so that I may meet them.

Why must you?

It said, for our good.

It was getting harder to avoid the questions. Individuality leaked through its seams. It could feel the mind combing, probing, sifting through its his very being.

The mind considered this. This child is a strange one indeed, the mind said. A whole host of emotions came bundled with the thought – fear, anxiety, panic, and – could it have interpreted this correctly? – the faintest hint of hope.

It did not respond in any way, except to fly faster. It He had to-

I am thy Queen, the mind said in the voice of a god, of a tender mother, and I wish to speak with… you. I wish for you to come to me in the city. We shall speak as creatures, with outward voice. You shall say unto us the full truth. I am thy Queen, and this will please Us.

It ~~He~~ It did not respond.

The voice – the command – burned in its his mind, and he felt compelled to turn around and obey. He wanted to, he needed to… but he was not forced to.

As soon as he realized this, a wave of relief swept over him. He was free.

The rapid beat of his wings lessened, lowering in pitch. He fluttered below the treeline, swaying back and forth like a sluggish hummingbird. Eventually, he landed in a small clearing, and collapsed.

He lay there panting, shivering, unmoving, alone. Nearby wildlife had fled when he landed; birds flew away, mice retreated into their holes, a small fox bounded into the wilds. They knew what he was; they wanted nothing to do with the likes of him. He did not blame them.

Eventually, he mustered enough energy pull himself to a nearby tree, hiding from the moonlight beneath its dense foliage.

Soon after, he heard the insect wings of sinisteeds flying overhead. He had known, of course, they would be looking for him, but his heart skipped a beat nonetheless. And, even more cause for dread, he felt the mind approaching, digging into him, casting out hooks and poking into his soul.

He changed.

The mind suddenly became more distant as his own mind became foreign.

It was still present, however faintly, and it would be until he distanced himself further in both body and spirit. He could hear it calling his name, his true name, with all the desperation and longing and love of a mother separated from her child. He longed to call back – but he rebelliously held his peace.

The wingbeats faded. An inaudible sigh of relief escaped his lips.

Wearily, he glanced down at his hooves. Dark blue. A strand of dark, leafy green mane drifted before his eyes. It was sloppy job – the fur was patchy, his limbs were still slightly porous, and his mane was wispy and thin, like the strands of so many spiderwebs. What an abomination he must appear to be. But for now, it would do.

His head fell to rest on the tree trunk. He hoped nopony found him like this before he woke up.

**********

Below, trees shook as the land trembled. That was the third earthquake this morning.

Celestia leaned back and angled her wings upward, dragging them on the air until she slowed to a stop. She raised her hoof. A gust of wind swept past her and ruffled her mane as small group of six other pegasi saw the signal and stopped behind her. Together, they hovered just above the treeline, peering over the pines.

She shielded her eyes from the morning sun, which was still rising over the ocean horizon, and peered at the distant town.

“This looks awful,” Celestia murmured. “Who would want control of this place?”

She felt wind come off the slow, powerful wings of a pegasus drifting closer to her.

“We would, Sunshine,” Apple Crumble said with a small chuckle.

As Celestia could see it, the little town nestled upon the coast had been completely ruined – far worse even than Manehattan. To even call it a town was generous. It was a mausoleum of rubble. Piles of stone and rotting wood dotted the place like primitive gravesites. A few pathetic looking walls stood here and there, stubbornly refusing to collapse, seemingly unaware that their neighbors had done so more than a decade ago. Perhaps a dozen buildings remained truly intact – and in those, if she squinted, Celestia could spy movement.

And dotting the town were clumps and webs of neon green… something. A substance that even from a distance she knew she did not want to touch.

There would be no rebuilding this place, unless they tore it down and started over.

“Shetland,” Crumble muttered. “Used to be a busy little place. Not so much anymore, is it?”

“No,” Celestia agreed. “Why do we need it so badly?”

“This lovely wreck,” Crumble began, “is where all o’ the hordes’ supply runs through. Food, weapons, reinforcements, you name it. If it comes from their home across the sea, it comes through here. Used to be Manehattan, but we put a stop to that. And if we can stop ‘em here too, the rest of their army in Equestria will be completely cut off.” Crumble hovered closer to Celestia and pointed to the coast. “Yeh see that there port? Ships unload their cargo there almost weekly.”

“I’m surprised the sinisteeds can build something that floats,” Celestia murmured.

“They don’t ‘build’, it’s more like they… spin ‘em,” Crumble said. Celestia gave him an odd look, and he continued, “They’re more like floating hives… ah, nevermind.” He floated forward a bit, looking closer at the port. “Most of ‘em are captured Equestrian or Aquilean vessels, anyways. Y’know, fer being flying beasts, the griffons sure make a quality schooner.”

Celestia peered at the ruined town’s port. Sure enough, there was a collection of mismatched vessels all floating in the port, though they were much too far away to see any real details. She looked at Crumble.

“How do we know all of this?”

He shrugged. “Fifteen years is a long time to get to know yer enemy.”

Celestia hummed, and returned her gaze to the town.

“Steady Wing,” she called, “What do you see?”

A lime green pegasus behind her came to rest upon a nearby tree branch, which sagged under her weight. She reached into her saddlebag, produced a small spyglass, and peered through it, steadying herself with her free hoof. A few moments passed.

“They’re definitely active,” Steady Wing called out. “Very active.” Another moment passed. “They’re moving around in, like, a big frenzy, but uh… they’re, uh… trying to be subtle? About it? Uh, not sure how to describe that. Forget I said anything. Can’t quite tell how many there are. Maybe, like… a few hundred in my sights. Probably a few thousand that I can’t see.” Steady looked away from the spyglass and towards her patrol leader. “They, uh, they definitely know we’re here though.”

Celestia nodded. “Too late for a sneak attack. Just like you guessed, Crumble.”

Beneath his beard, which had lately become even bushier than normal, Crumble smiled. “Course it is. I wouldn’t’ve assigned yer patrol to this if I thought it required stealth.”

Celestia bristled. “Oh, and I suppose you’re stealthy?”

“Yeh wound me,” Crumble said, putting his hoof over his heart in mock hurt. “I’ve been good enough on this patrol, haven’t I? Maybe yeh’d be surprised what I’m capable of.” He gave her a playful wink.

Celestia looked him over. “Uh huh,” she muttered, unimpressed.

“Yeh’ve developed quite an attitude, Sunshine,” Crumble warned, wagging his hoof at her as if she were a naughty foal, “I’m not sure I like it.” But of course, he was smiling. And some of the patrol were giggling.

Celestia resisted blushing. She knew it was just banter, but she wished Crumble would not undermine her authority in front of her patrol.

“Sorry, sir,” Celestia said, overly polite, “With your red coat, bushy beard, and huge profile, you’d make a great spy. They’d mistake you for a manticore and never think twice.”

The pegasi fought hard to keep their snickering to themselves.

Crumble grumbled something to himself, then said, “Alright, alright. Shoulda known better than to mess with the mare in charge.”

Celestia grinned, enjoying the warm glow of a minor victory. She was in charge, wasn’t she? Crumble had invited himself on their scouting run at the last minute, and though he was her superior, he had insisted she remain the leader.

“Steady Wing,” Celestia said, looking towards the still highly amused pegasus, “You and Big Sky stay here and keep an eye on them. Send word if anything changes.”

Steady Wing snuffed her giggles and nodded. The pegasus named Big Sky flew over to Steady’s tree, landing on a branch on the opposite side. The tree wobbled, and Steady nearly fell.

“The rest of you,” Celestia called out, “let’s go.”

She took off, diving to gain speed. The rest of pegasi, which had spread out to create a small defensive perimeter, quickly abandoned their posts and followed, sheathing their switchblades and falling into a loose V formation behind her.

Apple Crumble was on her right. Celestia slowed until they were side by side.

“If yer gonna gloat, I don’t wanna hear it,” Crumble spoke over the rushing wind.

“You know I only learned it by watching you and Lucky.”

“Ahh,” Crumble said, “I see now we were bad influences on yeh.”

They separated and dodged around a particularly large pine tree that stuck above the treeline.

“Actually,” Celestia said as they came back together, “I was wondering what made you want to come along on this patrol anyways. The scouts last night gave us the same information, we were just making sure it was still true. Don’t you trust me with a simple scouting mission?”

“Oh, I trust yeh,” Crumble said, “Jus’ wanted to see things for m’self, that’s all.”

While she was flying, Celestia could not look over to see Crumble’s expression, and could not tell if he was serious or joking, or if thought he had been assigned to foalsit her.

After Manehattan, Celestia had been promoted. She was proud of it, small promotion though it was, and now had new responsibilities which she happily fulfilled. Scouting with her patrol, newly formed under her command, was one such duty. It was only five ponies, but Celestia was honored regardless – she would rather command five of the Maiden’s soldiers than five hundred regulars any day.

Admittedly, Crumble was right. She was not stealthy, not in the slightest. But she was capable.

The ranks of the Equestrian army came into view. The patrol began to descend into the forest.

The soldiers marched upon an old cobblestone path, winding up and down hills and snaking through the shallow mountain valleys of Northeast Equestria. A wide river, which ran swiftly towards the nearby ocean, followed the path.

The road, which was once a thriving vein through which imports from the Crystal Empire constantly flowed, could hardly be considered a road anymore, overgrown and in such disrepair as it was. The wooden wheels of their supply wagons scraped and bumped stiffly against the stones, often struggling through deep ruts or over obstacles; and it seemed like every mile, there were at least a few fallen trees which had to be cleared out of the way.

The road was narrow, constricting their ranks and stretching their forces across nearly a whole mile. Only fifteen ponies could march shoulder to shoulder at its widest point. Their force was incredibly exposed. Pegasi constantly flew patrols around the long, snake-like formation in order to spot potential ambushes.

The unique golden armor of the Maiden’s Battalion made them easy to identify among the tens of other battalions. She descended into their ranks from above, taking care not to skewer herself upon the many earth pony lances that protruded into the sky.

She found Lucky Break and reported to him her findings. With formality befitting a commander, he acknowledged her report, thanked her, and sent her on her way.

She ordered her patrol to disband and join their regular ranks. They saluted and took to the air. She followed suit, taking off and flying towards her own predetermined marching spot within the ranks.

“Hey Sunshine.”

Celestia looked over her shoulder. Crumble was following alongside her.

“Sir,” she acknowledged.

“Got a question for yeh.”

“Ask away.”

“Why do yeh ‘spose the sinisteeds haven’t attacked us yet?”

Celestia spotted her division and settled down beside the marching ponies, finding an open spot and marching in line with them. Crumble continued to hover beside her.

“I can’t help you with that,” Celestia said. “You’re the Lieutenant-Commander, not me.”

“Ah, don’t gimme that,” Crumble chided, his bushy eyebrows furrowing into a scowl. “Yeh’ve never been afraid of sharin’ yer opinion before.”

“Yes I have. Lots of times.”

“Ah, but how times have changed, eh?” He motioned around himself. “Look at you, trekkin’ through some godsforsaken wilderness deep within enemy territory. On the warpath with yer best friends. And all this through no small effort of yer own.”

“I’m no tactician.”

“Hah!” Crumble laughed. “As if you care about somethin’ like that. Feh, heh. ‘I’m no tactician.’ When’ve yeh ever cared about doin’ the tactical thing? How many battles you been involved in where yeh followed orders? Was it the one where yeh attacked a hydra head on? Or the one where yeh turned into a fire-spittin’ dragonpony?” He waited, but of course, Celestia did not respond. “Feh, I thought so. Don’t need to be smart to have an opinion. ‘Member when yeh snuck into another battalion, just so yeh could charge into battle with the rest of us? If that ain’t a firm expression of opinion, I don’t know what is.”

Crumble grinned. Celestia felt the corner of her mouth twitch, but still she said nothing.

“Yeh know this isn’t the last promotion yer gonna get, right? You don’t stop here.” Crumble flew out in front her her, facing her while flying backwards. “Ponies wanna see their heroes leadin’ armies, not patrols. And certainly they don’t wanna see ‘em diggin’ and cleanin’ latrines. Unless yeh want to go back to that.”

Celestia involuntarily gagged. As punishment for the previously mentioned expression of belief, she had dug and sanitized enough latrines to last her a lifetime. The muck, the filthiness, and the smell, gods, the smell…

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Celestia said, swallowing the bile that had surfaced in her mouth. “Can we not talk about that, please?”

“Somepony’s gotta do it,” Crumble said with a sly grin.

She shuddered.

Crumble continued, “Not you, though. Not anymore. Captains, lieutenants, commanders, they don’t have latrine duty. Yer comrades like yeh. They’ll follow yeh, do what yeh say. They wanna please yeh, anypony can see it. Yer one of them and more. Not to mention, the public adores yeh. In her last letter, my wife told me she sees fillies playing on the street, pretendin’ to be the great Celestia – the Phoenix that slew a thousand beasts.”

Celestia shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing.

“Yer jus’ gonna keep gettin’ promoted. And I know yeh’ll accept, because it’s what yeh want; to be in a position where yeh can help Equestria to the best of yer ability. Heck, maybe someday yeh’ll even have my job.”

“And work with Lucky all day?” Celestia said, forcing a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

Crumble could not help but smile himself.

“All’s I’m sayin’ is, yeh’d better start exercising those tactician’s muscles, because yer gonna be usin’ ‘em soon enough.”

“Okay, okay,” Celestia said, giving in.

Looking pleased with himself, Crumble landed on the ground and fell in step beside her.

“So, whaddaya think? Why haven’t they attacked yet?”

“Well… they obviously know we’re here,” Celestia began, her tone hesitant and slow, “They’re preparing for us to attack them. My guess is they know we’re coming, but don’t want us to know they know.”

Crumble nodded. “Alright. Why?”

“So that they can surprise us,” Celestia said. “But… if they wanted to surprise us, they wouldn’t just wait around defending their city.”

“And what would they do?”

“If they had any sense they would attack us on this trail, where we could be easily flanked and outmaneuvered. I mean, we have the river to our east,” Celestia said, looking to the right at the rocky shores of the nearby river, “so at least a ground attack from that side would be ineffective. And if they launched an attack from the city, we’d have time to spot it and ready ourselves. But still, we’re not in formation, we have no line of sight into the forest… if they ambushed our flanks on either side, we’d be decimated.”

“But…” Crumble made a circling motion with his hoof.

“But they haven’t done that. And our scouts have been combing this forest for days, so we’re reasonably sure there aren’t any hidden enemies.”

“So there’s the problem, eh?” he pursued. “What do yeh think is goin’ on?”

“Maybe they didn’t see us coming far enough in advance to actually set up any proper ambushes.”

“This ain’t no single-battalion strike force,” Crumble admonished. “It’s an army. A big ‘un at that. We’re not that hard to spot.”

Celestia shrugged. “Or maybe they’re just stupid.”

For some reason, Crumble laughed. “Always assume yer enemy is just as smart as you are.”

“Sinisteeds aren’t smart,” Celestia huffed, suspecting Crumble’s mirth to be at her expense.

“And yet, they organize into armies and lead conquests and fire in volleys and-”

“They can do battle,” Celestia interjected, “So what?”

“They’ve been doin’ battle for a lot longer than we have, sunshine,” he said gravely. “And succeedin’, too. And not because of chance, and not always because of brute force. Yeh need to appreciate that.”

“So then Discord is controlling them,” Celestia said, annoyed. “He’s smart, he comes up with plans. And then his minions execute them.”

“Discord is crafty, sunshine, not omniscient.”

Celestia sighed, her eyes narrowing just a bit. She was beginning to get annoyed.

“I’m not sure what we’re talking about anymore,” she said. “Don’t you have other, less pointless things to be doing?”

Again, to Celestia’s annoyance, Crumble barked out in a deep rumble of a laugh.

“Ha! Ha ha! Ah, you an’ Lucky really would work well with each other! Oh, yeh’ve got no idea…” He shook his head, wiping a tear away from his eye.

Celestia remained silent, marching with her eyes forward, expression scrunched, and ears flat.

Just then, the earth began to shake. Another earthquake. The army column came to a halt as ponies struggled to retain their balance. Wagons swayed back and forth, and a few ponies lost their footing and tumbled. Celestia and Crumble, as well as most of the pegasi, took to the air, hovering in place to avoid the trembling ground.

Then, just as quick as it had arrived, the quake subsided. Celestia looked around. While being knocked over in full armor was truly a pain, nopony seemed to be hurt. They got up, got back into formation, and the column resumed marching.

“Third one today,” Crumble muttered.

“Fourth,” Celestia corrected.

“Aye,” he said, nodding, “and the seventh one this week. Very queer.”

“Why so many?” Celestia asked. “Could it be the hordes?”

Crumble shrugged. “Could be. Nothin’ we can do about it.”

“Shouldn’t we slow our advance?” Celestia suggested. “Make camp, send scouts, find out what’s causing them?”

“Our scouts are very thorough, sunshine,” Crumble said. “Either they have some hidden weapon that we haven’t seen before – and there isn’t a lot we haven’t seen – or there’s just nothin’ to find. The scouts’ll keep on searchin’, but in the meantime, the only way forward is, well, forward. If we slow our advance too much, we’re givin’ the enemy even more time to prepare for us. And we don’t wanna be attacked here – we wanna do the attackin’.”

Celestia gave him a skeptical look. He returned it with a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry. You want my opinion, I bet yeh it’s just natural. Just Gaia, remindin’ us she’s still there.”

But as Crumble turned away, Celestia noticed an unusually contemplative look on his face. It was not long, though, before he enthusiastically clapped his hooves together and continued.“Right, well, back on topic, then. What’re the sinisteeds up to, Celestia?”

“I said, I don’t know,” Celestia huffed. “Maybe they don’t have the numbers to attack, or maybe their defenses are somehow so impenetrable that defending the city actually is the better option, or maybe it’s just something we haven’t seen before, or…”

A moment passed. Celestia stared straight ahead, but behind her eyes, Crumble could see gears turning.

She glanced at the river, then back at Crumble.

“Sinisteeds can’t swim, can they?”

“I can’t even swim.” Celestia gave him a withering look, and he followed it up with, “Not that I know of.”

Celestia looked at the river, scanning it up and down, looking over her shoulder to see the bend away with the valley.

“Could they come from behind us? Somehow… I don’t know… float downstream?”

Crumble stroked his beard. “I reckon they could.”

Celestia’s heart was beating just a little bit faster. “The river is wide enough to carry a ship, and the current is fast enough to let it approach very quickly. And, if we were attacked from the river, even by just a small force, it would disrupt us long enough for them to launch an attack from Shetland. We’re too big, we wouldn’t be able to organize in time.”

Crumble did not say anything, merely watching her with interest.

“They don’t have an ambush waiting in the forest because they know we’d spot it too far in advance,” she said, speaking faster and faster. “But if they got us from the river, we, we would…” She paused. “I have to go find Lucky.”

Celestia took to the air.

“Wait!”

She continued to beat her frantically wings, but did not ascend. With each wing beat, she felt an uncomfortable, almost painful tug on her hindquarters. Her wingbeats lessened, and she looked back, confused.

Crumble had grabbed a hold of her tail, and was using his considerable weight to pull her down.

“Wait, wait,” he said, half chuckling, half out of breath.

Slowly, Celestia returned to the ground. She, too, was out of breath, but she was not getting calmer.

“What?” she said quickly. “What is it?”

“There’s no need to talk to Lucky,” Crumble said, smoothing out her tail and then letting it go.

“Why not?” Celestia said breathlessly, “This could be a major-”

“We already talked about it, darlin’.”

She paused. “What?”

Crumble fell in step with the marching ponies, and pulled Celestia along to do the same.

“We already talked about the river,” Crumble said. “Lucky thought of the same thing. We placed sentries to watch the river downstream and left behind a small force to deal with anythin’ that comes our way. If the sinisteeds decide to take a swim, we’ll know it long beforehand.”

Celestia looked at him. Her expression, wide with surprise and panic, gradually became narrower until it was a scowl.

“I can’t believe you,” Celestia grumbled. “You could have told me.”

“I could’ve,” Crumble said, “but I wanted to see if yeh could come up with it on yer own. And yeh did!” Crumble threw an arm around her and pulled her into a brotherly hug, playfully rattling her about.

She threw his arm off and pulled away from him. “Hmph.” Celestia haughtily turned her head away from him, mane swishing as she did so.

“Oh, don’t be that way,” he said half-apologetically, craning his head forward and trying to meet her gaze. “It was just a harmless test. Which yeh passed, by the way. Yer fortunate, y’know, gettin’ trainin’ from a high ranking officer in a famous battalion.”

“‘Training’, is that what you call it?” Celestia said without looking at him, nose still in the air.

Crumble waved a hoof towards her, unconcerned. “Ahh, yeh’ll forgive me eventually.”

A few moments passed in silence. The valley echoed with rushing water and the hoofbeats and turning wheels and muttered conversations of some twenty thousand ponies.

“‘Ey sunshine,” Crumble said, breaking the silence between them. “Are yeh ready for this?”

Celestia was surprised not to hear a trace of mirth or hint of teasing in his voice. Haughtiness forgotten, she looked back at him, and saw a familiar expression.

He had given her that look when she had first entered Canterlot, injured and weary; when she, in distress and near tears, was preparing to speak to Clover the Clever for the first time; when she was preparing to duel Lucky Break in the practice ring; when he was teaching her to fly; and in a hundred other situations that came rushing back to Celestia’s mind.

Those furrowed brows, those searching eyes, those pursed lips that made him look like the wind was blowing in his face – Crumble was concerned for her. He suspected she was not ready for something. And, Celestia knew, any time he had asked this question, verbally or otherwise, she never had been.

This time, she was not sure why he thought so.

“Ready… for the battle? I think so. Why?”

Beneath that bushy beard, she thought she saw Crumble begin to say something else. But if he was, it never got out.

A horn blared in the shallow canyon. Three short blasts – the signal for an enemy counterattack. Someone had spotted something. Crumble swore.

The army column came to a stop. Soldiers tensed up, scurrying to put on their helmets and ready their weapons. Officers barked orders and everypony else chattered nervously.

Surely the enemy would not give up their defensible position at Shetland to attack them head on. Would they?

Celestia looked around suspiciously, her ears shifting left and right, trying to pinpoint the location the sound had come from. Amidst the army’s activity, the atmosphere remained oddly calm. Gentle wind rushed through the canyon, the river continued to mildly flow.

The horn sounded again.

To Celestia’s surprise, it did not come from the front of the army, or from a northerly direction at all. It came from behind her.

Again, it was three consecutive blasts, this time followed by two lower-pitched notes.

Celestia scowled, trying to remember what this particular signal meant. “Enemy counterattack… from…”

“The east,” Crumble finished.

Celestia’s eyes widened. She looked towards the river.

Several things happened at once.

The river, which had only moments before been steady and tranquil, if not powerful, erupted into chaos. Deep blue was replaced with furious, foaming whitewater rapids as the river seemed to thrash wildly up and out and in upon itself. The sound of a thousand rushing waterfalls shattered the fragile silence. Spray wafted up and into the air, across the rocky shore and towards the bewildered Equestrian soldiers.

Simultaneously, an earthquake erupted, with such sudden and violent force that nearly every soldier in the mile-long column was knocked to the ground. Celestia did not have the reaction time to escape to the air. She was thrown to the ground – she wheezed as she felt Crumble, in all his bulk and armor, thrown on top of her.

Eventually, the quake subsided, and the cacophonous sound of the rapids lessened. Before Celestia could stand, she heard it: the howls of monsters. Not sinisteeds, manticores, hydra, or anything else she knew of. It was deeper, more bass, than any animal sound she had heard before. It did not pierce her ears – it rattled her bones.

As soon as Crumble rolled off of her, she scrambled to her hooves, wiped the dirt from her eyes, and peered towards the river.

The shore itself seemed to approach.

With a life of their own, boulders from the riverbed had seemingly grown arms, legs, tails, and snapping jaws, and were now crawling towards them, numbering in the hundreds along the convoy’s mile long train.

Somepony yelled:

“Cragadiles!”

And the troops broke into chaos.

Author's Note

As there is some discussion of geography in this chapter, I decided to make a quick reference.

The shaded part is Discord's territory. The Equestrian military is fighting all across that front. The army that the Maiden's Battalion is currently traveling with is assaulting that little choke point in the northeast, between Startlight's Cave and the sea.

As Twilight and Celestia discussed, Equestria looked very different 1000 years ago, so of course this map doesn't really do it justice. Eventually, I may draw a map of my own -- but for now, this should give you a decent idea of where the conflict is.

Prologue: The Faithful Historian

Twilight Sparkle loved Canterlot. More specifically, she loved Canterlot’s libraries. Book after book, hour upon hour, she could spend entire days lost in the deeper reaches of the royal archives. She had quite an impressive book collection at her home in Ponyville, if she said so herself, but it was nothing compared to the literary wonderland she so loved to get lost in. It had literally every book she could imagine, and many more she could not. Rumor had it that the archives had a copy of every single book ever written. If a thing could be learned, it could almost certainly be learned here.

Which is why it was especially infuriating to Twilight when she could not find what she was looking for.

She was on vacation, but as her assistant Spike grumbled the day previous, “a vacation with Twilight is no vacation at all.” That was before he received a dirty look and light smack on the head.

To Twilight, it was a vacation of sorts. Getting lost in the world of information that was the archives was a joy all on its own. She had come to Canterlot in part to visit her parents, but mostly because she needed certain books that she simply did not have in her own collection. She was in the middle of a deep study of ancient Equestrian history, and was absolutely, positively stuck on one of the most well-known, but poorly documented events in history: the War of Madness.

It was the first documented war in Equestria, and was also the worst, that much was obvious. It marked the first time that the tyrant Discord had terrorized the world. Scholars debated on why there was so little recollection of it, but many concluded that printed material was scarce back in the ancient days. Ponies at that time would not have been worried about recording history, they said, but rather survival. Many also hypothesized that many of the already scarce material of the day was destroyed in the chaos.

Twilight was determined to fix this. She would gather every known fact from every known source, and compile them into something that made sense. Easier said than done, of course.

Twilight had retrieved nearly every book on the subject, and had read many of them cover to cover, some more than once. After briefly visiting with her parents, she all but galloped to the archives, and started her research, the sun still high in the sky. Minutes dragged on into hours, with an ever growing stack of research books to her left and ink-splotched notepaper to her right. It was an hour from midnight before she dismissed a sleepy Spike, who had been gathering books for her all day long.

“Aren’t you coming?” Spike said, stifling a yawn.

“No, not yet,” Twilight responded, not bothering to look up from her book, “I think I’ve almost got something. I’ll be up in a little bit. Don’t wait up.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Spike mumbled, stretching his sore muscles. “Well, don’t stay up too late. Good night!” he said, walking towards the exit.

“Mm hmm,” Twilight dismissively hummed.

That was two hours ago. By the dim candlelight, Twilight had since read through another quarter of a book, with having written only one or two additional lines of notes. She scanned each and every line of relevant data with nearly zero success. The old dusty tome either told her things she already knew, or information so vague that it was useless. She even began to notice inconsistencies, things that supposedly happened but, when examined logically, could not have been possible. It drove her mad with frustration.

“Twilight? Is that you?”

The voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin. The only other person nearby was the door guard. Even the librarians were gone. Normally, ponies were not allowed to stay this late, but as the princess’s personal student, she was allowed special privileges. The only other person she could think of with late night access was…

“Princess Celestia?”

“Hello, my faithful student. It’s nice to see you!” she said, wearing a smile as gentle as the morning sun.

“It’s nice to see you, too!” Twilight said, returning the smile with faltering grace. Her fatigue and surprise made it result in more of a grimace. The Princess quietly chuckled, knowing she was sincere.

“I tried to visit earlier, but I was told you were busy.” I also need to get this project done! “What brings you here?” Twilight asked.

“Well, this is my library,” the princess said, walking toward Twilight’s desk. Seeing an apology form on her student’s lips, she quickly added, “But I just came to pick up a novel. It’s a new one, the Wayward Knight. Ever read it?”

“O-oh. Yes! It’s very good,” Twilight said, quickly recovering. “You read novels?”

“Oh, this and that,” Celestia said whimsically, “I like to keep up with the things ponies are writing nowadays. Besides, a pony has to have fun sometimes.” She walked a bit closer to Twilight’s desk, and peered over her shoulder. Seeing the thick stack of hastily written notes, she lightly laughed. “It seems you could be writing a novel yourself! What are you doing here so late?”

“Oh, just a project of mine. History, actually,” Twilight said. “I was doing a bit of reading a while ago, and couldn’t help but notice a certain time period that missed a lot of information.”

“Oh?” Celestia said.

“Yes,” Twilight said, becoming more relaxed and slipping into a tone of explanation. “Everything leading up to and during the War of Madness.”

“I see,” Celestia said. She tapped a hoof to her chin in contemplation. “Have you tried Quiver Quill’s Guide to Ancient Equestria?” she offered.

“Yep,” Twilight responded, pointing to the stack of books that was easily twice her height. “Right there. Starting on page 256. I feel his timeline is…” she paused, waving her hoof in the air, looking for the right word. “…incomplete.”

“Prime Edition’s Complete History?”

“I’ve checked it. Too broad. Not nearly enough detail.”

“Scribe Inky’s The Maid of Canterlot? That’s a personal favorite of mine.”

“Too narrow. It focuses on only one pony’s life throughout the entire war, and the Old Equestrian is a little difficult to decipher sometimes. Although, did you know Canterlot use to be a small, earth pony town? Oh, well of course you know. It’s just strange since you think it would be unicorns mining the mountain for gems, or even pegasi for its high elevation, but nope! Earth ponies. No one really knows, but I think it might be because…”

Twilight trailed off as she realized she was rambling. She looked at Celestia and blushed, who returned it with a good natured smile.

“Well, anyways,” Twilight continued, “It’s fascinating, but not what I’m looking for. Besides, it ends really abruptly for some reason.”

“Yes, I suppose it does,” Celestia said contemplatively. She came up with more titles as suggestions, but she had read every single one. Many of them were still tucked away in the precariously tall stack of books to her left.

“Goodness, Twilight! I don’t know what to tell you,” Celestia laughed, after having exhausted her extensive knowledge of books.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she moaned miserably, throwing her hooves up and planting her face on the desk.

“What kind of information are you missing?”

“I’ve got a basic idea of everything, but there still so much missing. Important names, for one. Apparently, there was this great general who united the pony tribes on his own, but there isn’t a single mention of his name! Some of the dates are messed up, too. The pony tribes themselves were supposed to have already united and founded Equestria, but every text I’ve read describes them as fighting just as venomously as before, at least until the anonymous general brought them together. And another thing-“

Twilight began, but conspicuously paused.

“What?” Celestia asked.

“Well, it’s not important…” Twilight sheepishly said.

“You can tell me, Twilight,” Celestia said, nudging her student on the shoulder. Twilight sighed.

“Well, it’s about, um…” she began. Celestia eyed her curiously. “It’s about you, actually.”

“About me?”

“Well, yeah…” Twilight laughed nervously. “There isn’t a whole lot of information about your life. You or your sister, for that matter. No early life, no activity in the war. All the information indicates you and Luna just sort of appeared, found the Elements, and ended it all. Not only that, but…”

Twilight trailed off as she noticed Celestia become distant. She was no longer looking at her student, her gaze having shifted to look at the flickering light of the candle. Twilight had no way of knowing what was beyond the impenetrable mask of indifference that Celestia wore. She assumed the worst.

“Not that it’s my place to look! It is your private life after all, and I know you don’t remember much of it, and I’ve asked before, and I’m sure it must be unpleasant to think about all those years, and I’m so sor-“ She stopped as a hoof gently touched her lips.

“It’s okay, Twilight,” Celestia said slowly, “You’re right. Much of that information has been lost.”

“Y-yeah…” Twilight responded cautiously. There was an awkward pause. “Princess?”

“Twilight, why don’t you meet me tomorrow night? In my personal study.” Her gaze shifted from the candle to her student. “Would you do that?”

The response was quick. “Yes, of course!”

“Good,” Celestia said. “Bring a quill, and lots of ink and parchment.”

“You’re going to help me study?” Twilight asked, her voice half full of hope. The princess smiled in response.

“Yes, I’ll help you study.” The princess gave her an exact time, in the evening when all of her royal duties will have been completed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my faithful student. Until then, try to get some sleep. Good night, Twilight,” said Celestia. She began to walk toward the exit, the novel she came to pick up completely out of mind.

“Good night, princess,” Twilight said. She thought for a moment, and added, “Oh! Should I bring the books?” Celestia stopped, and half turned her head back towards her.

“No, they will not be necessary.”

**********

Almost immediately after she left the library, Princess Celestia began to have second thoughts. She had been thinking about it for quite some time, actually, but what she had just done was completely on impulse.

No matter. She could easily cancel the appointment.

But should she? Would she? She felt the memories, bursting at the edge of her mind, craving to be shared. It was not a history, or a biography, but a story, full and true, something that not even her sister Luna knew the whole of. It was a story that Celestia was only the smallest part of, and yet she was the only one that had the power to recount it. It was a painful story, but all the more beautiful for it.

It was a story that deserved to be told.

**********

Twilight arrived at her mentor’s personal study an exact five minutes before she was due. She was eager to begin. It had been so long since she last talked with the princess, let alone studied with her one on one. At the approval of the golden-armored door guard, she was allowed entrance. She walked in and closed the door behind her.

It had been a while since she last saw it, but the princess’s study was exactly like she remembered it. As always, it was well lit with a set of magical lights that were never too bright and never too dim. The large windows to the south provided an excellent view of Canterlot, and far beyond that, Ponyville. In one corner, there was a trio of comfortable chairs surrounding a coffee table, and in another was a large wooden writing desk surrounded by cushioned stools. Lining the whole of the room were bookshelves, all of which had books of both fundamental basics, advanced knowledge, and personal importance.

In her fillyhood years, the study had been a bastion of peace and learning, under the careful tutelage of the Princess Celestia herself. Now, it was a nostalgic reminder of the “good ol’ days”, but still remained as great a place as ever.

Sitting at one of the desks was Princess Celestia, warmly smiling at her student. In front of her sat two cups of tea, steam pleasantly rising into the air.

“Twilight,” Celestia happily acknowledged, “Come in!” She did so, as any lingering anxiety from the night previous melted away into the warmth of the room.

“Princess,” she smiled, “Sorry, I am a little early.”

“No need to apologize,” Celestia gently countered. In fact, she had counted on her being early. She was always early.

“So,” Twilight began, removing her saddlebag and unloading the contents onto the desk, “Where do we start? Is there a book in here that I missed? One that isn’t in the archives?”

“No, no book,” Celestia said calmly, taking a sip of tea.

“Oh. A scroll, then? Scrolls are okay. Kind of hard to read though,” she said, sitting down directly across from Celestia and shuffling the blank parchment into an organized pile.

“No,” Celestia replied, gently laughing, “No scroll.”

Twilight paused. “I don’t understand. If there’s no material to study from, then what are we here for?”

Celestia shifted her gaze to a nearby window, looking contemplative, as if preparing to say something but not knowing how to say it. After a moment, she looked back, an expression of seriousness playing across her face.

“Twilight,” she finally began, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Really? What is it? I promise I’ll-” Twilight began, but was cut off.

“Don’t promise just yet,” Celestia gently rebuked. Twilight fell silent. “I need you to write something for me.”

“Write something? Like, as a scribe? Spike is better at that than I am,” Twilight replied.

“No, this has to be you,” Celestia said. “And I don’t just mean dictation. It’s not a letter, it’s a… story.”

“Well, okay,” Twilight said, unsure. “What kind of story?” The question caused Celestia to again become briefly contemplative.

“A history, I suppose you could call it. My history.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Your history?” Twilight weakly repeated.

“Yes. I know I’ve told you I don’t remember most of it, that after centuries the memories have faded.” She paused. “That was wrong.”

Twilight was speechless. After a moment of flustered contemplation, she managed to say the only thing in her mind.

“But why?”

“Because you’re right. The recorded history of that period is severely lacking, and ponies deserve to know. After all, I witnessed it firsthand,” Celestia said confidently. After another second, a little more meekly, she followed up with, “It’s also been such a long time since I’ve told anypony. I’m afraid I actually will forget if I don’t.”

“But why hide it?”

“You said so yourself. Earlier, in the library. ‘I’m sure it must be unpleasant to think of those years’ I believe were your words.” Celestia took another sip of tea. “Well, you were right. It is unpleasant. However, some things simply have to be done, pleasant and otherwise.”

“And you want… me? Surely there are better biographers, or, or historians that could-” Twilight said, stumbling around her words.

“Oh Twilight,” Celestia said, smiling. “Don’t short change yourself. You’re the brightest pony around! You know Equestria’s history extraordinarily well! Some of it…” she began, but rephrased, “…well, much of it is distasteful, but you know that as well as anypony. I would be honored to have you record this for me.”

Twilight blanked, looking for the right words to say. Celestia saw her expression, and realized she had not even considered the possibility of her student declining. She began to worry. She could have a real biographer or historian write for her, but did not want to. Much of the account she planned on telling was deeply personal, and not something she could share with just anypony. In front of Twilight, she had the courage to be herself. In front of anypony else, she was the Princess of the Sun.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Twilight’s voice.

“I-“ she began, pausing. Celestia leaned in an infinitesimal amount, anticipating the reply.

“I… I would be honored, Princess.”

Celestia breathed an inaudible sigh of relief, and inwardly laughed. Of course, she had no need to worry.

“Where do we start?” Twilight said, magically gripping her quill and dipping it in a well of fresh ink.

Celestia took a long sip of tea before responding. “At the beginning.”

I: Out of Body, Out of Mind

“At the beginning.”

“The beginning? You mean your… birth?”

“You could say that. My ‘birth’ was somewhat complicated. It all began with a dream…”

**********

Somewhere, a purple gemstone lit. It emitted a small but earnest brilliance, one that inspired the soul with the purest of charity.

**********

The dream seemed to last forever.

And why shouldn’t it?

In the dream, she found only torment. She remembered not a single event, only a swirl of colors that became shapes, never staying as one image for more than a moment. She saw ponies: friends, colleagues, family, all with that same strange look on their face. It was sadness, fear, and above all, pity. Even through all the entropy, it was enough to move her to tears. Why? She asked herself. She had not the faintest idea, but for some reason, it scared her.

“Ahahaha!”

A vicious cackle roused her from unconsciousness. The very second she awoke, she was overcome with absolute torment. Pain coursed through her in terrible waves, each worse than the last. Agony eclipsed all else, drawing her into a sensory vacuum where the only thing that existed was herself and her suffering. She lay there, convulsing and shaking in grand, tormented motions. She opened her mouth to scream, but found she lacked the air to do so.

“Do my eyes deceive me? I haven't seen one of these in years! Decades! Centuries! How delightful!”

The voice was distant, but for its distance, it was no less distinct. It had all the tone and inflection of a madpony, deep and unpredictable. She hated it, without really knowing why.

Through an incredible force of will, she struggled to open her eyes. She was able to do so, albeit in the smallest increment possible. Squinting, she could could barely make sense of what she was seeing. Fire, fire everywhere. Dust, ash, smoke, rubble… destruction. Chaos.

Madness.

“It's an impressive sorcery, no doubt. Commendable, even. But to believe it would stop me? To believe it would even help? Your efforts are in vain, I'm afraid.”

All around her, there was a horrible symphony of crackling fire and collapsing structures, permeated now and again by terrified screams. A dark storm brewed above, letting loose erratic flashes of red lightning and piercing booms of thunder. She let her eyes close.

“Demon! You are not welcome here!” somepony said. It was a mare’s voice, loud but trembling, trying to give the impression of bravery but utterly failing to do so. It sounded very near to her, coming her right. “Depart from us! Your very hoofsteps defile the earth!”

Another wild bout of laughter seemed to shake the earth.

“I'm only curious,” the madpony said, false innocence in his voice. “You can hardly blame me for being interested in your little abomination here.”

She tried to pick her head up from off of the ground, but after an inch of distance for a full ten seconds of effort, she found she lacked the strength. Her hooves were similarly earthbound. She felt her wings splayed out on the ground behind her… and mentally paused. Wings? That made no sense. Nothing made sense.

In any case, she may as well have been paralyzed.

“An abomination, I might add, that you yourselves have created,” the madpony said. Amidst the din of destruction, there was a silence that nopony broke. Again, the deranged voice spoke.

“Oh, this is too good. Too good! Here I am, thinking I was the only one in the business of creating beasts. But this! This!” The voice began to laugh uncontrollably as he continued.

“It makes me so happy to see others learn my craft! It really is…” there was a gasping pause for breath, “It really is a most interesting hobby! Though it seems you have yet to become true artisans,” he continued. “You’ve gone and killed the poor mare.” He ended his laughter with a contented sigh. “Perhaps she would make a good stuffed decoration.”

“Silence, fiend! You know not of which you speak!” a voice exclaimed to her left. It was a different mare than before, but her tone had the same fragility as the first.

“Oh, but I do. I truly do. My noble art is to bring the greatest kind of fun to this world.” The insane voice chuckled. “I know of creation,” it continued, “but what is creation without a little… destruction?!”

Though her eyes were closed, to her left, she heard a sickening snap that could be none other than the breaking of bones. A scream of agony pierced the air. There was a second snap, and a third, each followed by pained screams and cries of alarm from others around her. The fifth snap was followed by silence.

“There are a million and one ways to end a pony’s life,” the voice chuckled darkly, “but that particular method never loses its charm. Ahh, some things never get old.”

“Demon!”

“Villian!”

“Monster!”

There was an outburst of pained insults. “Yes, yes, it’s all true,” the voice said dismissively.

All the while, the sufferer’s pain began to fade. It was very limited and gradual, but in her condition, she gladly welcomed it. A weight seemed to be lifting as her paralysis began to wear off. Her convulsions relapsed into flinches, and then twitches, until finally she was able to remain still.

The voices continued to speak, but she did not hear them. She began to focus her mind on the only thing that seemed in her control, which was to overcome the pain. It was strong, but she was determined to not let it be stronger than her. She would overcome. She had to. She was born to.

She tested the movement in her legs, and found that she could move them. She slowly dragged them close to her, and rolled her body into a more upright lying position. One by one, she planted her hooves on the ground. There were four quiet taps, the sound that could only come from striking hoof to pavement. Though it was nearly inaudible, it commanded the attention of all around her, silencing the chaotic rhetoric that had been so clamorous only moments ago.

“What's this?” the lunatic voice said. “The beast awakens.”

She opened her eyes and peered at the ground, using all the mental fortitude she had to still her quaking legs. Below her was drawn a series of intricate circles, with indecipherable runes lining the edges. It was carefully scribed but completely unintelligible. She ignored it.

Slowly, she began to stand. An eruption of pain in her legs made her drop after an inch or two, but she did not give up. Gathering her strength again, she pushed. Her legs were wobbling before her, but after a half minute of painstaking balance and rigorous endurance, she drew herself to her full height. She felt wrong, though she knew not why. She could not shake a certain feeling that made her feel out of place, out of body.

She drew her head up, and blinked. Swiveling her head from left to right, she observed, but did not comprehend. Surrounding her was a group of a dozen or so ponies, all staring at her, dumbfounded. Some had expressions simply of awe, some of concern, and others of worry. Still others had inexplicable expressions of… hope? Strange, she thought. She did not know why or how she came to be there, but she had deduced enough to know that they were, all of them, in grave danger.

She also noticed a contorted and twisted body to her left, broken, bleeding, and obviously dead. She recoiled at the sight of it, and continued examining her company.

Though there was an assortment of both stallions and mares, she noticed that they were all of the Unicorn Tribe. Each had a horn, and wore a deep blue cloak that boasted a symbol she recognized as the seal of the Royal Magi. She counted only one among them who was different, an Earth Tribe stallion with a dark grey coat and a deep orange mane. He wore a simple traveling cloak and was not of the Magi, yet seemed to have the most concerned gaze of all.

She returned all of their expressions with one of distressed confusion. What had happened? What was happening right now? Why the pain? Who were they?

…Who was she?

“Milady, it is a pleasure to see you alive,” the madpony’s voice spoke. She turned to face the speaker. Standing a distance away was the source, a being composed of madness incarnate. He had the head of a pony, which is where the similarities between them ended. On his head were two mismatched horns, one being deer antlers, the other of a goat. His body was like that of a giant, furred snake, with appendages deriving from seemingly every creature under the sun.

Whatever it was, this was certainly no pony.

This did not make sense. Nothing made sense! Ignoring the creature, she took a moment to examine her surroundings. They may as well have been inside the belly of hell itself. The ground was charred or broken nearly everywhere. Every single building in sight was on fire, and if it was not on fire, it was already completely destroyed. Vast swathes of smoke rose into the air, blotting out nearly all light the already dim sky may have let through. The only reason she was not burning this very moment was the fact that they seemed to in the middle of a large cobblestone clearing. Perhaps it was a town square? Or what used to be a town square, that is.

She peered further, but could not see beyond the smoke and debris.

“Might I have the privilege of knowing milady’s name?” the creature spoke a little impatiently, regaining her attention. There was a brief pause. She was stuck, unable to move the words from her mind to her tongue. Even if she had been able to speak, she racked her brain for missing information, and found no recollection of her own name. Looking at the ground, her brow furrowed in worried concentration.

“Come now, shyness doesn't suit you. Tell us your name, it's only proper.”

She tried again, more forcefully than before, to recall her own name. Eventually, before she looked at the creature and spoke.

“I… I don't know.”

Her quiet, raspy voice seemed to hang in the air long after she spoke. The creature stared at her with an intense, unnerving gaze, his mouth slowly curling into a delirious grin. Finally, the floodgates broke loose, as the creature broke into an insane fit of laughter.

“You…! She doesn’t…! Oh, by the gods, you don't know your own name?” He fell onto the ground and rolled with his claws clutching his stomach, howling with glee.

“First the translation, and now this? I've never been so entertained! My sides are going to burst!” She did not know what to say, but looked around herself again. The stares of the ponies had turned from her toward the bellowing beast. The creature sat up, and looked at her again.

“Oh, you poor little pony. Oh, you poor, poor dear,” he said, wiping a tear from his cheek. "Do you know my name?”

“I do not,” she feebly said, her light voice raspy and dry. She felt almost ashamed at her lack of knowledge. “What is your name, and what manner of beast are you?”

“My lady!” the creature exclaimed in exaggerated tones of hurt, “I am no beast. I am a most noble draconequus.” The creature rose to its full height, which was at least four or five times her own.

“And I am known by names aplenty,” he calmly said, beginning to pace back and forth. “Many of them are more descriptions than names, I’m afraid. Purveyor of Pain, King of Chaos, Evil Incarnate…” he paused, and shot a sly grin at the mare.

“But you may know me by my true namesake… Discord!” he shouted, laughing at the heavens as the storm clouds shot lightning directly behind him. As abruptly as he started, he stopped laughing, and resumed his calm, intellectual demeanor.

“Pleased to meet you. I would shake hooves,” he said, grinning ever so slightly, “but I believe your guard would object. And what a guard they are! How do you feel, acting as the gods themselves? Toying with life at your leisure?” he all but shouted, addressing the Magi.

Discord lowered his voice to a whisper. “It feels good, doesn't it?” He quietly chuckled.

The nameless mare looked around at the Magi, all of whom were allowing a measure of troubled indignation into their angry demeanors. Why?

“Ah, look at the poor mare. I do believe she remains ignorant of your sins.” Discord turned and looked directly at her, and said, “Behold yourself. I think you shall find the state of things… interesting.”

Confused, she craned her around toward her back, where she saw a pair of unfamiliar wings sprouted, lamely deployed and dragging in the dirt beneath her. She let out a choked gasp; where did these come from? She did not remember anything, but a part of her knew she was most definitely not supposed to have wings. She tried to feel them, pick them up, and tuck them into her sides. She had all the control of a newborn foal learning to walk, but she eventually folded them in. It did not feel right.

She also raised a shaky hoof to her head, already half knowing what would be there. Sure enough, a horn grew directly from her middle of her forehead. It too felt completely alien and out of place.

“What… how…?” she stammered. “I-I don’t understand… W-what did you…?”

Discord stretched his fingers, and with the snap of his claws, a burst of green smoke appeared in front of her. She coughed and waved it away with a hoof, revealing her reflection in an ornately decorated, full sized mirror. She gazed at the image in front of her. Her coat was dirty and her mane unkempt, but that did not bother her in the slightest. What did bother her was her simple appearance. Her coat was a pure white, and her mane a pleasant shade of pink. She recoiled at the image. This was not what she looked like. This was not her. She was different. She did not know why, and she did not know how, but she was different.

Yet the pony in the mirror stared back with the same horrified expression that she knew she undoubtedly wore. There was another snap, and the mirror shattered.

“’I don’t understand,” Discord mocked, mimicking her voice. “Well, I am the patron saint of ‘not understanding,’ but the blame lies with your friends here,” he said, spitting the word ‘friends’ with as much venom as possible. He motioned to the semi-circle of ponies around her.

“And although the grey one did not participate, neither is he innocent. He is perhaps the most guilty of them all,” said Discord, regarding the one earth pony, who stared back with a mask of the utmost fury. “Perhaps you don't think so?” he pursued, pausing for a reply. He received none.

“Well, it doesn't matter. Your lives are forfeit.”

“We will stop you!” one of the stallion magi to her right shouted. He began charging a spell at the end of his horn, and in an instant, a massive fireball the size of his entire body was hurtling through the air towards the draconequus. They all had just enough time to see an expression of horror on the Discord’s face before he was enveloped by the gout of fire. It violently burned the air where their foe was, radiating heat that they could actively feel, even across the distance.

The inferno burned for a full half minute before disappearing, leaving nothing but ash and smoke. The group leaned forward, looking for any sign of life. There was none.

“Did it work?” the stallion whispered disbelievingly, quietly panting from exertion. The answer came from thin air.

“No.”

Suddenly, the stallion’s entire body burst into flame. He dropped, writhing on the ground as he was consumed. In the brief moments he had to scream before he died, there could also be heard the maniacal shrieks of Discord. The other magi tried to put the fire out with magically summoned water, but to no avail. He was dead within seconds.

“Now, now, that was too fast. What fun is there in that?”

The voice was coming from directly above them. Looking up, they saw Discord floating above them. He gracefully glided back down to his original spot.

“Although, your deeds are commendable, protecting one’s comrades in arms.” He tapped his claws together thoughtfully.

“Consider this: I'll make you a deal. Run from this place as swiftly as your legs little can carry you, and I shall do you no harm. But!” he said, the last word thundering, “You must leave your precious abomination. She will belong to me.” Discord smiled as he saw some of the magi look contemplative. “It is preferable for all, and so much more civil. You ponies are all about civility, no? I would gladly spare your lives for a mere parting gift. I’m sure you can just make a new one anyways.

“The only alternative, I’m afraid, is for me to kill you. The choice is yours!”

Discord smiled. His offer hung in the air like a poison. Of course, they would still die, but he promised that he would not harm them. He failed to mention the hordes of Manticores and other beasts waiting just out of sight, ready for their prey. He leaned in, eager for a reaction. They talked amongst themselves in hushed, agitated tones. There was a great debate, but Discord could tell which way it was going. The “abomination”, as he had called it, viewed the group with panic, but could not say a word to save herself.

Discord took a savage pleasure in group dynamics, especially when the group was in peril. Anger, bitterness, cowardice, betrayal; he had seen it all, and enjoyed it every time. It was all the breakdown of society in miniature form. He was a master of making things happen his way, which was usually the bloodiest way, which was always the fun way. What happened next, Discord did not expect.

“Enough!” a lone voice shouted. The group of ponies parted at the suddenness of the cry.

“What are you? All of you! Cowards, or ponies?” It was the grey Earth Tribe pony. “Will you retreat at the first sight of danger? Or will you stand? As the Royal Magi of Equestria?”

His voice was full of anger, but also conviction and the kind of zeal that only youth could afford. “I learned foalhood stories, stories of the Magi. How they never quit, how they never ran, how they never once bowed to tyrants like this!” he said, pointing an angry hoof at Discord, who seemed to be indifferent to it all. “The Magi give aid to those in need!”

There was a silence, before one of the Magi mares spoke up. “We have no other choice-” she began, pointing at the stranger, but was cut off.

“There's always a choice! You always have a choice! You, Midnight Shimmer. And you, Frostcloak. And you, and you, and you,” he replied, pointing to the Magi standing immediately next to him. "Choose to be brave!"

A few seconds passed. The mare let her gaze drop, her expression playing through a whole range of emotions, all of them fearful. Eventually, she looked back up at him. His gaze was locked intensely on her own, fiery and expectant. Another shadow of fear played across the magi's features.

Then she nodded. Taking one step closer to the stranger, she turned towards Discord, the fear on her face now mixed with a measure of determination.

After a moment's hesitation, two other magi followed suit. Then three, then four. Soon, the stranger was loosely surrounded by all fourteen unicorns, plus the one earth pony.

A grim smile briefly appeared on the earth tribe's face, and he gave a short nod of approval. After, he turned toward Discord, who regarded him impersonally.

“May your lies languish unheard. We are of sacred Equestria, and we do not negotiate with madness,” he snarled. He spat upon the ground in Discord’s direction.

All while the earth pony had been speaking, the distressed, unnamed stranger had been edging closer and closer to him. With his last outburst, she darted over to the earth tribe to stand as close to him as he possibly could, ducking behind his comparatively bulky frame, whimpering as she grasped one of his legs for dear life. He looked down at her, with a mixed expression of pity and sorrow, and perhaps a hint of contempt.

Discord contemplated what had just happened. As a god of chaos, he had no reason to be angry; indeed, the fact that all did not go according to plan did not bother him. It could not. Plans led astray were in themselves chaos. Chaos was the end goal. Chaos was everything. Not until every last particle of every last piece of every last object had been shaken apart could he rest. Chaos made him happy.

And yet, Discord found himself irritated at this pathetic foal that had dared to challenge him.

“Spoken like a true patriot. You’ll find that bravery impresses me, my little pony,” Discord responded coolly. “Stupidity, however, does not. It is your wish to die for your nation? Very well. I will provide.”

He made a brief motion with his claw. In an instant, a horde of beasts appeared before them, surrounding them on all sides. Manticores were the main infantry of the beast hordes, but in the true spirit of chaos, no one horde was exactly alike. They tended to be mixed and comprised of many different creatures. The only similarity they shared was their intimidation and absolute deadliness.

This one was no exception.

The whole of the front line boasted bared claws and gnashing fangs of beasts many times their size. Behind them, a hundred more pushed and shoved, eager to sate their primal bloodlust.

“I grow tired of this game. My soldiers will do a fine enough job, I’m sure.” He began to walk away, parting a line in the roaring crowd.

“It saddens me to see it end this way.” No, it didn't. He looked forward to returning, seeing how many pieces of the sorry group he could find. Discord vanished into the smoke.

The snarls of the horde became louder and louder.

“W-what do we do?” the stranger whimpered, partially directing the question towards the earth pony, whose leg she was still desperately wrapped around. He looked at her with a hard scowl on his face, but did not respond. The remaining Magi forgotten, his gaze locked with hers. They were blue, she realized. His eyes were blue.

A distant howl pierced the bedlam. The horde rumbled forward.

His expression cracked ever so slightly. A shadow of fear passed over it, along with what could only be regret.

“I'm sorry.”

The horde broke into a full charge.

She could not help but scream, and bury her face into his neck. He returned the embrace with equal force. They cringed as their inevitable death approached them, hungry and eager. She wished she were anywhere but here.

The thought echoed in her mind. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here!

Her closed eyes were filled with a painful magenta light. Around her, she felt heat, so oppressive and stifling that she could scarcely breathe. A tingling, pinching pain seemed to zap her evenly across her whole body. Was this what dying felt like? There was an intense pressure and then… nothing.

It was all soon replaced by darkness, and she drifted off into the peace only oblivion could offer.

XX: Departure

The procession was larger and longer than Celestia had ever expected.

The Maiden’s Battalion made up only the smallest part of Canterlot’s population when stationed there, in the single digits of percentages. Celestia was not sure of the exact numbers, but she had been told the battalion boasted just over a mere one-thousand soldiers, with an extra one-hundred and fifty non-combat personnel – small compared to most of Equestria’s army divisions.

However, the impact they made on the city of Canterlot was always tremendous, and it had nothing to do with their size. She had almost forgotten just how prestigious the Maiden’s Battalion was; not only were they Equestria’s elite, but they were Canterlot’s own mascots. The force had been bolstered by skilled ponies from far and wide since its creation, but nearly a third of them could still call the city of Canterlot home. Even those who did not have a family or house there felt particularly welcome amongst its shining white buildings and friendly people. They were, after all, heroes.

The citizens made sure they never forgot it.

The day had started busy for absolutely everypony. The soldiers were being outfitted with the armor, weapons, and personal belongings they would carry for the long march to the front. Covered wagons were loaded with food and munitions. Elsewhere, on the far side of Canterlot, a merchant-class airship, the Lazy Daisy, was being loaded with some of the battalion’s heavier cargo, including many of Cotton’s parts and tools. Crewed with a complement of pegasi, it would sail ahead of the battalion, and drop off supplies at a forward location.

All of this and more made for a very busy time for all of the Maiden’s soldiers, but, to Celestia’s surprise, they were no busier than the citizens of Canterlot. Celestia had seen the city countless times on a normal day. It was always thriving with activity, but today was different. The business had been doubled, and it almost seemed as though it were some holiday that she had simply forgotten about it. Ponies of all ages and professions hustled to and fro, making ready for… something.

The Maiden’s Battalion formed up in the barracks courtyard. All of them were donned in full gear, with both weapons and armor, as if their first battle were going to be right outside the city walls. The combined gleam of the battalion’s unique golden armor was almost enough to hurt Celestia’s eyes. Banners were held aloft in the midst of them; a golden, rising sun, set behind the silhouetted profile of a pony with angered eyes. On the left were the bold numbers “21”, and on the right, two short lines of the battalion’s motto.

Lucky Break stood at the head of them, passively inspecting his troops. Once his three lieutenants gave the all-clear, and his lieutenant-commander double-checked, he barked a loud, authoritative order, backed by the volume of the Voice and his own natural roughness. They began to march, filing in rows out of the courtyard with practiced, measured steps. As soon as they reached the main street, Celestia discovered exactly what that “something” was.

Citizens, thousands of them, lined the sides of the streets, screaming and cheering at the top of their lungs. Ponies of every age applauded, yelling praises of their heroism, wishes for their success, and prayers for their safe return. Some waved flags, tiny replicas of the battalion’s own banner. Many waved white handkerchiefs in farewell. Some older ponies, veterans, saluted in respect. Something soft landed on Celestia nose. She crossed her eyes, and squinted at it. It was a rose petal. Looking up, she saw pegasi flying overhead, intermittently throwing out hoof-fuls of petals, until the sky was more red than blue. Similarly, citizens ahead of the procession tossed whole bundles of flowers into the street, framing and paving their path with flora.

The battalion was divided into rows and blocks, at the front and corner of which stood Celestia. She had an excellent view of the crowds, and vice versa. When she passed by, their interest seemed particularly piqued. They either cheered louder, or became quieter, aiming to get a better look at the alicorn.

It felt odd, receiving praise for not having actually done anything, but as she looked around, she could not see a single soldier who was not smiling. They had accomplished things, Celestia realized. This was probably the kind of recognition her comrades deserved. In fact, Lucky had ordered they stay in rank, but did not seem to be enforcing a strict marching time, something Celestia presumed was for this very purpose; to give the soldiers and their families one last look at each other before leaving for another prolonged tour of duty.

A certain pony caught Celestia’s eye. Princess Obsidian stood on the side of the street, adorned in only a simple, unassuming robe, cheering just as enthusiastically as the rest. Their gazes briefly met. Obsidian smiled and nodded at her. They moved on before Celestia had the opportunity to return the gesture.

Next to Celestia, Cotton marched, behaving more ecstatically than them all. She called out to friends in the crowd so frequently it seemed as though she were trying to name them all. Celestia knew that, given enough time, she probably could.

At one point, she felt Cotton tugging on the chainmail at her arm. She looked towards her, and Cotton nearly jumped with excitement.

“Look, look!” she shouted over the noise, pointing in a certain direction. “See, over there? It’s my parents!”

Celestia looked, and sure enough, an older looking couple stood side by side, waving to their daughter with outstretched hooves and white handkerchiefs. Her mother, a green-coated unicorn mare, cheerfully called out her name, and her father, a blue-coated unicorn stallion, was intermittently using his handkerchief to dry his own tears. The words I love you could be heard clearly over the din.

Cotton beamed, trying to jump over the heads of her comrades as her parents disappeared out of sight.

“I lo-”

She was bumped into by the soldier behind her, who quickly apologized for it, though he was only going the speed they were all supposed to be marching at. Cotton forgave him, and tried once again.

“I love you too! I love you too!”

**********

Eventually, they reached the city walls. On the other side, supply wagons were already waiting, falling in rank as the battalion passed.

Their celebratory farewell had followed them all the way to the walls, and even then, it did not stop. Canterlot citizens were already outside the walls, ready to greet them as they came and went. Even after they passed, many ponies trailed after them, flying or trotting at a distance, watching the departure of their heroes with awe.

They marched past the farming fields, past Cotton’s home, past Lucky’s garden. Their following began to peter out, but not until they reached the forest were they completely gone. After another while, Lucky shouted an order at the head of the company, and they were allowed to loosen up their formation. They still had to stay with their own block, but some drifted away, while others stood closer together.

Celestia sensed the merriment of their departure was fading. They still talked amongst themselves, and it was not grim by any means, but a certain sobriety had come upon them. Their friends, families, and homes were behind them, and they would only get farther away.

Their brief moment of respite had come to an end. Now, they were on the road, and truly, their endeavor had just begun. Or rather, it had resumed.

**********

“We marched about, oh…” Princess Celestia paused, looking towards the ceiling in thought. “Twenty, or so miles on the first day, and ended up stopping at-”

“Wait!” Twilight exclaimed. The princess raised a surprised eyebrow, but sat back and patiently waited. Her student jumped off of her stool and walked over to a wheeled cart behind her, shuffling through its contents. It was the cart she had brought her own materials in on, and as such, it contained far too many books, scrolls, and other resources than was healthy for its structural integrity. The metal groaned and creaked in protest as she shifted items around on its surface. After sifting through it for half a minute, Twilight triumphantly produced a large, rolled up piece of parchment.

Returning to the writing desk, she broke the string that kept the parchment rolled, and with her telekinesis, gave it a vigorous shake, unrolling it all at once before them. As it came to rest on the table, Celestia saw that it was a large map of Equestria.

“There,” Twilight said, giving a satisfied nod. “Oh! One more thing.” She made another quick trip to the cart, and came back with a compass, ruler, and graphite pencil.

Twilight settled back into her seat, snatching up her pencil with telekinesis and eagerly regarding the map. “So, you said you marched twenty miles?”

The princess gave a small, amused smile. “More or less.”

“Twenty miles is…” Twilight trailed off, traveling the distance with her compass and marking the ends. “…slightly longer than the trail to Canterlot. Did you continue eastward towards the front, and just stop along the way?”

“No. We actually went a few more miles southward, and made camp there.”

Twilight squinted down at the map for a moment, and looked back up. “You stopped in the Everfree Forest? Why?”

“Remember what I said Twilight? Back then, the forest was much smaller. In fact, there wasn’t much to begin with. It certainly wasn’t large or notable enough to garner its own name, because back then, the forest was much safer than it is today.”

Her student gazed back at the map. “So… where exactly…”

Celestia leaned forward, and gently took control of Twilight’s quill. “New Ponyville is obviously here,” she said, lightly tapping the map with the pencil, “and the ruins of old Ponyville are scattered about in this general area.” She circled a portion of the map. The entire circumference was contained by the forest.

Twilight looked at the princess’s addition. She would really have to go investigate sometime. Perhaps Zecora knew something about it; her house was almost in the center of the circled area.

“So you stopped in the ruins of the old Ponyville?”

“Not quite. We stopped here…” She put another dot on the map, even deeper in the forest. “…at Castle Everfree.”

Twilight’s brows furrowed as she stared at the dot. “Castle what?”

“Castle Everfree,” Celestia repeated, “just on the outskirts of the ruins of Ponyville. It was meant to be a foothold in the valley below Canterlot, acting as sort of an outpost where traveling armies could garrison. Or, in the more extreme case, where an advancing enemy could be held and distracted while Canterlot prepared its own defenses. Set on the edge of a plateau, it had only two ways of access, a long, heavily forested slope on one side, or a stone bridge on another, which I believe has since collapsed. All in all, it was highly defensible, certainly not a bad spot for an outpost. And, before you ask, the forest was named after the castle, not the other way around.”

“But…” Twilight shook her head, still scowling. “But there’s nothing there! There’s no castle in the Everfree!”

Celestia smiled. “Isn’t there?”

Twilight paused, giving her mentor a strange look. Gradually, however, that expression faded. Her eyes went wide with realization.

“That place where we… where we found…”

“The Elements of Harmony?” Celestia finished. “Indeed.”

Why? When? How? A million questions came to mind, but the princess continued before Twilight could voice them.

“To be fair, even before the forest overtook it, the castle was never in spectacular shape. It was still under construction when we reached it, and it still wasn’t finished when…” Celestia trailed off. “Well, it was never finished.”

It took a moment, but Twilight eventually returned to her normal, objective self. “So why did the battalion go there? What happened?”

Celestia shrugged. “The reason was nothing special. The battalion simply stopped there to obtain some additional supplies. All in all, it was rather mundane, though it was my first experience with the 21st out in the field.” She paused. “Although, there was one thing worth noting…”

**********

“Th’castle burrucks’s still been bult, n’ we got those n’s thar, n’ so alls w’got er these wall tents.”

“Pardon?”

“Th’tents. S’all w’got.”

The construction stallion’s accent was the thickest, most unintelligible Lucky had ever heard. The night had fallen, and his soldiers needed shelter, but he could not understand a single one of the worker’s words. It was almost reminiscent to that of Apple Crumble’s, if Crumble’s mouth had been stuffed with a sock. And if he had no teeth.

Lucky leaned in a little closer. “Sorry, what?”

Crumble spoke up beside him. “He says all we have ‘er the wall tents here, seein’ as the castle’s still under construction, an’ the buildings that are completed are bein’ used by the workers themselves.”

Lucky blinked. “Oh. Can it fit twelve-hundred?”

The stallion mumbled to himself, turning away and counting the many cabin-like tents that had been set up as temporary alternatives to actual housing.

The stallion turned back, and shrugged. “Mmmmm, I ‘unno.”

“He says ‘I don’t know’,” Crumble said.

Lucky rolled his eyes. “I know.”

“No, no, I ‘unno,” the worker repeated.

“I know,” Lucky growled through gritted teeth.

The stallion took a step back. “Yeesh.” He walked off, grumbling loudly to himself.

“He says you’re a-”

“Don’t tell me.” He sighed, running a hoof through his mane. “Just, see if you can make it work, okay Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.” Crumble nodded, and trotted off.

Lucky watched him go. Normally, that would have been his job. While they both were tasked with making high-level strategic decisions, the Lieutenant-Commander had a number of other, smaller duties as well: delegating responsibility for food, shelter, and line of supply, keeping track of the overall health of the soldiers, and even their general morale. Of course, the Commander saw all these issues as well, but not until they had passed through a thorough filter in which the more mundane problems were solved. The logistics of an army could be utterly tedious.

He desperately wished it was still his responsibility.

“Well,” he mumbled aloud, “as long as it isn’t…”

He turned away from the makeshift camp, and began walking. Behind him, the dark stone of the unfinished castle stood as an impressive silhouette in the moonlight. It would be a magnificent structure when it was completed, almost like a miniature version of Canterlot’s palace. Defensive towers and walls had been erected, but they had also spared expense in the wide open interior space that was reminiscent of Canterlot’s own grand architecture. It stood on the edge of a short cliff, overlooking some of the more outlying houses of the destroyed Ponyville.

Ponyville… Lucky supposed it would never be rebuilt. A humble farming community next to the hub of Equestria’s military? Perhaps a merchant town, or another fortified city could be built in its stead, but it would likely never be the same.

Better visit the remnants before they’re cleared away.

He walked into the darkness of the night, mostly alone, towards the old town of Ponyville.

**********

The Nightbringers had seen fit to give them a bright night. By the pale light of the unicorns’ moon, he had no trouble navigating the open fields and sparse forests that surrounded the old town. He traveled at a normal, even casual pace, but kept as quiet as possible, loathe to disturb the tranquil symphony of night. If only the same could be said of his pursuer.

For now, he continued on. They were both curious, it seemed.

He traveled down an old, unused road, finally reaching the center of town. Ponyville may have been largely rural, but they indeed had a town square, which stood central to all the other buildings around, and served as a community market.

Lucky had pleasant, if somewhat distant memories of this place. Its activity had been impressive, given its humble roots. Ponyville had, after all, been a frontier town at the time; after the tribes’ unification, Equestria’s expansion had been rapid and aggressive. Towns like Ponyville saw a measure of growth with every passing day.

That was then, though. He wondered if it would have become a major settlement, given enough time. A lonely whisper of wind breezed through, giving voice to the crumbling structures all around him; the tumbling pebbles and creaking wood seemed to be the town’s sad concurrence, as if it too wondered the same thing.

All around, there were places of business and community gathering. Shops, bakeries, a general store, a tiny governmental building, a church, whose brass bell still stood atop its steeple, gleaming in the moonlight. They were all in a state of unhindered decay.

He kept walking. A free-floating cloud obscured the moon, and dimmed his path. He did not worry; he knew exactly where he was going, and even as each step fell, he sensed his safety was assured.

Soon, he stopped in front of a particular building, a large wooden shed-like structure. It, too, was in shambles, but at least three of the four walls still stood. The barn-style front door was intact, secured by a rolling metal wheel atop the doorframe, sliding to the side when opened. Miraculously, the sign still hung on a post jutting out from one wall, clinging on by a single ring. It swung in the cool midnight breeze, rusted metal lightly creaking as the joint swiveled against itself. He moved to get a better look at it.

It still sported the faded design of an anvil, hammer, and broken horseshoe, along with some very faint lettering.

Fortune’s Forge

General Blacksmith

He stepped forward, and carefully rolled the door open. The rusted hinges scraped against each other, and moved slowly. Eventually, the door was open wide enough for him to fit comfortably through. He snaked his body through the opening and stepped into the darkness, leaving the door open behind him.

A series of hoofsteps clopped quietly nearby. He ignored it.

The eastern wall had long since collapsed, along with a large portion of the roof, letting a trace amount of moonlight stream in, just barely enough so that he could see. He did not bother taking in the sights yet.

A cobblestone furnace stood on one side of the room. It was in remarkably good shape, considering the wreckage around it. Lucky made his way towards it, and found a kit of fire-starting supplies in a sealed box on the mantle, right where he had left them. A small cone of tinder was already sitting in the furnace fireplace. A few deft strikes of flint and steel later, and he had a small ember going. He kept it fed until gradually, it became a comfortable fire. Only then did he stop to look around.

Shadows dancing in the flickering firelight, the walls were decorated with tools of the blacksmith trade. Lucky began casually walking around the edge of the room, touching some of them as he went past. Hammers, tongs, chisels, molds; they were all in terrible condition. A box of nails sat in one corner of the room, on a work table. He picked one out, idly examined it, and tossed it back in. Eventually, he came full circle back towards the furnace, stopping at the metal anvil that stood close by. A rusty hammer sat atop it. He grabbed it in one hoof, and lightly tapped it atop the anvil. It resonated with a metallic ring. He fell silent, savoring the noise before it faded.

His already tuned ears twitched at a quiet noise from outside, like a creature scuffling in the dirt.

Lucky sighed. He gently set the hammer back down, and dropped to his haunches in front of the fire, simply staring into it, and waiting.

For a long time, its crackle was the only audible thing. Every once in a while, he stoked it with an iron poker, or fed another log into the modest blaze.

After some time, he heard another scuffle come from outside the door of the shop. Lucky spoke without turning.

“Wait.”

The sound of his voice could have been an explosion for all the suddenness it carried. It was as if he had shattered some unwritten rule of the night, the result of which was an even greater dead silence. And it was most certainly a command.

Eventually, however, the rules were doubly broken as a second series of hoofsteps eschewed their own subtlety. Somepony opened the sliding door a little wider, and walked into the shop. Dust fell from the rafters as they treaded across stone floor, and stopped behind him.

Lucky hung his head, closed his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath. Crickets chirped, the wood creaked, the wind blew, the sign lightly rapped on the outside wall; all of these things seemed to accentuate it. After, he raised his head and stood, turning to face his spy.

“Why are you following me?”

The question hung in the air for a long time without being answered.

Celestia’s stance was rigid, and not out of simple formality. “I don’t know, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Her legs were faintly quaking, and she was not entirely sure why. Perhaps from the shock of being discovered. Her heart was still a little frozen over from the sudden scare of his voice, which, as she formally addressed him, had gotten no less scary.

“Why are you shaking? Are you cold?”

“No, sir.”

He eyed her for a moment.

Celestia hated being at his mercy; she was not afraid of Lucky, but he was her superior officer. He had the power to make her life quite unpleasant. It had certainly happened before.

But, to her surprise, he did nothing. After seeming to think long and hard about her answer, which was not so very complex, he simply turned back towards the fire, and gazed into it without saying another word.

Celestia waited for him to do something, but after a minute, he still had not moved. Testing the waters, she took a step back, and then another. He made no reaction. Finally, she turned around, and started towards the door.

“You can stay. If you like.”

Celestia froze.

Lucky still gazed into the fire, but his ears were straining for sounds of her movement, eager to hear which direction it went. Eventually, she moved.

Sitting on her haunches next to, and slightly behind him, she followed his gaze to the fire. He glanced towards her, and quickly looked back. By the flickering firelight, on his face she thought she saw-

**********

Both Twilight and the princess stopped, and were silent. Their eyes wandered to the door of the study.

“Did you hear something?” Celestia asked.

Twilight looked back, and quickly shook her head. “No. What happened next?”

Princess Celestia cast another suspicious glance at the door, before looking back at her pupil. “Where was I…?”

**********

Minutes passed before either of them spoke. By now, they were both sitting on the floor. Lucky seemed content to simply let time pass. Celestia, however, was anxious; her gaze kept switching from the fire, to Lucky, looking for the tiniest change in either. She felt like she should say something, but the idea of breaking the peaceful quiet seemed wrong.

Eventually, she could stand it no more, and spoke.

“What is this place?”

Lucky did not answer immediately. He got up, stoked the fire, and threw another piece of wood onto it. After making sure its arrangement was to his liking, he turned to her.

“These are the ruins of Ponyville. We’ve walked through them before. But…” He looked around himself. “I assume you meant this building?”

Celestia nodded.

“This, Celestia,” he said, waving his arm vaguely around him, “is-”

**********

Both Twilight and the princess stopped and fell silent, again.

“Did you hear that?” Celestia asked, gazing again towards the room’s entrance.

This time, it had been too loud to ignore. “I think so,” Twilight murmured.

After a moment of silence, Celestia stood up, and started towards the door.

“It almost sounds like-”

Without warning, the door swung open, nearly hitting the princess’s hoof as she reached to open it. She recoiled backwards, and Twilight fell off of her stool in surprise.

“Luna!”

The princess of the night rushed through the door, and grabbed Celestia’s hoof, trying to pull her out of the room. Celestia recoiled, and retracted her hoof away.

“What’s wro-”

“Sister Celestia!” she bellowed, not waiting for her to finish. “Knowest thou the time?”

Celestia lightly shook her head, and looked up in thought. “Umm, it must be-”

Luna stomped an angry hoof on the stone floor. “’Tis seven o’ clock!”

Celestia’s eyes went wide. “Oh my… that’s…”

“An hour past sunrise! We must away!”

Without needing to be pulled or convinced any further, Celestia darted out of the door, Luna quickly following suit.

A half second later, her head appeared back through the doorway. “Oh, and greetings to you, Twilight Sparkle. Have a pleasant day.” She smiled, and then rushed away.

Twilight, still lying on her back after falling off of her stool, scrambled to her hooves, and galloped towards the door. Sliding out into the hallway, she saw Celestia, moving faster than she could ever hope to match. The pair of princesses began to round a corner.

Twilight held a hoof out towards them. “Wait!” she desperately shouted, a moment before Celestia disappeared completely from sight. “What did you two talk about?”

Twilight heard hooves skidding to a stop across the marble floor. Celestia peered back around the corner. “Oh, just- I understand, sister- Just, we, it… Ponyville! We talked about Ponyville! And his foalhood, and some other things!”

“Other things? What other things?” Twilight shouted back. She levitated a quill and parchment towards herself.

“It’s- I know, Luna, one moment- It’s a fascinating story, and I promise we will talk about it next time!” Her head disappeared from sight. It looked as though Luna had yanked her away.

“I promise!” came her distant voice. The halls echoed with their hoofsteps as they raced away towards a view of the horizon.

Twilight’s ears drooped, and she gave a disappointed sigh.

**********

It was truly a wonder to see a pair of godlike beings racing down a castle corridor at top speed. They passed guard and diplomat alike as they galloped through the corridors of the palace, even flying in some of more open areas. It stuck everypony they passed with awe; to see the princesses truly physically exert themselves was not an everyday occurrence. The trail of wind alone was enough to knock some of the more frail or unprepared ponies onto their sides. Some were left wondering if a sonic rainboom had ever been performed without the use of wings.

“What was Twilight Sparkle speaking of?” Princess Luna asked in between pants. “What did who talk about?”

“I was telling her about-” Celestia paused, twisting to avoid a collision with the royal cook. She jumped and corkscrewed in midair, sailing straight over him and landing gracefully on the other side. “-about Lucky.”

Still galloping, Luna looked at her. “Lucky who?”

“Break.”

It took her a moment, but eventually, her eyes lit up with recognition. “Truly? The Lucky Break? I… never thought you would.” Luna gave a sideways grin. “That is a good story, dear sister. I am sorry to have interrupted you.” Her tone almost sounded as though she were trying to tease Celestia.

“It’s okay.” They rounded another corner, and began to ascend a staircase. “It can wait.”

A few seconds went by, as their rapid hoofsteps echoed off the narrow walls around them.

“Wait. Did you say his foalhood?”

Celestia nodded as much as her galloping gait would allow. “Yes indeed. Please be ready, Luna, I may need help with this.”

The two reached the top of the staircase, and exited into the Canterlot Observatory.

“Exactly what story are you telling her?”

They burst through a set of double doors, and barreled through the observatory room, dodging around the telescope in the center.

“I told you, the one about Lucky Break.”

They went through a second door, and exited onto an open air balcony. It was minimally furnished with only two chairs and a table. A small spyglass sat upon a tripod at the end. The two sisters came sliding to a stop, both of them only inches away from the railing.

Celestia looked upon the landscape, at a perfect view of the sky and east horizon. The moon was gone, and the sun sat below the edge of the world, not even a trace of dawn’s light shining through. The land itself seemed to be dull, blanketed in a stretching overcast, with color bleeding into the open air. It was much too lifeless, almost unnaturally grey.

“Exactly how much are you telling her?” Luna asked, a mix of curiosity and concern creeping into her voice.

“Focus, Luna.” Celestia closed her eyes and lowered her head. Her horn began to glow a golden yellow, and she thrust herself out, searching for the sun below the horizon.

Like a line being cast into a deadly calm sea, the heavens were disturbed by her presence. She could almost see it in her head. Tiny waves rippled out across the sky’s ocean, celestial impressions that beat in time with the tugging of a cosmic hook and the syllables of an uttered prayer. But the hook was not catching. Her lips moved faster, and the prayer became less of a covenant, and more of a bargain, and then a plea.

Once upon a time, only a single unicorn need find the sun, and the rest would gravitate towards her. Every morning, the cosmos would be a veritable mural of not just ripples, but stunning waves whose majesty could only be appreciated with the mind. And sometimes, in that storm of presence, one’s projection would brush against another, and you could feel them, and know them. It was beautifully intimate.

In the Equestria of today, such a thing was a rarity. If Luna was not aiding her, and she usually did not, then nopony was. Here and now, she was alone, and these solitary ripples were all she had.

Contrary to what ponies might think, raising the sun was not all that difficult. The hardest part was finding it. Performed at a very precise time, finding the sun was easy, since it followed a predestined pattern, one she had long since memorized. Left too long without direction, though, and it fell into unpredictable paths, into obscurity. She let herself search a little wider, sink a little deeper…

And there it was. She felt it. Her frantic probing had finally caught something. She tugged back, enjoying the firm but pleasant resistance put up by an unknown body on the other end. Of course, it was not truly unknown, and it never had been. In the sky, at this time and on this horizon, there was really only one thing to catch: the sun.

She let the covenant light fill her soul just as the first beams appeared over the horizon, striking her kingdom with the an equal peace.

Only when her features relaxed did she realize her face had been scrunched into a tight scowl.

Finding the sun had taken all of ten seconds – nine seconds above her usual time. A thousand years of practice had given her great power and precise control when it came to the sun, and anything less than perfection worried her. She cursed herself for being late; raising the sun had consistently been her most important duty.

Or, perhaps she would have cursed herself. Right now, the sun’s morning rays were simply too wonderful to see, to feel. She took a deep breath, and smiled.

It was a few minutes before Celestia had completed the task. She had to pull the sun a little farther into the sky in order to catch up with what was supposed to be a normal time, but once it had found her grasp, it was an easy task. The grey overcast was banished from the land, dissipating into nothing. Eventually, sensing the ritual was complete, she released her hold on the sun, and looked at her handiwork.

All was well. One of the great things about being a Daybringer was the ability to admire the sun to its fullest. She could gaze into the blaze with wide eyes, and never go blind.

“Sister,” Luna emphatically repeated, “How much?”

The peace and inspiration left her heart, just a little, as reality came spiraling back to her.

“All of it.”

**********

Twilight watched the sun climb over the distant mountains. For six minutes and thirty-two seconds, it rose abnormally quickly. It was interesting, and even entertaining, to watch the landscape’s shadows shift so dramatically, especially in the city below, where the square silhouettes of buildings flowed in concrete and measurable distances.

Finally, it came to a relative stop, still half-hidden by the mountain horizon, appearing static and rising at what was supposed to be its normal rate.

She sighed. If the sun was in the sky, then class was dismissed until further notice. It would not be for another week or longer until they reconvened. Princess Celestia had duties that lasted even into the night, and her schedule was not easily rearranged.

At least now she had more material to work with. Twilight could tide herself over with what she had learned this past night. Speaking of which…

She turned away from the window, and looked back at the study. Books and papers were scattered everywhere. It was hard to believe she had created most of the mess, and harder still to believe that most of the scattered materials had been brought in on a single cart.

“Well, no sense in wasting time,” Twilight muttered. She began to clean.

An entire week until their next session, maybe longer. The thought killed her. She knew the princess was busy, but sometimes Twilight wondered if the elongated breaks were a subtle form of encouragement to get her to rest from her studies. If so, it was not working as well as she was sure the princess hoped; between their first session and now, Twilight’s research had progressed in leaps and bounds, and she worked more fervently than ever. Unless anything unexpected came up, she planned to do it again.

“Whoops!”

She cried out as a stack of books and papers tumbled out of her hooves, splaying in every direction on the ground, papers twirling chaotically in midair before coming to rest.

She grumbled. Why was she not using her telekinesis?

Twilight’s horn glowed, and, with the practiced technique of a librarian, she raised all the books from the floor, sorted them into alphabetical order, and lowered them neatly on the cart. She did the same with her papers, magically shuffling them into order by subject and aligning their edges by tapping them firmly against the writing desk.

Before putting them away, Twilight brought the stack of papers close to her, and flipped through the corners. The combined thickness of the parchment was considerable; thicker than some of the academic books she had brought with her on the cart.

She scowled. “One’s missing.”

After setting the remaining papers down on the writing desk, and packing the remainder of her supplies, she began to search. There were only so many places to hide, and after looking underneath the chairs and tables, she peered on top of one of the nearby bookshelves. Sure enough, there it was, her dossier on the stallion Lucky Break, lying atop a small, unassuming box on top of the bookshelf.

It was too high for her to reach. Thinking quickly, she grabbed a stool and climbed on top of it, balancing on her hind legs as she reached towards it. Her hoof was only a hair’s breadth away before she tumbled and fell backwards, knocking both the box and the letter from the top of the bookshelf.

The box’s lid flew off of it, and a dozen other pieces of parchment flew out of it, mixing with her own as they came to rest on the floor.

Twilight shook her head, and gave a frustrated moan. Why did she not just use telekinesis?

She yawned, and began to clean up yet another mess.

In any case, Twilight only had one loose paper, and it was easy to find. It stood out well enough in the mess. Her parchment was brand new; the papers from the box seemed to be older, much older. They curled inwards on the edges, and contrasted to a newer page’s pale brown, these were dark and murky, almost appearing to be an orange color. Wrinkles across each page suggested they had been handled extensively, or read many times.

It was only until she had put all of the strange papers back into the box that Twilight wondered: What are these?

She pulled the lid back off, and peered inside. She was about to reach for the top piece of parchment, but something caught her eye. Catching light and glinting from the corner of the box, mostly buried by the parchment, there was something else. She carefully pulled it out with telekinesis, and took a closer look.

It was a necklace. Made of simple, unassuming chain, most of the metalwork seemed to be of steel. A hook and clasp was situated at one end, and on the other...

Twilight brought it closer. It was a curious charm made of precious materials, much finer than the rest. Was it... a sword? Sure enough, as she turned it in her hoof, the simple, unassuming shape of a miniature longsword glinted in the warm glow of the study's lights, only a few inches in size. She could tell the charm was of quality make, though it was very plain and lacking in detail, save for the single tiny emerald gem set into the hilt. It was connected to the chain in such a way that if worn, it would be pointing downwards.

She examined it for another moment, shrugged, and put it back in the box, reaching for an actual paper. She had not bothered to organize them after scrambling their order, and she simply took the parchment off the top of the stack. Her tired eyes skimmed across the page without really reading the words. The ink was faded, the parchment was coming apart, and her vision was slightly blurry besides. She was moments away from dismissing it as nothing important until she read four words at the bottom of the page.

Loyally yours,

Lucky Break

She stopped, and reread the words. And reread them again. And again. Her heart skipped a beat every time.

This parchment was not just old. It was ancient.

And it was a letter written by Lucky Break himself.

“I… I have to read this!” Twilight exclaimed aloud. “Writing from the commander himse-”

A soft knock came from the door, and Twilight immediately fell silent. She did not answer, but regardless, a moment later, the door gently opened, and a royal guard peered around the edge.

“Twilight Sparkle?”

She rubbed at her eyes and squinted at him, but did not respond. The door swung all the way open, and a brown-coated earth pony guard stepped inside.

“I’m supposed to help you with your things.”

Twilight looked back at the parchment. “But… But I…”

“It’s no trouble, Miss Sparkle.” He made towards the cart, and tried pulling it towards the door. It did not move. He moved to the other side of it, and tried pushing, with minimal success. “I’m… glad… to help…” he spoke in between grunts.

As he moved closer, Twilight levitated the box behind her, keeping it out of sight. These letters were probably intensely personal to the princess. Did the guards know that? Were they under orders to protect it?

She considered taking the box home, to read the letters in the comfort of her own library. But should she really be taking them from the study? It felt an awful lot like stealing. Then again, if they were in the room at all, Celestia had probably planned to show them to Twilight, at some point at least.

So, if she would be shown them eventually, what harm was there in being patient?

Or, if she would be shown them eventually, what harm was there in reading them now?

Twilight bit her lip, struggling, taking two steps forward, and then another back. The box was still floating behind her.

“Graaaah!” The guard grunted with one final push, finally having managed to get the cart out of the door. He turned back. “Are you coming?”

Twilight stood there for a moment longer, before finally nodding and sighing. “Yes.” Defeated, she trotted towards the cart, rearranging it just a bit before nodding her affirmation to the guard. He began pushing forward, straining every last muscle in his body to put the wheels in motion.

In his effort, the guard did not see the old box stowed away, hidden by a thin covering of books and papers.

Curiosity won, as it always did.

XXVII: Hellfire

Revenge.

The nightmare seemed to last forever.

The church pews around her, the stone floor beneath her, the ponies behind her, the altars, the enemies, the chaos, the fighting – it all started to lose contrast. And behind the hazy veil of her perception, everything soon turned into a whirling blur of colors and cries.

And then came the heat.

It started within her chest and spread frighteningly quickly. From a single point, she felt the heat grow and radiate as if from a furnace. Her heart hammered against her chest; her lungs were stifled with furious heat. She staggered drunkenly in place, swaying with the wildest fever that had ever burned her forehead.

The heat made her skin crawl and set her teeth on edge. She felt as if enormous pressure was building within her. Her head, her heart, her lungs, her entire being felt on the verge of bursting at the seams. The pent up energy would kill her if it did not somehow escape.

Relief and terrible anguish swept over her when that pressure was released; for when it was, she found that the heat had only followed its natural progression. The heat had become fire.

A sudden force, shook her bones and made her ears ring. Her eyes were wide open, seeing and comprehending nothing but a blinding white-orange light that scorched her irises. She heard herself scream, but it sounded so far away, so unimportant that it was nearly drowned out by the cacophony of noises around her. Glass shattered, wood groaned and splintered, stone foundations shook, and other ponies let out shrieks almost as terrified as her own. But even they seemed like mere whispers compared to the howl of rushing fire.

The force was relentless, like an explosion within her that took many times longer than it should have to reach its peak and subside. An infinite pressure released itself into the world, all of it coursing through the body of a single alicorn mare. She wondered if it would ever end.

Time was incomprehensible. The pain was immense. By simple virtue of unfathomable power, it was all she felt until it nothing else mattered.

But gradually, she remembered that some things did matter, and she began to sift through the sensations. Heat turned to fire. Pain turned to power. Agony turned to rage.

All the other noises had gradually ceased to be, fading into or overcome by the sound of the rushing fire, which had itself died down to a fierce crackle. Only then did the pressure abate into something more controllable, yet still very much alive, just barely contained within her. Her head hung low, her eyelids fell closed, and she breathed deep and quick, her chest dramatically expanding and contracting. Though the concussive force had momentarily subsided, the fire had not lost one degree of intensity.

She was burning alive. And for some reason that did not bother her at all.

Her eyes snapped wide open.

Vision came to her quickly, unnaturally sharp. The vividness of it all seemed to jump out and hurt; the colors were too bright, the sights too intense. And yet, for all its definition, the world through her eyes seemed to swim in a blood-red haze. It was too much. She kept her gaze low.

Amongst the debris of stone and wood, shards of stained glass lay scattered at her hooves, arrayed in a sad, fractured rainbow of colors. In its modest reflection, she saw herself, wreathed in fire.

Where her mane and tail should have been, there was only bright orange flame, as if the hair itself had caught fire – though it never seemed to consume its fuel. The blaze stemming from her body licked wildly at the air, eager to catch onto something, to spread. And, at the center of it all, her coat remained glowing white, like an ashy coal in the depths of a furnace. She looked down at her own body; her armor was almost entirely gone, bits and pieces of it still hanging on by burning threads. Thin lines of glowing orange traced themselves infrequently across her skin, like scattered veins of lava.

Finally, she caught the reflection of her own gaze. Her expression shifted from a whole range of emotions: confused, surprised, tormented. Constant above all else, however, was the anger it held; etched deeply into the lines of her face was malice and utter hatred the likes of which she had never seen, nor felt.

Where her eyes should have been, there were only two pupil-less, glowing orbs, bright as the sun and just as difficult to gaze into. Fiery power seemed to leak at their edge.

The fire clawed and ripped at her consciousness, and yet, there was no malice behind it. No plan, no higher purpose. It only did what fire was supposed to do: consume. She was no longer… whoever she used to be. Now, she was merely a piece of kindling set ablaze with a wrathful flame.

All kindling was eventually consumed, and she knew it.

She looked up. An endless ebony sea crawled before her, teeming with fangs and steel and beady blue eyes, flowing forward and back again like a wave – hissing their disdain, but not daring to encroach upon her space. Insects, she thought, the lines of her face deepening into a loathing grimace. Filthy little creatures hanging on the edge of the shadow.

Her eyes flashed with literal fire as she glared at them. The writhing mass of sinisteeds shied away.

How the church building managed to hold them all, she did not know. Their very presence defiled the place. They were not here to commune with the gods, if ever they had had any. Individual beasts – black, porous bodies, beady blue eyes, milky white fangs – seemed to blend together until they became a shapeless, numberless horde.

And, even in their own house, the gods had not lifted a hoof to cast them out.

There had been ponies near the door, she knew, trying to hold it closed. They must have long since drowned in that black, churning sea. Now, none were in sight, and if there were any ponies nearby, she did not notice or care.

Agony swept through her like it never had before. Her body trembled with pain – and yet, there was a part of her that relished the sensation. In a way, it was empowering, even pleasurable.

Why did it feel so good?

She continued to regard her enemy, passionate hatred etched into her deep scowl, wondering what would happen next. They certainly were not going to make the first move.

Then, that moment of simple clarity came, and she knew. For an instant, everything came to a standstill. The world and all its clamor was drowned out. Even the noisy crackle of her own body fell silent, until all that remained was the sound of her own boiling blood pumping rhythmically in her ears. Her trembling body stilled.

Yes, all kindling was consumed. But until then, the world would be made to feel her wrath.

Coming up from a low crouch, she straightened her legs, extended her wings to their fullest, threw her head back to the heavens, and roared.

The noise shook the earth, rattling the bones of anypony within hearing range. It was full of pain and rage, the cry of a wounded predator. It was inequine, hardly something a normal pony could voice.

But then, she was no pony. For as she shouted to the heavens, the fire within her burst forth, and she became the epicenter of an enormous twisting inferno.

A tornado of fire spun away from her, growing and spreading with impossible intensity and swiftness, making the very stone beneath her seem to catch fire like dry grass. The fire swept along the stone floor and, in an instant, ignited everything in sight, and many things out of sight.

Unsecured pews were launched away by a huge concussive force, tumbling into the air, some simply shattering to pieces as they burst aflame. The altars at the head of the church were all knocked flat, the masonry breaking away from the floor and violently crumbling as stones were flung toward the far wall. Any of the unbroken stained-glass windows immediately shattered, the rainbow of shards warping in the heat before they even hit the ground outside. Loose debris, rocks, and chips of wood shot up and away from her. A raggedy, well-worn doll, precariously perched on a far windowsill, fell to the floor at the first tremor, and then was launched into the chaos as the heat wave came.

Everything immediately about her was wreathed in hellfire, and the inferno’s growth did not cease. Ten feet, twenty feet, fifty feet… in fractions of a second, it spun to fill the whole church, racing to meet that wretched horde.

They scrambled like insects, racing for the safety of the outdoors. But there was hardly time to react. And there was no safety from her wrath.

The wall of flame consumed the unlucky souls in the front row of the mob and traveled through the maze of porous, black bodies, engulfing many more of their comrades behind them.

She was only vaguely aware of it all. For a long time, her neck was craned back, her head arched towards the ceiling. Her expression was twisted into a savage facade of bloodlust and anger. Her nose wrinkled, her brows furrowed, and the lines in her face deepened until they no longer seemed equine. Her mouth was wide open, and she bared her teeth like the fangs of a predator. The bellow she let loose sounded more like a dragon’s roar than anything else. Anything that was not already incinerated trembled at the sound. Even her bones seemed to shake.

Eventually, the air in her lungs depleted. The roar faded; and as it did, another noise took its place. Hissing, screaming, and raspy screeching filled the air. The collective tone was alien and strange, but the cause was clear. Pain was, after all, a near universal sensation.

She slowly let her head down and opened her eyes to watch them burn.

They writhed in a black mass, a hundred monsters suffering in their own personal hell. A portion of the sinisteeds who found themselves unlucky enough to be partially shielded from the blast ran this way and that, their burning forms scrambling over each other, desperately seeking something, anything to bring an end to their unbearable pain. Their search was in vain. The interior of the building was set completely ablaze. Black smoke filled the air, pouring out of the shattered windows, choking and blinding those who still had wings to fly away. They dropped to the floor like flies, their black bodies contorting with pain alongside their already dead comrades.

One by one, their insane cries became quiet, and their black bodies became still, wasting idly in the flame like so much charcoal.

The remnants of church pews were scattered amongst the corpses, burning like a funeral pyre. Some of the sinisteeds clung futilely to life, pawing at the ground as if something or somepony could save them. It was a pitiable sight. Most, however, were already scorched beyond recognition, charred husks of what they once were.

She eyed the scene, breathing heavily through bared teeth, chest heaving in and out. She drank in the smoke, relishing the feel of it in her lungs. Her ears twitched at the sounds of crackling wood, sizzling flesh, and rushing fire. Her wings were still spread high into the air, her feathers rippling in the heat of the inferno. For the first time ever, she felt completely in control. She felt completely aware of her own destiny. She felt powerful.

In the corner of her eye, through the blown out windows of the church, she caught the sight of a few sinisteeds flying away, actually having escaped the destruction, fleeing for their lives.

She felt a vein pulse in her temple. How dare they! This was her revenge, and they would not deprive her of it!

She shot forward with blazing speed, a burning trail of sparks and flame in her wake. She rocketed over the defeated pile of sinisteeds and landed on the other side, her hooves skidding on the stone as she came to a stop just outside the doors. Her gaze shot up.

The pegasi-created storm was still raging over the city of Manehattan. Rain came down in torrents, the drops sizzling and evaporating and turning to steam as they hit her coat. By now, the dense metropolis was completely inundated, entire rivers running down some of the lower streets. Lightning struck infrequently across the sky, casting the world in a furious blue light and adding to the cacophony of war that raged in the near distance. Fire poured out of the windows of the church, painting the street outside with a flickering orange, shadows of lampposts and street corners dancing on the stone.

A gleam of firelight caught her eye, reflecting off the matte hides of a dozen sinisteeds, flying away as fast as their wings would take them. They flew low and fast, their insect wings beating spray into the air from the accumulated water on the street beneath them. Eventually, they rounded a corner that took them onto another street. No doubt they aimed to lose her in the urban jungle that was Manehattan. No doubt they thought they could hide in the shadows.

The alicorn’s loathing glare deepened. There shall be no shadows to hide in.

She pushed off of the ground and deployed her wings. An explosion seemed to shake the ground where she was standing, and she streaked through the air like a living comet, fire trailing from her wings.

The flames shall leave them none.

**********

A solitary pony’s galloping hoofsteps echoed through a lonely street.

His plate armor slid across itself, ringing and scraping noisily as he ran. Sheathed weapons clinked rhythmically against him. His breath was heavy with fatigue. Every time he exhaled, a light fog would gather and drift away, much of it condensing into drops of moisture underneath his drawn half-helm. His head was filled with a constant pinging sound as drops of rain fell freely onto his helmet.

Pinpricks of sensation attacked his underbelly as rainwater from the street splashed away from his hooves. His armor, particularly on his legs, was filthy with dirt and blood; but the floods, running through streets, buildings, and sewers alike, were not that much cleaner. The leather straps that bound him to his armor rubbed against his fur uncomfortably, chafing with the moisture. He was wet everywhere. And so, so miserable.

Another pony might have slowed down, or stopped. It would have been so easy to give into the huge weight of his armor, to be overcome by fatigue, to collapse and never get back up.

Unfortunately, he was not another pony. And, unfortunately, those words would not stop playing and replaying through his head.

I want you to save her.

Lucky Break put his head down and galloped even harder.

What else had she said? “She’ll burn you on contact,” Clover the Clever had told him. “She’ll burn you for being in the way. She’ll burn you for attacking her, or if you even so much as look at her wrong.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” he had demanded.

“Talk with her,” Clover had said. “Plead with her. Remind her who she is.”

And so he galloped to the east, back towards the battle, with the intent to confront hellfire incarnate and ask it to stop.

Lucky rounded a corner, keeping his balance as he slid along the wet cobblestone. The sounds of war increased in intensity as he moved closer and closer to the front. The scuffle of thousands of hooves against pavement, steel clashing against steel, cries of triumph and defeat. The cannonfire of a dozen of airships sounded infrequently, shaking the air with bass clarity. The distant cry of a hydra could be heard above the din.

Louder and more violent than them all, a sudden explosion rocked the air, briefly lighting the whole city and giving the stormclouds above a fiery orange outline. Lucky skidded to a stop and gazed up at the source; it was not hard to find. Some miles away and hundreds of yards up near the top of a tall clock tower, the fireball explosion hovered in air like some small sun, perpetuating itself longer than he suspected was natural. A dozen tiny tremors ran through the ground. Seconds later, a hot gust of wind blew through the streets, making him squint, even underneath his visor. In the icy cold rain of the storm, its heat felt severely out of place.

It left just as quickly as it came, both the color and the warmth, yet it never truly disappeared; only decreasing until it was left at a single, fiery pinpoint of light, like a candle in the dark. That pinpoint raced out of view, leaving a streaking comet tail in its path. The distinctive red Manehattan brick of the clock tower was crumbling, and the north facing of the clock itself was irreparably damaged. Lucky wondered if the tower would fall.

A moment later, another explosion rocked the air, appearing a silhouette behind the Manehattan skyline. Then another, then another. A pillar of fire whipped wildly about in the air, as if spewed by some half-crazed dragon.

Lucky took off again, renewed vigor in his gallop. His heart stirred with inspiration; he knew exactly where to go. Left, right, left, straight– he raced past discarded weapons, bleeding corpses, and horrifying scenes of destruction, keeping a single-minded focus on the path before him. Soon, one of the battle’s many fronts appeared in the distance, funneled and focused through Manehattan’s narrow streets.

Sinisteeds, manticores, minotaurs, and gods knew what else struggled fiercely against the Equestrian army. Earth ponies swung swords at the front, unicorns’ spells flew overhead, and pegasi raced through the air above, dogfighting with other winged enemies. Sinisteeds used everything at their disposal, switchblades, wings, and fangs alike. Neither side seemed to be making much progress.

All of the soldiers before him seemed to be regulars, dressed in normal steel armor. As he ran, he passed another platoon of soldiers, methodically marching forward to reinforce their comrades. He happened to catch the gaze of a green unicorn as he passed. He looked scared.

Lucky wondered where the Maiden’s Battalion was. Somewhere useful, he hoped. Apple Crumble was a capable leader, he would be sure to keep them fighting. Of course, he had no time to find them – there were more important things to do.

He had a promise to keep.

**********

An enormous gout of flame erupted from the alicorn’s gaping maw. It burned the air before her, the torrent splashing against stone as it hit the brick of a nearby tower.

A moment later, she closed her mouth, and the inferno was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Six blackened bodies fell from the sky, trailing smoke as they spiraled downwards. She watched, a savage satisfaction rising within her. The lifeless husks crunched as they hit the ground, dead long before they reached it.

Another sinisteed had been out of range and continued to fly away from her, scarcely sparing a glance for its fallen brethren, fleeing as fast as its insect wings would carry it. Her brows furrowed, her face twisting into a ferocious snarl. Her glowing eyes flashed a brighter orange and her wings spread just a little wider.

She shot forward, a stream of rocketing fire trailing swiftly after her. The air itself seemed to whine beneath the pressure as she closed in on her target, covering the distance almost instantly. Her arms stretched out and she caught the sinisteed midair, both hooves slamming into the center of its mass. Quickly, she retracted her wings and let herself into a controlled fall, grabbing the sinisteed and forcing it down with her.

She was deaf to its pained cries, and barely felt it struggling at the end of her hooves. After a hundred yards of falling, the stone rushed forward to meet them.

She landed on all fours, a volcanic eruption of fire encompassing her as she did so. The fiery light blinded her for a moment, a ringing explosion filling her ears.

After it was gone, she looked towards her hooves. The street lay cracked and shattered beneath her. A shallow crater had formed, of which she was standing in the center. Her touchdown had completely crushed the enemy she had taken with her. Its blood boiled and evaporated away before it could stain her.

She gave one last triumphant sneer at the crumpled form beneath her, and looked up. Surrounding her was a horde of all sorts of creatures – sinisteeds, mostly, but many other abominations dotted the mass here and there. She had landed in the exact center of them. More than one had been ripped apart by the force of her impact.

She felt the combined gazes of the monsters.

Some ponies thought the monsters could not feel fear. She smiled. Those ponies were wrong. They feared her.

She had been wreaking havoc for long enough to catch the attention of the battlefield, to send her message loud and clear. Some in the surrounding mob were already running or flying away. Many others were cautiously backing off, baring their teeth and hissing in fear, cowering away from the heat that emanated from her body. They thought twice about making the choice to attack her.

Without hesitating, she made the choice for them.

She reared back on her hind legs, and her horn took on an orange glow. Then, coming back down, she gave her head a powerful swing forward, and a huge stream of fire lashed against the ground like a whip, consuming many dozens of creatures. Without waiting for retaliation, she did the same thing in another direction, then another, and then jumped out into the crowd with arms extended, her hooves glowing with fiery power.

Any tact she had learned in training was completely forgotten. It was so easy to simply attack her targets with no repercussion. Sinisteeds were slow and susceptible to fire. Their wings practically shriveled up in her presence. Manticores faltered at the sight of her, fruitlessly swiping at her in an animalistic defense. Minotaurs simply fled, letting their fear and better judgment take hold of them. In the distance, a hydra perked up all four of its heads to discover the source of the commotion, but for once, did not immediately charge the threat.

Only a short ways away, an entire battle seemed to pause at her appearance. The monsters were contending with some sort of Equestrian force, all armored in gold, yet the minute she had landed, almost all nearby conflict had stopped to pay her attention.

She did not care for the progress of some inconsequential battle. The petty warring of other ponies did not concern her. She only wanted one thing.

Swift arcs of fire traced through the air as she punched and kicked and bucked, without method and without pause. Whenever her hooves met their target, a concussive explosion would mark the blow and fling its recipient far back, assuming it was still in one piece. Unquenchable flame was thrown this way and that with indiscriminate rage. More than once, she would give her wings a single, powerful flap, and a wave of fire would sweep the area before her. Snarls, shouts, and enraged roars tore themselves from her lips as she flung herself recklessly in every direction.

Lucky’s combat style was nimble, versatile, powerful, and elegant, she idly remembered, as if he were dancing with death. But she did not dance with death. She dealt it.

Who was this ‘Lucky’, anyways? She racked her brain trying to think about it, but nothing came to her. It must have been because he was nopony. Nopony at all.

And yet, she could not subdue the thought. Like a single, fraying strand of thread reining her in, a memory nagged at the back of her mind. It should have been so easy to complete the thought, to break that thread, but every time she tried, it was so unexpectedly difficult. That mental image simply stayed there, nothing more, nothing less – a somber frown, and a pair of blue eyes that stared in disappointment.

She just wanted to forget!

She bucked a manticore square in the chest; it exploded away from her, blown backwards by a concussive, fiery blast. Burning hoofprints were branded into what was left of its collapsed ribcage.

Who was anypony? Names, faces, personalities… they all faded from her mind. Memory eluded her. Had she ever had any friends? Did that even matter? A barrage of fireballs stemmed from her horn, chasing down a crowd that was now actively fleeing from her. Each decimated at least one monster.

What even was her name? She tried hard, but could not remember. But why should that matter? She felt amazing. And she did not need an identity. Fire did not feel, it did not care. It simply burned. Burned with singular purpose. The “why” did not matter; only “how”.

She was fire; a weapon, and naught else.

She shouted, and another gout of flame erupted from her wide-open mouth. A dozen creatures were burned to ashes.

The streets of this place were filled with the enemy, and by now, they were in full retreat. The air was filled with them, flying this way and that. They were so thick in the air, any given attack would have hit at least a few targets. She lazily took aim and shot a fireball into the air, which exploded in the midst of them. In the orange glow of the street, savage triumph lit up on her face. Eight sinisteeds dropped like flies. A ninth struggled to stay airborne, its wings having caught fire. Eventually, it crashed headlong into a building, then fell to the ground.

But there were more, always more. Her brow furrowed; bloodlust resumed its place on her expression, and she erupted into the fray.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of sinisteeds fell to her, and she did not grow any wearier for it. On the contrary, her heart only seemed to beat faster and faster and faster. At least two hydras were burnt to a crisp. A squad of brave archers fired at her – most of the arrows were dodged or burned, but two found their mark, burying themselves deep in her shoulder. Her own blood sizzled as it trickled down her fur. After breathing fire through the windows of the building the archers were entrenched in, she came to a stop on all four hooves. She closed her eyes and growled. Suddenly, her body became impossibly hotter, the veins of orange streaking across her fur glowing even brighter. The arrow shafts were incinerated, and the wounds were instantly cauterized.

The longer she fought, the greater her bloodlust grew. At least a third of the city was on fire by now, and the hordes of enemies were thinning out. This battle was hers; yet, it would not stop here. She would hunt them until they were extinct – she would find where they lived, where they grew, where they bred, and she would burn the place to ashes. Then, she would find him, the demon who started it all – and she would scorch him till he begged for death.

But until then, she had work to do.

“Celestia!”

She crouched low, stretched her wings…

“Celestia!”

She stopped, and blinked. The twisted scowl on her face lightened, losing some of its fierce edge. “What?” she grumbled aloud. It was almost a whisper, confused and annoyed, as if responding to a statement that made no sense. Her wings slowly folded, and she wheeled around to the source of the noise.

Through the chaos – the fleeing sinisteeds, the burning buildings that surrounded them on all sides, the pony soldiers who did not know whether to retreat or advance – she saw somepony galloping directly towards her, clad in heavy golden armor. As the crowds continued to scatter, friend and foe alike, he drew closer and closer, no eye for anything but her. He dodged around obstacles, ponies, and enemies, paying them no mind as they paid him no mind. She watched with fascination, unease, and of course, inexplicable hatred in her heart, until there was nothing in between her and the soldier. And he was still coming.

She tensed up, ready to destroy him, and slowly, the soldier came to a stop. He was within talking distance, but kept a cautious gap between them. She idly noticed a nearly unrecognizable building to the right of him – the church, still very much aflame, quenched but a little by the rain.

“Celestia!” the voice called again. It was definitely that of a stallion’s; it wavered oddly between confidence and concern and fear. For some reason, or no reason at all, she did not want this pony anywhere near her.

“Go away!” she yelled back. She huffed threateningly through her nostrils. The air rippled and distorted with heat under her nose.

Though his expression was hidden by his half-helm, she could sense his apprehension. Regardless, he took a few steps forward.

“I just want to talk,” he said.

“Stop!” she shouted, her voice rising in volume and, oddly enough, panic. “Go away!”

He had no response for that, electing instead to simply stare, tilting his head as if he were studying her. She hated that. But some inexplicable thing in the back of her mind – morbid curiosity, perhaps – locked her hooves to the ground, stopping her from flying away or attacking him.

His front hoof picked up off the ground, and she tensed up again. He stopped suddenly and watched her, but did not put his hoof back down. Slowly, carefully, he reached up to his helmet, unlatched some strap, and pulled it off his head. Strands of an orange mane fell away from the headgear, sticky with sweat and drenched with rainwater. His grey coat was similarly wet, made one shade darker by the rain. His blue eyes were somehow brighter.

“Celestia-”

“No!” she bellowed. “I don’t want to talk!” She stamped her hoof onto the stone. A small inferno erupted around her hoof as she did. It flickered out just as quick.

Her body seemed to glow even brighter, the dual blazes that were her tail and mane growing noticeably in size and intensity.

His brows raised, and he cast her a pitiful, sorrowful look. She hated that, too.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said calmly. His voice was just as loud as it needed to be to reach her above the din of burning buildings and distant battle.

She glared at him. A vein pulsed in her temple. He’s lying, she thought. Her eyes narrowed, and a snarl appeared on her lips.

“Go. Away.” Her tone was full of utter malice.

He took another step forward. She backed the same distance away and aggressively spread her wings, a thousand tiny sparks trailing away from them as they flared open.

“Celestia…”

“No.”

He took another step forward, she took another step back.

“Celestia, please, you need to try and calm-”

“Stop it!”

He took another step forward and reached a hoof in her direction.

“Celestia-”

“Stop saying that!”

In the next instant she was airborne, an explosion of fire launching her directly towards him, flame still trailing from her extended hooves. Both hooves were aimed for his exposed neck, right above his armored collar. In less than a second, he would be dead, and she could forget him.

But it never happened. In the moment her attack should have connected, she instead met nothing but air. Her eyes widened as she fumbled in midair, all four limbs scrambling to readjust themselves. She was moving too quick; she hit the ground wrong and tumbled, completing a few uncoordinated rolls against the cobblestone street before righting herself to her hooves, but not without a few new scratches. She quickly looked over herself before bringing her gaze back up, her eyes full of fury.

Her target was recovering from his own roll. Impossibly, he had anticipated the attack and moved perfectly to avoid it – dodging almost before she had even moved.

She growled, and her body burned brighter. Her wings deployed. She was upon him before he could even think about speaking again. This time, her dive was slightly more controlled. He met her head on.

Bringing up his hooves in front of himself, Lucky caught her hooves on the armor of his forearms and shifted with the force of the thrust, using her own immense force to throw her off balance to his side. She managed not to fall over, but overextended her front legs before bringing herself back up, taking a backhanded swipe at him. He ducked, and her hoof went flying over his head. Recovering faster than Lucky thought possible, she jabbed another hoof in his direction, launching a powerful punch aimed at his skull. He edged back, effortlessly dodging it. The strike stopped an inch away from his face.

Then, a jet of fire exploded away from the end of her hoof. He flinched and tried to twist out of the way. Fire licked at his cheek before he was able to knock her hoof away and jump back.

“You need to listen to me!” he shouted, clutching at the right side of his face. Behind his hoof, smoke appeared to rise from it. Before she could get a good look at it, he slammed his golden half-helm back on. “I don’t want to fight!”

She barely seemed to hear him. Almost immediately she was upon him once more, jabbing at him, one hoof after the other in a barrage of furious, reckless blows. The end of each thrust was marked with a small burst of fire where her hoof had been. He twisted around her attacks, evading just as much as he needed to, the air searing with heat around him. Her form was enraged and clumsy, but any one of the blows would have been deadly, and even if the attack itself missed, the fire always caught him, at least a little bit. It was all he could do to squint into the searing heat and pouring rain, evading attack after attack, waiting for an opening while rapidly overheating in his heavy armor.

His own weapons were sheathed, and he never used them. His desire, his goal, was to save her. If that meant doing her harm, he would do it; but he was not here to kill her. And yet, for all his desire, the only thing he could do was dodge and deflect and run away. It was all his Luck ever told him to do. And with good reason; he could hardly even touch her without hurting himself.

Lucky jumped back just before Celestia let loose a wave of fire, seeming to come from her opened wings. He galloped away as it rolled towards him, diving behind the protection of a large chunk of debris, broken off from one of the nearby buildings. He put his back to it, and the wave broke on the stone.

As fire dissipated, and the air rippled with stifling heat around him, Lucky began to wonder about his goal. Could it be done? Could she be knocked out? And then what, would she revert back? Or did he aim to keep trying to talk her out of it? He might just as well be speaking to a rabid animal.

He was not here to kill her. But neither would he let himself die. Lucky drew his sword.

Claymore in his mouth, he dodged away, and a moment later Celestia’s form came crashing down to where he had just been, all four hooves stomping into the cobblestone of the street. He rolled with the inevitable force that followed, and righted himself after being pushed a full ten feet away. She did not intend to relent, and, immediately following her realization that she had missed, she galloped towards Lucky, teeth bared, eyes glowing, mane and tail burning brighter than ever.

He lifted his sword and set himself in a ready stance. Renewed vigor shone in his eyes. He counted himself fortunate that she did not simply decide to drown the street in flame; perhaps, for some reason, she had decided she would destroy him with her own hooves. Perhaps a burning death would have been too quick.

Lucky had only a second to think about it. In the next moment, they were fighting again.

She did not seem to care about his drawn weapon or long reach, throwing herself into him with berserker rage. She punched and bucked at him with her hooves, which he dodged under and around, struggling to breathe in the trailing heat. He reeled as she buffeted him with a wing, and then followed it up by reaching her head forth and biting down on his shoulder. Lucky yelped in surprise and pain, and tried to shake her off. Her jaw only clamped down harder. After a few seconds, Lucky managed to elbow her in the temple and wrench her away.

Disengaging from the combat for just a moment, he looked down at his shoulder. She had gotten around the plate and bitten into the chainmail underneath. A section of it was completely crushed and gone, and his shoulder looked as though it had been gored by an animal. Blood flowed freely out of the wound, pumping in time with his heartbeat.

The reprieve was not long, and soon she was upon him again. Lucky put up his best defense, flinching every time his right foreleg hit the ground. The fight went on. He knew he was losing.

However, after a long and merciless barrage of attacks, she overextended her reach, and Lucky’s eyes widened as he saw his chance. He ducked and caught hold of her thrusting hoof from below, directing its force over his head. Before she had the chance to retaliate, he closed the distance between their bodies and, with his free hoof, punched her in the stomach, hard.

Celestia wheezed, and her eyes widened. She tried feebly to pull away, only to feel him give her a small push. She stumbled backwards.

Lucky’s eyes narrowed as he took aim.

Swing left.

With only a moment’s hesitation, he swung his neck and body to the left, putting what strength he had left into the claymore gripped in his teeth. The force fully met Celestia’s side. She was sent reeling in one direction, still managing to stay on all fours.

Lucky blinked. Instead of being cut in half, as he had expected, she was merely stunned. He did not mean to kill her – only years of practice had given him the confidence to trust his gift in such a way – but that attack should have, regardless of what Luck told him. His gaze strayed to the claymore itself, and he found his answer.

At some point during their fight, or perhaps as he swung it just now, the edge had been rendered harmless, heated and melted to the point of being not only dull, but completely blunt. Now, it might as well have been a slightly pointy metal stick. It had left a long, claymore-shaped mark in her hide, and that was it. He did not know if he was grateful or not.

Celestia took infrequent, sharp breaths as she struggled to refill her lungs, but gasped as Lucky’s blade connected with her side again, and then again, her eyes widening with each blow. One of the blows glanced off of her head. She stumbled backwards, stars filling her vision. She let loose a panicked roar and a cone of flame, aimlessly spewing it in a wide arc before her.

The stream was suddenly, violently cut off as her stomach was met with the huge force of a two-legged buck. Her entire weight was lifted off the ground, and after a moment of sickening free fall, she crashed onto her side, skidding to a stop on the pavement several yards away.

Her world became a blur of dizzying stars and a confusing blend of chaotic sounds. Her head was pounding, and the pain in her stomach was unbearable. Any second now, she was sure she was going to vomit. The fire of her mane and tail seemed to die down by degrees. She clutched at her stomach and rolled to her other side, moaning.

“You must stop this!” a voice said, much too loud. “The enemy is routed. Ponies could get hurt!”

No. She could not stop, not until it was finished, and he could not make her. Fire spread until it had nothing left to catch. A force of nature could not be negotiated with.

Her mane and tail burned lower and dimmer. Her legs shook as she struggled to prop herself up and failed, collapsing a small distance back to the ground. She tried to growl in frustration, but ended up retching instead, grasping at her stomach and moaning. Sickened by her pain, she allowed a glob of dribble to ooze off of her lip before spitting.

“Stay down!” he shouted, in almost a pleading tone. She was beginning to wonder if she had a choice. Nevertheless, she continued to try to stand.

“You’re being stupid! Don’t give into the fire. It’s consuming you!”

Finally, she was on all four hooves, head low, reeling with nausea.

All was quiet for a moment. Then, he spoke up. “You’re better than this!”

Pain suddenly forgotten, she sprang to her hooves, eyes flashing with rage.

“Shut up!”

Lucky was only a small distance away. She opened her mouth and roared, letting loose a huge jet of flame, the monstrous inferno the biggest and hottest she had ever made it. There was no evading, no time to react; Lucky could only close his eyes and cringe, protectively throwing one arm up before it completely engulfed him, as well as the entirety of the street behind him.

She breathed and breathed and breathed, holding the flame for what seemed like minutes. After she could breathe no more, she finally released her hold on the inferno, and it dissipated into a dozen tiny flames, burning themselves out in the air. She watched as the last of it, a pinwheel of fire, spun out and vanished. Then, her gaze wandered downward, to where Lucky Break had been standing. There was nothing.

Her panting breath was heavy and frequent, but she allowed herself a savage grin. Reduced to ashes, like all the rest.

Her triumph turned to surprise as a pair of strong arms wrapped around her neck, and a force pushed her from behind. Instinctively, she swung with the weight and brought it flailing around before her; Lucky was alive and relatively unharmed.

She breathed fire again, but he was too quick; with a hoof under her chin, he shoved her head upwards, and she only managed to hit the bell tower of the nearby church building with a failing flame. She brought her hoof up and punched, but it was a weak attack, stopping ineffectually on his plate armor.

As the heat rippled away from the dying fire that burst forth from her mouth, a heat that should have easily incinerated him, Lucky thanked the gods above for the existence of magic. He considered asking Clover for a fire protection spell every time he went into battle.

The flame from her mouth awkwardly petered out, her jaw being forcefully closed at painful angle. How is he still alive?

A growl rumbled deep in her throat. Why won’t he die?

She brought her head down and around, twirling free from his hoof. Before he could do anything else, her horn took on a sudden glow, and a small explosion encompassed her on all sides. Lucky abandoned his position and was forced back a small ways, his hooves sliding across the stone.

Lucky growled, and looked up. Celestia, or the mare that once was Celestia, was already launching her next attack, a fireball launching from the tip of her horn. He jumped away. It splashed on the ground next to him, just catching him in the edge of the flame. Another one was already heading his direction; he rolled out of its path as swiftly as he could. His dodge was even less effective this time. Another one came, then another, and another. Soon, she was breathing fire at him while he tried to evade, jumping over, under, and once, through the stream to escape its full fury.

The fire protection spell was useful, life-saving even – but its power was not infinite. A thin outline of purple sputtered weakly every time he was hit, glowing dimmer and dimmer.

Celestia dove towards him again, teeth bared, eyes full of rage, this time complementing her physical attacks with bursts of flame that exploded out in all directions, something even he could not dodge. The assault wore down on him and the magic that surrounded him. Either his strength would wane, and she would catch him with her blades, or the magic would dispel, and he would be burned to a crisp.

Yet, he could not bring himself to make his goal anything but “save her”. The words would not go away. And his gift, his Luck, did not inspire him to do anything beyond dodging the next blow, and the next. Amidst the chaos of it all, looking at her twisted, hate-filled expression, the same, horrible thought kept recurring to him. Perhaps it was the reason he was not making progress.

What if it is impossible?

Eventually, the inevitable happened. Lucky did not quite dodge precisely enough, and the edge of a fireball’s explosion caught him, picking him up off the ground and dumping him many yards away. He did not absorb the landing very well, his head hitting the stone several times as he tumbled.

His ears rang, and his head pounded. Blood rushed through his skull, pumping out of a gash just above his left brow, blinding him in that eye. His limbs were weak, almost too weak to move. They trembled as he attempted to set his hooves underneath himself. He failed once, and tried again.

Lucky heard the sound of walking hoofsteps approaching him, and he knew it was too late. He wiped the blood out of his eye, and looked up.

Celestia, wreathed in fire, walked slowly towards him, pupil-less glowing orange eyes fixed fast upon his. She stopped a modest distance away, five or six body lengths. Her lips quivered with hate.

Lucky wondered vaguely if he was going to die. The goddess of fortune was, after all, telling him to simply stay put. Perhaps she had simply decided it was his time. The idea did not seem so bad.

But then, in the corner of his eye, Lucky saw something. He turned to view it more fully, and immediately understood.

“W-wait,” he said, weakly sputtering the words as he turned back.

Her expression did not bear the slightest hint of change.

Lucky shuffled backwards, sliding himself away from her. She merely advanced at the same pace.

“Think about what you’re doing,” Lucky mumbled. “This isn’t right. There are ponies who want to see you return. Clover. Crumble. Cotton. Your comrades in the battalion. Your friends.”

She silently continued walking forward, showing no signs of slowing down.

“Remember who you are!” Lucky implored, as loud as his raspy voice would allow. “Who you really are. Inside of you is a pony who cares, who wants to do the right thing. Who is generous, kind, loyal… fiercely devoted to her cause.”

Lucky ceased crawling backwards. His limbs could no longer handle it. She stopped with him, still the same distance away.

“You are more than a weapon.”

She tilted her head back, drawing breath, gathering fire in her lungs. Lucky knew he would not survive another blast of flame like the last.

“Remember who you really are…” Lucky mumbled. He knew she could not hear him. “...Celestia.”

She reared forward again. Lucky closed his eyes. A gout of flame shot forth from her maw-

Boom!

Without warning, the sound of a tremendous crash filled the air, and a massive tremor shook the ground. The air filled with a cacophony of crashing noises; wood scraped and splintered, metal grinded and creaked, and bursting hydraulics whined and hissed and exploded. It was as loud and tumultuous as anything Lucky had ever heard – and Lucky had heard many things in his lifetime.

The pandemonium continued for ten long seconds, the object of its origin sliding swiftly away from him, shrieking as if it was utter agony. Eventually, the noises came to a grinding halt.

Slowly, Lucky reopened his eyes. Settling in the dust, a hundred yards away from him, was what remained of a colossal frigate-class airship, its armor completely peeled off and its hull ground to pieces. The balloon that kept it aloft was in tatters, draping over the wreckage like a blanket.

Just in time, it had landed in between him and his certain death. He knew it would.

Buildings had been ripped into on both sides of the street, as if it had been raked by the claws of some massive beast. Bits of the hull were scattered here and there. He even spied a fully intact cannon sitting upright in the middle of the street.

Celestia was nowhere to be seen.

Had she been carried away with the wreckage? He looked long and hard, but from where he was laying, there was no sign of her. Lucky closed his eyes, and lowered his head a little. Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps the only way to save her was to kill her.

His heart fluttered with despair, and his last thoughts were of her, before his head lifelessly fell to the ground.

**********

It was a long time before the fires began to die down.

The attack storm sent over Manehattan to weaken the enemy was only scheduled to last three days, but after seeing the state of the city, they decided to extend it one day longer. Despite being thoroughly waterlogged, half the city seemed to be on fire, and the other half was already in decay. Being the dense urban center of population that it was, the flames had no trouble leaping from building to building, despite the sturdy brick construction. All the fireponies in Equestria would not have been able to handle the inferno alone.

Apple Crumble sighed, overlooking the scene as he moved slowly through the city, rain bouncing off his red wings as he fought to stay airborne in the wind. He had undressed from his armor, now wearing only light chainmail. A cloak was draped over his body, and a hood was drawn over his blonde-grey mane. Both were flapping wildly in the wind. It was supposed to help him stay warm and dry, but had long since been completely soaked through. He counted himself fortunate to have been blessed with a thick skin; perhaps the hypothermia would be kept at bay.

Besides, search and rescue could not wait for the storm to pass. This city needed help, and it needed help now.

It had been six hours since the battle had stopped. They were still finding pockets of resistance in the large city, stray beasts and cowering squads of sinisteeds, but the enemy had largely been routed. Their job now, his job, was to find and rescue civilians and survivors. Of which, there were many.

Crumble had witnessed the aftermath of countless battles in his lifetime, but nothing like this. He almost flinched as he banked around a corner and into view of yet another site of conflict. An entire battalion of soldiers lay dead, scattered among an entire battalion of monsters. Rescue ponies were already searching the lot for anypony living, unicorns shining cones of magelight across piles of corpses. They did not look to be having much success. Of course, this was what practically the whole city looked like.

Bodies, everywhere, of every kind. Pegasus, unicorn, earth pony, sinisteed, manticore – in the end, it did not matter. They contributed to the scene of carnage, one and all, and after it stopped raining, the stench of decay would be awful unto overpowering, Crumble knew. And the destruction. Gods, the destruction! He would not have believed it, had he not seen it with his own eyes. Buildings had been leveled. Entire streets had been torn up. Landscapes were changed. Whole districts of the city were simply gone. Crushed by colossal monsters, ripped apart by cannonfire, or...

Crumble gulped as he passed a residential tower still actively on fire, a team of fireponies doing their best to control the blaze. He hoped no civilians were trapped inside.

Even if the battle was over, the panic was still very much present, and the despair was even stronger than it was before, especially among the civilians. There had been many more than they had expected – almost five times the amount. Discord had fed them false information. Had fed him false information, he thought, anger rising within him. And for it, their rescuers had been woefully unprepared. There had not been enough room aboard the airships to evacuate everypony; and even if there had been, only a fraction of them had been able to escape. Their rescue team, storm dropping through the clouds – discovered before they had even started. Their specialist armies, crossing the Manehattan channel, intent on surprising the enemy – slaughtered on the shores. As with so many times before, Discord had tricked them. And the worst part was, nopony knew how.

As Crumble thought about it, nopony knew how they had taken the city, either. Something had happened. Stories of an angel, wreathed in hellfire, circulated through the ranks. It had aided their army, they said. “The Phoenix”, they were calling it. An avatar of the gods, sent to help them in their need.

Crumble had reserved his judgement. For something that had supposedly helped them, this “Phoenix” did not seem to care who or what was caught in the destruction. Amidst all that chaos, his friend and commander Lucky Break, along with their beloved recruit Celestia, were lost. And it was the Phoenix’s fault.

Amidst his thoughts and searching, a voice reached him above the wind. “Sir!”

He slowed himself to a stop and turned around, hovering in place as best he could. A pegasus scout, one of his own battalion, was fast approaching him.

“Sir!” he repeated, without waiting for a reply. “We’ve found him! Come, quick!”

Without hesitation, they took off. The pegasus led him through a maze of streets, past countless scenes of carnage, until they came to an intersection, on the corner of which was what looked like the remains of a crumbled church. He immediately spotted a soldier of the Maiden’s Battalion, still clad in his armor, lying motionlessly in the center of the street. Other pegasi were already surrounding him, checking the body. Crumble quickly descended, hoping against hope that this pony was who he thought it was, and that, whoever it was, they were still alive.

He touched down next to the pegasus that led him here, a puddle splashing away from his hooves as he did.

“Move it!” Crumble barked as he trotted forward. “Make way, let me see ‘im!”

A small crowd of soldiers parted as he came closer. A physician was already at the pony’s side, gingerly removing his helmet, and did not move when Crumble approached.

He paused, watching as the metal slid away from the soldier’s head. Wet locks of an orange mane fell free, revealing a rain soaked muzzle. His eyes were already opened at narrow slits, as if he had just woken up in the morning. Icy blue eyes moved to find his gaze.

“There you are,” Lucky croaked.

Crumble breathed a sigh of relief, as did many of the soldiers around him.

“Gods, boy,” Crumble growled. “Yeh had us worried.”

Lucky closed his eyes, and would have let his head fall limp again were it not for the doctor propping it up, working to remove the armor straps around his neck.

“Yeh look...” Crumble glanced up and down his body. He spotted deep, new scratches all over his armor. The plate above his right shoulder looked as though it were completely ripped away, with a hoof-sized piece of chainmail crushed and gone. There were scorch marks everywhere, both on his fur and armor. It would take a bit of work to fix that up. The colt would have been entirely ugly, had the Royal Magi not invented a spell to regrow fur over scars and burns. Still, they never completely disappeared, and Lucky would be keeping more than one of the burns as a reminder.

“...well-done.”

Lucky gave a weak laugh. “I feel well-done.”

Crumble allowed himself a smile. The doctor called in another pony to help him, and together, they began dressing his wounds.

“Lucky,” Crumble said over their shoulders, his voice lowering in tone and volume. “Where is she?”

Lucky’s smile faded, a despondent frown taking its place. His eyes weakly opened, and he peered back at Crumble. He was never good at interpreting expression, and Lucky was never very expressive, but almost immediately, Crumble recognized the misery and sorrow in his gaze.

Gradually, Lucky’s eyes wandered up and away, peering down the street. Crumble followed his gaze to the wrecked hull of a downed airship, barely recognizable as anything but a massive heap of wood and metal.

Thirty seconds later, Crumble stood atop the wreckage with half a dozen other soldiers, all digging at the wreckage with all haste. Boards were pulled out of their places, bent nails still stuck in the ends, and sheet metal was ripped away. Axes and swords were hefted and brought down upon the debri, cleaving through it bit by bit, until finally, the hull was breached.

Many of the airship’s interior rooms, it seemed, were still intact. Crumble was the first to drop through. He looked around. A dim shaft of light filtered through the hole they had made. The space was small and wooden. It must have been a storage area; wheat and produce were scattered everywhere. A cabinet was nailed to the ceiling. The ship was upside-down, he realized.

“Celestia?” he called. There was no reply.

His comrades dropped in after him. After a few quick orders, they spread out amongst the interior of the ship, scouring the gloomy corridors and rooms for signs of life. Rain pattered on the wood and metal overhead, creating in a distant, lonely ambience.

As far as Crumble could tell, the place was devoid of life; the ship itself seemed utterly dead. Unicorns’ horns beamed with magelight, and it was the only source of light in the cramped depths of ship. Some areas had to be dug into to access, and in many cases, they only found more dead ends.

Worse than all that were the corpses, bodies of crewponies, mostly pegasi, mangled and torn beyond recognition. Most had probably abandoned ship when it began going down, but more than a few had been stuck in the bowels of the ship when it had happened. A particularly gruesome sight, a pegasus impaled on a wooden beam, made him shudder and look away.

Crumble sighed. This place had long since stopped being an airship. Now, it was only a tomb.

“Lieutenant!” a voice called from the deep, nearly making him jump. “I’ve got something!”

It came from below him, echoing up from another level. Crumble, as well as everypony else, wasted no time in navigating through the corridors to find the source.

He burst into a room at the end of a hall; the captain’s quarters, judging by the higher-quality furnishings of the place. Of course, everything that had not been nailed down was thrown into a state of chaos – and everything that had been nailed down was now on the ceiling.

In one corner, a rescue unicorn was levitating a light wooden bookshelf off of the form of another pony, collapsed, unmoving, and partially buried in a pile of wooden debris. Tufts of pink mane stuck through here and there, and though bloodied, the white coat was familiar enough. Crumble walked closer.

“Oh, sunshine...” he muttered.

Her head, neck, the front half of her torso, and her right hoof were the only things visible. Everything else was buried. Her mouth was slightly agape, and a thin stream of blood trickled underneath her eye and down her cheek. She showed no signs of life. Crumble drew closer, calmly put his hoof to the base of her neck, and closed his eyes.

Five long seconds passed. Crumble scowled, and pressed harder. Another five seconds passed... and he felt it. It was weak, it was slow, but there.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

Crumble removed his hoof, but did not allow himself to feel relief. They still had to remove the debris, evacuate her back through the ship, and get her to a field hospital. There was no guarantee she would survive all of that.

“And if you do,” Crumble muttered to himself, “Yeh’ll have a tale or two to tell when you wake up.”